Chapter 25 Daphne
Chapter twenty-five
Daphne
TWO WEEKS LATER
The bell above the thrift store jingles a little too cheerfully as Andri steps out, clutching a brown paper bag to his chest like it contains state secrets, or knowing him, a stack of denim jeans about to be turned into cutoffs.
I can see his friend, Jake, wave excitedly behind him, a grin forming on his face when he sees me sitting in Andri’s truck.
Andri’s feet scuff the fresh snow on the sidewalk as he makes his way back to me.
“I said I could help,” I remind him as he opens the door. My eyes narrow, zeroing in on the bag he’s holding tightly to his chest.
“And I said no. You've already helped enough with digging the resort out, even if you’re terrifying to see on the plow.” He puts the bag off to the side, conveniently out of my reach as he shivers, thinking of me operating heavy equipment.
“You were to wait in the car—and no peeking.” He puts on the voice he knows that I like in the bedroom.
But it’s almost like he forgets I like him telling me what to do so I can disobey.
“First, I only ran into one of the cabins, and second… No peeking?” I say incredulously. “What could you have possibly purchased from Jake that you would have to worry about me peeking at?”
He grins, but doesn’t answer me, and starts the car moving back onto the main road.
“Andri.”
“Daphne.”
I stare at him for a good five seconds before I poke him hard in the ribs.
“Ouch!” He feigns a yelp. “Geez, it’s a surprise.” He rubs the spot I just attacked with his blue hand.
I sigh, realizing he won’t be swayed to reveal whatever he’s got in that bag. “Fine. Keep your secrets. But at least tell me why I couldn’t even go into the store with you.”
“It would ruin the effect,” he mumbles.
“What effect? Are you staging a surprise one-man holiday performance art piece for the parade today?”
“Maybe.” He glances toward the busy street.
There are tons of tourists between strung tinsel garlands and banners that advertise the parade and street festival.
“Anyway, I need to prepare for this surprise.” He parks the car in what seems like the only open spot on the street, directly in front of Ted’s diner.
I gesture dramatically. “Oh god, are you really putting on some kind of performance?” I push my hand over my mouth in case that really is the case. I don’t want him to see me laugh.
“Daphne.” He presses a quick kiss to my forehead—soft, but a little rushed. “Give me an hour. Go…be somewhere cozy.”
“You’re being weird.”
“I’m always weird, I’m a snowman.” He laughs.
“Well, extra weird.”
“Just trust me,” he pleads.
He looks extra nervous, an actual twitch in his jaw like he’s fighting the urge to pick me up and stash me somewhere so he can work on whatever plan he’s got.
I relent, mostly because somewhere cozy sounds great. Despite my snow boots, the cold is starting to work its way to my toes.
“Fine. I’ll be at the bookstore, I’ve been wanting to check it out, anyway. Come get me when you’re done?”
His shoulders relax like he’s just diffused a bomb. “Perfect.”
The door creaks open to the shop marked only with the word “Bookstore.” I blink, thinking something must be wrong with my eyes. I quickly realize that it’s not me, just that the shop is so incredibly dark that my vision struggles to adjust after the sunny snow of the outdoors.
Instantly the pleasant scent of paper fills my nose. Shelves bow under the weight of hardcovers with cracked spines. A few armchairs are scattered around, making for cozy reading spots, their upholstery well-worn on the arms.
I love this place. It’s old—not crumbling-castle old, but older than any modern mall bookstore that looks as though all the shelving had been assembled with a single Allen wrench.
I grab the first book I see—its gilded leather cover just screams historic in a way I can’t resist.
“You’re holding that upside down.”
I don’t shriek, but the sound I make isn’t a dignified one. I spin around, clutching the book against my chest. There, only a step away, is a man. Tall, pale, and wearing an old-fashioned suit that looks tailored in a way that someone with generational wealth could pull off.
“Oh, I wasn’t reading it,” I say, flipping the book around with some exaggerated confidence. “Just checking out the binding.”
“Ah.” His mouth quirks slightly. “Of course.”
That’s when his slight accent hits me, it’s vaguely European. Maybe something older, more forgotten. It curls around the edges of his words like candle smoke.
I should walk away instead of asking the question I already know the answer to. “Do you work here?”
“No, I just go around correcting tourists when they’re wrong,” he says with a deadpan affectation I can’t tell if he’s being honest or if his humor is just incredibly dry.
