“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.
