“Exactly,” I said, grabbing my perfume. “I don’t know who the fuck I thought I was, but I paid for it and showed up like I wasn’t scared of ghosts.”
He laughed and leaned back on his elbows. “That’s some real tourist shit. What happened?”
“So boom,” I said, walking toward him while misting perfume on my neck. “I get on the bus and it’s already lit. Then we get there, and the tour guide is like‘walk in backwards so the spirits don’t follow you home.’”
I nodded. “You ever seen twenty drunk women moonwalk into a cemetery like it’s Thriller?”
Maison was cracking up. “Please tell me someone fell.”
“Girl named Tasha tripped. Talking ‘bout ‘it was a spirit.’”
He fell back, laughing.
“And then, as if that wasn’t enough, a damn orb flies in front of us. I was about to call Uber Eats and ask if they deliver holy water.”
He covered his face, still laughing. “Why you ain’t call me?”
“Because I knew you was gonna clown me. Plus, I needed some solo chaos. My spirit been too still lately.” I walked over and saton the bed next to him. “But I promise you, I’ll ask you before I sign up for anything else.”
He smiled. “You got haunted on your own time, huh?”
“Yep.” I grinned. “But I survived. Now take me to eat.”
He sat up, pulled me close by the waist, and looked at me.
“You look so damn good right now, I might just skip dinner.”
“Boy, if you don’t…” I laughed, swatting him. “Let’s go before I end up needing another exorcism.”
He grabbed my hand and kissed it.
We pulled into a quiet neighborhood. As the car came to a stop in front of a modern home with soft porch lights glowing, I looked at Maison sideways.
“Um… whose house is this?” I asked, my lip curled in playful suspicion.
He looked at me and grinned like a man with too many secrets. “Mine.”
I blinked. “This is your house?”
“Yup.”
“Wait, so this is where we’re having dinner?”
He nodded.
I looked at him like he’d just told me Beyoncé was in the back making potato salad. “Why you ain’t say that?! I would’ve saved my edges and used a cheaper foundation. I came beat like we was going to a palace or something.”
He laughed. “Nah, I needed you at your best for this.”
My eyebrow arched. “This better not be no fast-food candlelight dinner situation, Maison.”
But when we walked in, the house greeted me with masculine charm and a hint of citrus. It was giving “single man who keeps a clean kitchen but don’t own no throw pillows.” Cozy, open floor plan, big TV, dim lighting.
But something was missing. Like… food.
I sniffed the air. Nothing.
Nothing bubbling on the stove. No fried aroma.