“Oh, well, I’m not a tourist, not really.” I hold a hand out. “Hi, I’m Daphne.”
Instead of taking my hand, he offers me a shallow bow of his head. “Barnaby. You must be new here, I don’t think we’ve met.”
“I waitress over at Ted’s, and I’m…” I’m not sure what to call whatever my relationship is. But standing here telling a stranger what we are for the first time, I can see the word clearly in my mind. “I’m dating Andri.” I tuck my unshaken hand around the ancient tome I’m holding.
His brows perk up. “Andri, well he’s quite the catch, congratulations.”
“I think so.” I smile.
“How are you finding Hallow’s Cove?” He sits on the edge of a desk, as if finding out that I’m a townie puts him immediately at ease.
“It’s lovely, I find it so interesting—I really want to know more about the history of how it came to be.”
I do. I feel it now that I’m with the man I love, that there’s a magic undercurrent to this place.
“Oh, there are all kinds of interesting tidbits about this place I could tell you. Did you know that the hair salon used to be the town morgue?” He grins.
“Oh! That’s kind of spooky, but cool!” I make a mental note to avoid getting my hair cut there, as I’m firmly a Hallmark holiday movie girl, and not a horror movie one. But besides the creepy factor, it is incredibly interesting.
“It was indeed a charming, spooky time then.”
I blink. Did he just say charming times about a town mortuary?
“You know a lot about this town, I take it?”
“You could say I know the most.” He smiles for only a second as something sharp glints in the corner of his mouth. “I founded it.”
I chuckle nervously. “Sure, and I’m Martha Washington.”
He doesn’t laugh.
The pale man looks at me with eyes that are very old. Not old in a wrinkled and weary way—but just lit with a depth that only time can fuel.
The realization of what he is hits me like a bucket of cold water to the face. The darkness, the pale skin, the sharp tooth in his mouth.
“Oh my god, you’re a primary source!” I say with glee.
His lips twitch, in an almost laugh. “That’s…one way to say it. I’m actually a—”
“Vampire, yeah, duh.”
“You’re not concerned?” His brows shoot up, like this isn’t the normal reaction he gets.
“Me? I’m dating a yeti, it’s gonna take more than ‘I’m a vampire’ if you’re going for shock factor. A primary source!” I repeat even louder, because apparently when it comes to my love of history I can’t control myself. “I’ve got so many questions—I should sit down.”
He gestures toward the sitting area like a gentleman who has done this a thousand times before—leading overwhelmed mortals to cushions where they might faint.
“First, how old are you?” I plop into one of the nearby worn chairs and drop the leather book onto the side table next to it.
He tilts his head. “Do you want the truth?”
“Yes!”
“A few centuries.”
“Oh my god, you are a historian's dream,” I breathe. “Is this town that old? I thought this place was just like…quaint, maybe settled as a tourist town in the last twenty years or so—something recent. Is it as ancient as you?”
Barnaby wrinkles his brow. “I’m not ancient, merely old enough to have layers.”
“Layers,” I repeat. “Like a historical onion.”
“I suppose, but no—the town isn’t as old as I am, but older than you assumed.” He almost smiles. I think I just made a vampire almost smile with an onion joke.
I open my mouth to barrage him with questions about actual dates, why such a small town would need a morgue, and if he knows any historical figures when I hear the front door creak.
“Andri,” I say automatically, head snapping up.
I can feel him before I see him. It’s like our closeness is forming a bond, and his energy feels like a warm blanket wrapped around my shoulders.
He walks straight over to me, after a curt nod to the vampire my opposite, shoulders tight and hand resting against the front left pocket of his jorts.
“Daphne.” He forces a tight smile. “Ready?”
I stand to leave, but don’t miss the way Barnaby watches him with amusement. Like he knows something I don’t.
“Babe,” I say softly, touching his arm. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yes,” he mutters way too fast. “Fine, everything is just fine. We gotta go, though. Nice to see you, Barnaby!”
He’s jittery, the mystery-thrift-bag energy still radiating off him despite it no longer being in his arms.
“Okay,” I say slowly. “Let’s head back, I’m excited to check out the parade.”
Barnaby rises from his chair, giving me a small nod.
“A pleasure, Daphne.”
“You too—and don’t think you got out of our little interview. I promise to dig into that old brain of yours soon!”
