She’d pulled out the ponytail at some point, so her shiny black hair fell in a messy waterfall over her shoulders. Her nose was red from crying for quite a while afterward. Her eyes were still puffy from crying and lack of sleep. Bags under them too, and some dark circles. And her fingers were a little greasy from the popcorn, since she’d drowned it inbutter.
Even so, he itched to pull her close, to slip an arm around her shoulders and have her scooch up next to him, especially now that he realized Baxter had been totally wrong when he said Leslie had “been with” someone the other night. Clearly, she’d just been sitting at a table with this John Fischer person—which remindedhim…
He’d been meaning to call his cousin Teddy about the guy. She’d know any scoop there was to know about the novelist Jeremy, aka John, Fischer—whoever he was—being a big bestselling author herself. Whether the guy was a player, whether he was married. Anythingimportant.
But for now, Declan just settled in quietly, enjoyed the show, and, even more, enjoyed the anticipation that sometime soon, he’d be doing exactly what he wanted to be doing. Sometime when the time was right. When she wasn’t dealing with her grief sostrongly.
Much as he wanted to move in, he didn’t feel like it was right. Not tonight. Not when he was there just tocomfort.
But man oh man…he really wanted to kiss her. To get closer…especially since he was pretty damn sure she wasn’t wearing abra.
The very thought of that…the temptation…theknowledgewas just about enough to killhim.
* * *
When Leslie gotup to use the toilet and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she nearlyshrieked.
Oh my God, I look like ahag!
She brushed her hair, brushed her teeth, put on some lip gloss, and snagged a bra from her bedroom—good thing her hoodie was loose; surely he hadn’t noticed—and even shucked her sweats to pull on a pair of leggings. No wonder Declan was keeping hisdistance.
She checked her pits—thank God she didn’t stink; shehadshowered early this morning before she decided to be schlumpy all day. Finally, she returned to the livingarea.
“I’m hungry. Are you? Do you want something toeat?”
He looked up at her and she felt rather than saw a flare of definite interest—and a very improper mental response to her question—and then he smiled. “You’re hungry? After eating almost that whole bowl ofpopcorn?”
“Come on out to the kitchen. I feel like I could pull together the energy to make something to eat that doesn’t have a whole stick of butter onit.”
“Shit, really? A whole stick? I can feel my arteries clogging as we speak.” He stood, giving Leslie the opportunity to admire the way his rugged jeans hung just perfectly: fitting closely in the right places, and relaxed in others. She’d been too busy sobbing earlier tonotice.
“So I’ve been getting almost nightly visits from my ghostly friend,” she said, opening the fridge to see what she could throwtogether.
“Youhave?”
She glanced over her shoulder. He looked utterly stunned. “Yes. And no, I haven’t gone running away. I’ve slept here every night—well, almost every night in the last week. I spent Saturday at Cherry’s because I had a couple too many beers at the Roost.” She pulled out some queso fresco, cilantro, and fresh corn tortillas. “I hope you like Mexican. Juanita’s been giving me all sorts ofpointers.”
“It goes great with beer,” he said, eyeing her—or maybe it was the tortillas—with appreciation. No, it washer.
She smiled to herself.Patience is a virtue, and anticipation is agift.
“Have you figured out anything about what it wants? Theghost?”
“I’ve asked her. She hasn’t really answered me other than to point angrily at me—or down the stairs. I’m not sure which. And there’s that sound of something rolling downstairs, so I think she fell down and that’s how she died.” Leslie found two ripe avocados and a couple of beefsteak tomatoes in her fruit bowl. Then she went back to the fridge to retrieve some cooked chicken she had left over from the othernight.
“There was a woman named Dorothy Duchene who disappeared.” She went on to tell him about the missing woman and the theory she and Cherry and the others had discussed at the Roost. “It could be her. The clothing is the right timeperiod.”
“But the ghost isn’t being…destructive, is it? What happens during these—uh—visits?”
“They don’t last very long. Ten minutes, maybe fifteen. Rufus has only experienced it once—last night—and he wasn’t very keen on it. All that hair of his standing on end was quite a sight.” Shechuckled.
“So you don’t believe you’re…in danger. From the ghost, Imean?”
Leslie grimaced. “So far, she just seems to be sort of throwing her weight around. So to speak. Loud, windy, creepy—but so far her bark is worse than her bite. It’s usually around two, two thirty. And there’s this music that’s always playing in the background…I feel like if I could place it, that mighthelp.”
“Can you sing it or hum it? Maybe I canhelp.”
“I can do better than that—I actually recorded it on Monday night. It’s not great sound quality, but you can hear it if you listen hard.” She went over to stand next to him, maneuvering through her phone to find the voice memo. “Here, listen. Cherry and Orbra didn’t recognize it, but maybe youwill.”
