“Look at the night herons,” Cap says around Penny, his gaze lifted to the sprawling live oak canopy above us. “Crazy sons of bitches nest here every year.”
Nash is fully invested, adding, “Egrets too.”
The birds above us bark out squawks that nearly send me screaming like a banshee off the edge of the sea wall and into the bed of oysters that surround us.
I can’t shake the feeling there’s no gold to be found and we’re going to lose everything. And even though Nash said he would help—and I believe him—what then? Even if we pay the bills, the store is losing money. I can’t lean on outside financial support forever. My mom lost her retirement, we’ll lose our insurance—he can’t foot the bill for all that. That’s not even counting the cost of her surgery if we lose insurance.
Which is why I’m standing in front of the brick wall of St. Michael’s Church with a shovel in hand and zero fucks to give.
“You know this is a horrible idea,” Nash says, stance wide and arms folded over his canoe-covered chest.
“Says the man who once encouraged his students to break into the Fontain City Pool and fill it with tea bags so they had a greater understanding of how the colonists felt during the Boston Tea Party?” I assess the wall to figure out how I’m going to get over it. “Your concern is noted.”
“One,” he says, “I didn’t think they would listen. And two, that was Fontain. This is Charleston. And a historic cemetery. And you have a shovel. To dig up the graves of signers of the Constitution.”
I flip him off. I don’t care what he says.
“Hoist me over.”
He makes an annoyed sound. “This is insane.”
I look at him, one hand on my hip, the other holding the shovel. “You can either help me or go sit at your office with Cap and Sunny and wait for me to do it by myself. Either way, I’m doing this. With or without you.”
He fights a smile then kisses me on the mouth.
“You’re such a pain in the ass.”
“So you’ve said. Now, help me over.”
At the wall, he interlaces his hands together in a makeshift foothold, and I smile triumphantly. I lean the shovel off to the side, put a foot in his hands, then sling my leg over the top.
Heart pounding, I slide down the other side into the cemetery. Between the openings of the iron gate, Nash passes me the shovel.
It occurs to me I don’t know how I’m going to get out of here. I might be trapped in an old cemetery at night.
Nash reads my mind. “You’re freaking out.”
“Why did you let me do this?” I grip the shovel. “This—this is stupid.”
At this, Nash chuckles. His fingers wrap around the gate between us, and my hand not holding the shovel does the same.
His forehead rests on the bars. “It’s kind of fun though, right?”
My heartbeat vibrates my entire body,funthe last thing I expect him to say. I am a ball of anxious fear, and yet, I puff out a laugh. “I was thinking terrifying. But sure, fun works.”
And maybe it is fun.
He fights a smile. “I’m happy you’re here.”
The eerie cemetery, barely illuminated by streetlights, grows eerier with his words. “Let’s talk about our happiness over dinner when I’m done not dying.”
His eyes trap slivers of streetlight and dance. “Okay.”
“Okay.”
We hold each other’s gaze until someone passes on the sidewalk.
Nash leans his back against the gate to hide me. Over his shoulder, he says, “If you’re doing this, go. I don’t know how much time we have.”
