Page 27 of When Fences Fall
“Nothing at all?” His voice sounds funny.
“Nope.”
“Okay.”
After a few moments of letting the silence hang between us, I shift my body, careful not to flash him. The cold has not been kind to me, and I feel it down to my bones. Jericho is quiet next to me, but I sense the tension in his stillness. He seems to be analyzing every word, trying to fit them into some observation of me. I know from experience that keeping him guessing is the best strategy.
“So, do you want coffee or something?”
“I guess I could stay for a bit,” he replies with a nonchalant shrug.
“Great! I’ll be right back!”
A normal person would invite him inside, but I’m not normal. I’m scared he’d look too good in my house. And it’s a very scary thought. So I leave him sitting in my yard with the slow-rising sun starting to lighten the sky.
11
Jericho
My ass is nearly freezing and a little damp while I wait for Nora to come back to the yard. I’m not sure what I’m doing here, but what I do know is that I got too excited at the prospect of freezing in her company. Which is a big reason on its own to run straight home.
Looking around, I notice how cozy her backyard is. There’re a few bushes of witch hazel growing along the fence that I can’t see from my window. I know the plant because my mom used to grow those when we lived in Maine before and had a giant yard. A wave of something nostalgic tickles my nose, and I scratch the uncomfortable feeling away.
When Nora comes out a few minutes later, wearing—sadly—pants and a sweater, she hesitates for a second before placing a yellow mug of something steaming and cinnamon scented on the ground next to me.
“Wait a second.” She runs back into the house and comesback with a soft, brown throw. “Even though I’m enjoying the view, I don’t want you to freeze to death.”
“Thanks.” I accept the throw with a chuckle and wrap it around myself.
“It’s coffee. Spiked with Grandma’s famous liquor,” she adds with a wink, pointing at the mug by my side. “Might as well wake up with a kick.” With a smile, she shrugs one shoulder, brings a mug to her lips, and takes a sip. “Mmm” comes out as a low moan that goes straight to my groin. “This is so good.”
“Yeah,” I rasp back, trying to sound unaffected by the sound of her mouth.
“You haven’t even tried it.” She smiles, pointing at my mug.
“It’s warm, so it already feels good.” I salute the cup in the air, making her smile grow wider.
“True.” She takes another sip, staring at her spiked coffee.
After a long stretch of uncomfortable silence where neither of us knows what to say, I ask, “Where’s Moon?”
Her brows draw together. “Which one?”
“Your grandma.”
“At Cheryl’s,” she replies with a heavy sigh.
“Your sister?”
“Yeah. The cop you called on me when I was in the middle of my ritual?” She shoots an accusing look my way, but there’s a teasing edge to it.
“You were trespassing.” I feel my lip begin twitching.
“Semantics.” She gives a dramatic shrug, enjoying this.
“Naked.” I drop my voice like it’s a scandalous secret just between us.
She puffs her lips, pretending to be annoyed. “Details.”
