“How did that go?” I asked skeptically.
“She only opened the door a crack.” He plowed through some fries, unconcerned with Heaven. “She mentioned something about not feeling well.”
“So, what do people do in town these days?” I asked, changing the subject as casually as I could. “I’ve been gone so long. I forgot how early everything closes.”
“I know what you mean,” he said. “Going home is always unsettling.It’s the same, but not.” A conflicted expression flickered across his face.
Visiting my hometown in Romania after several regime changes and a heavy Communist architectural shift—now that had been unsettling.
Commiserating, I said, “It’s hard to know if it’s me or the town. Something changed, though.”
“It might be you,” he said.
I gave him a closed-lip smile, holding my secrets tight. “Ten years is a long time.” Not really, at least for me, but he was young.
When he seemed satisfied with my answer, I asked again, “So what do people do here these days?”
“It’s probably the same as when you grew up, a lot of hiking, fishing, skiing, canoeing, camping. The dog park is popular.”
Being a vampire was creepy enough; I didn’t have to add to it by floating around on an inky black lake at midnight. I wasn’t trying to get staked out here. Also, no night vision. Sorry, Anne Rice fans.
“Anything less wholesome?” I asked.
“You’d have to ask the therapist.” He raised an eyebrow. “She’s pretty popular lately.”
“Do you go?” I asked, taking a sip of scotch without breaking eye contact.
After a beat of silence, he said, “Yes.”
“Why?”
“I’ll tell you if you tell me why you really have a coffin.”
I raised an eyebrow. “I’ve heard men in therapy make great boyfriends.”
“I’ve heard the same about women with coffins.”
I leaned in closer to Tyrone and his heartbeat ticked up, his blood running faster, the big vein in his neck throbbing noticeably, to me at least. I bit my lip, and his eyes shifted to my mouth.
I was probably just thirsty. After a week of coconut water, the scent of iron tickled my nose, along with the prospect of a man who was too big for his barstool. I tore my eyes away from the delicious treat in front of me and took a swig of scotch, a mouthful of dirt to distract me from Tyrone.
“So the therapist—she’s very popular?” I swirled my scotch. “What problems could anyone in Valentine have? It’s just so…picture-perfect.”
He laughed. “Tiffany, how much have you forgotten? We’ve all got dark sides. And secrets.”
“What are your secrets, Tyrone?”
“Oh, I have my demons,” he said, with more earnestness than I expected. “Eleanor has her work cut out fixing me,” he joked, clearly trying to lighten the mood before it got dark. But the darkness drew me in. I wanted to know more. What was Tyrone hiding?
Gary interrupted. “Tyrone’s not nearly as messed-up as the locals.”
Another transplant. I cocked my head and asked Tyrone, “So what’s your story?”
“Well, you know some of it probably—”
“Refresh my memory,” I said with a smile.
“I came up because of the trees, and Jeff’s family.”