The vampire makes a face that’s something between a smile and a grimace as my snowman ushers me outside as if the building’s on fire.
We reach the ice rink on the edge of the parade route.
Tourists and townies alike gather with blankets, folding chairs, and thermoses.
Lights strung up twinkle overhead, and cheerful holiday music blares from speakers mounted to the lampposts.
The standard holiday repertoire: sleigh bells, cheerful jingles, and people pretending that their noses are freezing.
Andri has set up two chairs from the back of his truck and throws a down blanket over my lap hastily. It catches the tip of my nose, and I drag it off my face.
“Andri,” I start gently, “what in the world is going on with you?”
He opens his mouth, maybe in an attempt to tell me, but a sudden engine roar drowns him out.
A Jeep, familiar and blue, barrels down Main Street. It stops almost dead in front of the diner across the street, and illegally parks in the disabled spot behind my snowman’s truck. The tires are half on the curb when the driver’s side door opens and slams shut. Hard.
My stomach drops, because I know that car, that posture, and that deeply misguided overconfidence.
It’s Gerald.
And trailing behind him on her cane, but moving with surprising speed, is his grandmother, Nan.
“Oh no,” I whisper.
“Oh yes,” Andri mutters grimly.
The old woman reaches me first, her breath puffing visibly in the cold. Her chenille jacket is buttoned all the way up to the top, and her eyes are sharp enough to slice steel as she glares at me.
“Daphne, my dear!” She says, grabbing my hands like this is some kind of homecoming instead of the ambush that it is. “We need to talk.”
Behind her, Gerald stands like a little awkward coward. His hands are shoved into his pockets as he tries his best to make eye contact with me like he didn’t run out of this town with his tail tucked between his legs before.
I look over at Andri, my hands still held by my ex’s grandmother. “I need to talk with them, sort things out,” I tell him gently. He steps closer, as if letting me know he’s here for backup.
But I know if I don’t do this on my own, to really speak my truth to them, that I’ll keep falling into the habits that broke me enough to want a man who was so terrible to me.
Andri’s helped foster a woman who knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to push boundaries, and other people’s comfort, to get it.
“Alone, I need to do this alone.”
He lets out a quick burst of air before stepping back and walking further down the street.
“You were always so kind,” his grandmother starts as soon as Andri is out of earshot.
The look she gives me is so heartbreakingly earnest that it would be sweet if she wasn’t bulldozing all my boundaries at this moment.
“So I’ll be honest, I’m shocked that you’d be willing to throw all of this”—she gestures back to Gerald behind her—“away!”
I blink. “Throw what away?"
“Your future, dear, a name you can be proud of—a legacy to uphold with the Van Kleeth family.”
“I don’t want his name,” I tell her simply.
“I want to give it to you,” my ex adds uselessly.
The sound of his voice makes my lip curl, and I glare at him as he retreats behind the old woman.
“Do you know that he cheated on me? That he told me having a mistress was going to be part of our marriage?”
Nan pats my hands sympathetically. “Darling, he’s reformed now.”
Gerald nods nervously. “Yes, very reformed.”
“And besides, the Van Kleeths can’t handle another scandal on my grandson’s hands.”
“Oh,” I say flatly.
“I told him, and it’s what I said when you first arrived here, that I would remove him from the will if he doesn’t marry you, and I meant it. He won’t inherit a cent.”
Gerald winces but doesn’t deny it.
I’m frozen in shock. It’s bad enough that I thought he was cheating on me but had loved me before. But now I find out that our entire relationship was based on the fact that once we were caught, if he didn’t marry me, he would be written out of his family’s money.
“And besides,” she adds, straightening her spine with indignation. “Silly girls don’t leave a Van Kleeth, not after he’s offered you a chance to elevate yourself. Gerald, come.” She beckons him like a lapdog.
She places my left hand in his, and I watch in horror as he slides the heavy diamond, the one I last saw when I was I was dropping it unceremoniously into a cardboard envelope, onto my ring finger.
The worm of man looks up at me and smiles. I’m in such a state of shock that I do nothing for a minute but stare back at him. But soon my heart jumpstarts, and I rip my hands out of their grasp.
“Saving face, that’s what our entire relationship was about?”
They stare as if I’ve suddenly started speaking Russian.
Nan’s mouth works without sound, and Gerald looks like someone just unplugged his brain.
I wrench the diamond from my finger and throw it, again and for the last time, squarely between his eyes.