Page 87 of A Dead Girl's Guide to Living
“Want to hear a secret?” Dove asked, her voice a little quieter. I glanced at her. “I scattered some of Margaret here.”
I looked around and nodded. “It’s an appropriate location.”
Dove’s eyes searched mine. “Are you okay?”
It took me a second to find my voice.
“Yeah,” I said quickly—too quickly. “I’m good.”
She didn’t push, as was her way. She just gave me a long, searching look for a moment, then smiled softly and headed up the steps of the general store.
Watching without prying. Feeling without asking. It was both infuriating and oddly comforting, and I was trying to figure out if it was just who she was, or if she actually had some kind of psychic ability.
When I’d broken down in the field and lost it, she’d been there. Kind. Patient. Understanding. She hadn’t pushed me to reveal my deepest emotions. She didn’t make fun of me or scoff. She’d just let me be—placing that steadying hand on my back in a way that made me catch my breath, offering calm conversation and compromise like it was second nature.
She had just been so solid without being a force.
I’d been filled with a warmth I’d long since forgotten, and when I leaned into her and her hand relaxed... it had been all but a breath of a moment. Barely anything.
But it had happened.
And I’d felt it deeply enough that I was still thinking about it now.
The warmth that continued to flare up in my chest every time she looked at me with that thoughtful, casually interested expression? It simmered inside me like a pot coming to a boil, and I didn’t know what to do with that.
It wasn’t like I was unfamiliar with attraction. I’d experienced it long ago with Alexis. It was just inconvenient, after all the vows and promises I’d made to myself. Promises not to allow those feelings again. Not to get close enough to anyone to hurt them the way I had hurt—
I sucked in a sharp breath and rubbed my temple.
And yet I kept looking at her. Kept... waiting for her to look at me.
I stood outside the general store, trying to pull myself together under the warm Missouri sun, pretending I couldn’t remember what it felt like to wake up beside Dove this morning with her face turned toward me, eyes closed, long dark lashes casting shadows. But this was all too up in the air. Too untrustworthy.
What I could trust were maps. Laminated binders. Itineraries. I could trust knowing how much time I had left in this life, so I didn’t waste it on false starts and doomed hopes, or on tearing apart people I cared about.
“Hey!” Dove’s voice called from inside the store as her head popped around the doorframe. “You coming in? Liv lied. It’s totally not haunted.”
I blinked and swallowed, taking an unsteady step forward. “Right. Yes. I’m coming.”
Her grin widened before she disappeared back inside.
My palms itched. My mouth was dry.
I was a goddamn lesbian cliché. Four and a half days on the road—according to Liv—and I was crushing on Dove like a schoolgirl finding the only other lesbian in her year. I was wantingsomething.
And that scared me more than any ghost that hated me, or any eternal haunting she threatened.
I’d bookedus a motel in Joplin while Dove took the wheel. She hummed along to Chappell Roan’s “Pink Pony Club,” drumming her fingers on the wheel while Liv sang in the back, running her hands through her hair and, once again, demanding we put the roof down, which I hardno’d.
I didn’t even know why I said no. It just felt good to deny her. In some sick way that I’d probably need to unpack in therapy... Yeah, try explaining this to Dr. Morgan.
The motel rating was decent enough. The photos didn’t scream serial killer, and I was putting a lot of faith in the 3.9-star Google review.
Joplin had been my compromise.
We could still go to the drive-in, but we were closer to Tulsa.
When Dove pulled into the motel lot, I decided it looked acceptable enough. Off-white stucco with blue trim—well, some blue trim. It kind of looked like someone had gone for coastal chic and just given up halfway through, because half the trim was missing. A neonV_C_NCYsign blinked in what appeared to be exhausted intervals, and honestly, I couldn’t blame it.
