Page 12 of Haunted Hearts
“Never.”
“Well, we’re done here.”
“Fantastic.”
At this point, all I want is to get out of here. I’ve tried to be nice to Lydia, to go along with her weird obsession with this building and quell some of her fears, but it’s not working. The only thing this walkthrough has succeeded in doing is making Lydia hate me more, which, alarmingly, I’m finding pretty attractive.
I fumble for the zipper on my jacket, tug it upwards.
The next thing I know, Lydia’s shrieking in my ear, and Nancy’s thundering into the foyer to see what the hell’s going on. It takes me a minute to realize what Lydia’s howling about, and when I do, I panic.
That long, silky hair of hers? That I’ve been walking around here fantasizing about? That that other guy wants to pull?
Yeah, it’s caught in my zipper. And Lydia’s face is right near my chest, and she’spissed.
“Holy shit,” I stammer. “How did that even happen? Why was your hair evennearmy zipper?”
I have no clue what to do. Unzip? Or will that make it worse? Lydia’s hair smells like vanilla and it’s really fucking distracting, so I pull back slightly to get away from its heavenly softness.
“Stop moving!” Lydia demands. “Every time you move, it pulls!”
I can see that Nancy, although flustered by the awkwardness of it all, is trying her hardest not to burst into laughter. She leaves the room once more and comes back with a pair of scissors. She gives them a little snip in the air, which sends Lydia back to howling.
“Sorry, honey,” Nancy says, her voice apologetic although she’s stifling a smile. “Hold still.”
She snips, setting us free, and pats Lydia on the back. She chuckles. “I guess you just didn’t want Will to leave.”
Lydia shoots her a death glare, and Nancy leaves the foyer, scissors in hand, shoulders shaking as she enters the office. I zip my jacket for real this time. Lydia’s blushing furiously, and I’m still fighting my hard-on. Beautiful as she is, she’s coming across as childish. I’ve had one too many weird encounters with this woman for a single morning, and I’m out.
“Listen,” I say to her as she examines the ends of her hair. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but… all our other issues aside, you need to move on. Let the past go. It’s not a good look for you.”
And with that, I walk out, leaving her standing in the foyer, fuming. It’s only when I get to my truck and unzip my jacket again that the snipped ends of Lydia’s hair fall from the teeth of the zipper and into my lap. I slide them into my jacket pocket—I can’t help it, they smell so fucking good—and drive.
eight
LYDIA
Dylan: Been thinking about you. About your mouth. I miss you.
Lydia: Yeah?
Dylan: Yeah. Wanna come over?
Lydia: You’re laying it on kind of thick.
Dylan: I am kind of thick.
Lydia: Good night, Dylan.
Ihaven’t had to see Will Holloway since the stakeholder meeting on Monday, which is a huge fucking relief, given that our last interaction had me with my hair in his damn zipper. After the incident with the coffee, the embarrassment of the meeting, and that absolute joke of a walkthrough, I really didn’t need any other shit to go down between us. It didn’t help that Nancy was shaking with laughter for the rest of the afternoon.
But I’m not thinking about that today. It’s a glorious Saturday morning, and Autumn and I have made our way down to the harbor for the weekend Farmers Market. It’s sunny, but the air is chilly enough for a sweater, especially with the breeze coming off the sea. It’s the kind of crisp fall morning I live for here in Hawthorne Bay.
Autumn jabs me in the ribs. “Are those caramel apples?”
I look where she’s pointing. Sure enough, rows of golden apples stuck with popsicle sticks cover a nearby table. “Looks like it. You want one?”
“In a minute.” Autumn’s already veering off toward a different table, where rows of glass jars filled with various kinds of herbs and dried fruits sit lined up. My arm’s linked with hers, and I’m yanked along behind her. “I’m pretty sure these are cocktails you can make at home.”
