Page 27 of Deep Feelings & Shallow Graves

She holds my gaze the whole time. “You’re such a freak,” she says.

“Only for you.”

And she smiles like that’s a perfectly normal thing to say. Like she understands exactly how dangerous this is between us.

“Dinner’s ready, by the way. If you’re hungry,” I say.

She glances at me sideways. “You really still want dinner after this?” She’s got ash on her collarbone. Maybe bone dust.

I want to kiss it.

“I do. I thought you might like something warm. And not screaming.”

She laughs. God help me, I love that sound. “Now?”

I shrug. “They’re not getting any deader.”

She gives me a look. Then grins. “I could eat.”

I lead her out, locking the door behind us and walk her to the room I’ve prepared.

The lights are low. I pour her a glass of wine while she washes her hands at the sink, humming something tuneless under her breath.

I plate the food: meat, roasted potatoes, green beans sautéed with garlic and a side of sauce for the meat. She stares at it like it’s magic.

We sit. She eats with real pleasure, licking sauce from her thumb like a woman who’s forgotten how to pretend. She’s smiling. Sated.

I have questions. But they’ll hold.

“I like you,” she says, out of nowhere.

“I know.”

She pauses, eyeing me. “You think you’ve got me figured out?”

“No,” I say, slicing into the roast. “But I think we both like our monsters tidy and our dinners hot. With sauce on the side where it belongs.”

She lifts her glass. “To sauce on the side.”

I clink mine against hers.

And we eat. We finish dinner like civilized people. Plates scraped clean, wine glasses empty, silence blooming between us not from discomfort but the kind of mutual understanding you usually only get after surviving something unspeakable together. Like a car crash. Or… body disposal.

Jennifer leans back in her chair, glass still in hand, watching me over the rim. “You’re a good cook,” she says finally. Something shifts behind her eyes. “I might need help of this nature again.”

“It’s a habit? Something serial?” I say.

“It is. There’s a need. In the world. And in me,” she says.

I want to pull my chair back, make room for her in my lap and assure her I’ll always be ready to burn the bodies. “It’s a small town. Perhaps you might consider strays from not so local shelters.”

“I am. Will. After the next. It’s already a whole thing with Derik… him.” She looks away.

“How do you pick them? Should I be afraid? Or does my cooking skills protect me?” I ask. I’m teasing of course.

She reads it. She’s clever.

“Your not going to suddenly turn into a neanderthal alpha asshole are you, Edgar?” She stands.

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