No answer. The wind rustles through the trees.
Hold on—Donny knows I’m here. Understanding settles over me, and I let out a small laugh.
Is Donny messing with me right now?
Probably. But honestly, that’s kind of funny, and if he is, I can’t afford to make a bad impression.
I’m opening my mouth to yell ‘DING DONG’ loud enough to make the crows fly out of the trees, when the door opens.
Nico stands in front of me, and all the words I was about to say flee my brain.
He’s traded yesterday’s leather jacket for a plain black hoodie and jeans that hug him inallthe right places. Even the slouchy hoodie can’t hide the way his chest and shoulders fill it out. I notice a couple of seconds too late that I’m staring at him, because he’s even more gorgeous than I remembered. How is that possible?
I’ve been around good-looking guys before, but no man has ever made me feel likethis, like… my entire body got plugged into a live wire. I pull my eyes back up to his because standing here gaping at him is not the good impression I need to make.
“Do you make everyone do that? The ‘ding dong’ thing?” I jerk my thumb at the sign. “Does the mailman do it?”
Bob growls from between my feet, sounding very threatening for something that weighs less than a water bottle.
Nico’s expression is unreadable. “Why did you come here?”
“I accepted Donny’s job offer.”
“You need to leave,” he says, his voice urgent and almost desperate. “Right now.”
I shouldn’t be surprised. I should have expected this. Yesterday, he looked about as happy as Bob at the vet when Donny offered me this job. I shouldn’t have made so many jokes about punching him in the face.
But I really need help. I can’t just go back to my car and hope I make it through the night.
“I know yesterday was weird,” I say, “and I’m sorry for going back on what I said, but Donny told me to come here, and I need?—”
“What do you need?” Nico steps onto the porch with such intense energy that I step away from him. “More salt? Iron? Ican teach you some basic protection techniques. Give you some supplies. But you can’t stay here.”
“I need this job,” I say. “I need to learn what’s going on, because I had no way of protecting myself when a dead guy rearranged my organs in my car last night, and I don’t want that to happen again.”
Nico opens his mouth to reply, but then his brain seems to catch up to my words. “Excuse me?”
“A dead guy came up through the floor of my car and stabbed his hand inside my stomach?” I make a claw with my hand, miming the motion. Nico still looks serious. I can’t help myself. “In case it wasn’t clear, I meant he rearranged my organs in a literal, very bad way—not in a figurative, very good way that would make me want him to do it again.”
“I know what you meant,” he says, deadpan.
“Right.” I give him a close-lipped smile. “Can I come in?”
Nico grabs the door, and I get the sinking feeling that he’s about to slam it in my face.
“Nicholas, is that Eden?” Donny’s muffled voice carries from somewhere down the hallway. “Can you show her to my office?”
Nico closes his eyes. It’s obvious he’d rather doanythingelse, but he throws a sharp, “Yes,” over his shoulder and turns into the house.
I guess that’s my cue.
I step into a narrow entrance hall, patting my leg to encourage Bob to follow. The lighting in here is dim, and it smells of mothballs and cinnamon candles. There’s a coat rack to my right covered with jackets of all colors and sizes, umbrellas, baseball caps, and one of those old-timey felt hats the newsies wore in the musical. The wainscoting is dark wood, but the upper part of the wall is covered by detailed floral wallpaper, which in turn is decorated by watercolor paintings of birds. Shoes of all styles and sizes have been piled by the door, whichmeans more people live here than just Nico and Donny, and at least one of them is a girl, unless Nico is squeezing his feet into those tiny wedge sandals.
I untie my boots but leave my jacket on, then turn toward Nico, whose hands are shoved in his pockets as he watches me.
Mom used to say that people deserve the benefit of the doubt, that sometimes people are having a bad day or carrying stuff we can’t see. As a kid, I struggled with that. I got especially bad at it after the murders. I’d get so angry at everyone and everything that I couldn’t see past my pain to notice anyone else’s, but I’m trying to be better now. I’m trying to be the kind of person she’d be proud of.
“Nice place you got here,” I say. “Is Norman Bates your interior decorator?”
