“We did hear ghosts!” Nikki whispers as we enter the building.
“Sounds like we’re not the only ones.”
“I’m fascinated with Aliza Binkerhoff. I need to know more.”
Ooookay. Christ, she entertains me.
We spend the next while sampling various wines and being informed of the story behind the winery. The next one is Feywood Cellars, and we wrap up the tour with a stop at Whispering Vines before being chauffeured back to the inn to get ready for dinner.
I’m in the bathroom washing up when I hear it—the notes of an acoustic guitar. I go still, listening.
I don’t recognize the tune. It’s slow and halting. Then stops. Starts again.
Will she stop if I go out there? I don’t want to chance it so I sit on the bed with my back against the headboard to listen. It sounds like she’s creating something new. But she’s not singing.
When she stops and doesn’t restart, I go back out to the living room. She’s sitting, still holding the guitar, and looks up at me.
Our eyes connect, and hold. And hold. I don’t know what to say and I can’t read the look on her face. Finally, she says, “I did it.”
“Yeah. You did.” I can’t stop my smile.
She stands and carries the guitar back to its case and carefully puts it away. “I’ll go get ready.”
I grab a beer from the fridge and sit down with my phone, but I don’t even see the screen. I’m too distracted by Nikki playing her guitar and what it means.
* * *
Back in Hoboken, Nikki regards her suitcase and purses her lips. “I shouldn’t bother unpacking. I really have to go back to my apartment.”
My head jerks back and a coldness seizes my insides. “Why?”
She shrugs. “I’m sure the media has moved on to other things now. I doubt they’re still stalking my apartment.”
“There wasn’t anyone there when I went to pick up your things,” I admit. “But as soon as someone in the neighborhood sees you, they could be back.”
She nods slowly, looking torn. “I suppose.”
“Do you want to go home?”
She stares at the suitcase. “I have to.”
“Not the question, Nikki.”
She still doesn’t look at me.
I’m not used to working this hard with women. It’s always been easy for me to find someone to hook up with, date a few times, have some fun, and then move on. But Nikki is complicated.
I’m not surewhyI’m trying this hard. I keep reminding myself this isn’t going to end well for me. It’s hard. I want her here. I want her here every minute I can get her. I want her to be safe. And I’m going to get my nuts kicked in for my troubles, I just know it.
She’s clearly having an internal debate about this. “Okay,” she finally says. “I’ll stay.”
I let out a long exhalation. “Okay.”
My phone pings with a text message. I pull out my phone. It’s from Mabel.
Mabel
Hey can we come over tonight?
