“Do I have plans for Halloween?” I shrug. “I dunno. Maybe.”
He takes a sip of his drink and smacks his tongue against the roof of his mouth as if analyzing the notes of pumpkin and cloves. Satisfied, he gives me a smile. “Well, if you didn’t have plans, you do now.”
“I do, do I?”
“If you wanna earn your money back”—he leans closer—“and more, then, yeah. You do.”
My lips press together as I hold his stare, unwilling to give in and ask what, exactly, he has in mind while also knowing that if I don’t find the money for a new laptop, I’ll be screwed. “Hmm.”
“Do you know where the old carnival grounds are?” he asks.
“Why?”
“It’s a yes or no question.”
My eyes thin as I analyze him, caving despite my better judgment. “Fine. Yes, I know where the old carnival grounds are.”
“Wait for the text.”
“I didn’t agree to anything.”
“Of course not.” His eyes trail down my body. His examination is missing the heat that seemed to accompany his brother’s. “By the way, I like the hoodie.”
I look down at the stupid, baggy hoodie swallowing my body whole, just now realizing I’d forgotten to take it off when I’d caved earlier. The heater in my car wasn’t working. So, sue me. Folding my arms as if it’ll hide my outfit choice, I glare at Ford instead. “Anything else?”
He reaches for the cookie jar again. “I guess I could use another cookie?—”
I swat his hand away. “Go.”
Shrugging, he gives me the side-eye, then heads toward the exit. “See you around, Vi.”
And for some reason I don’t even want to fully admit to myself, I think he just might.
13
JAGGER
“How’s it going?” I ask as Ford slides into the booth at The Pelican. It’s an old bar on Main Street and has been around for as long as the town has. Ford asked us to meet here at eight. It’s nine-thirty. Bastard’s fashionably late, just like always. The irony isn’t lost on me. The man’s a fanatic for numbers, but only when it’s backed by dollar bills. Outside of money, he couldn’t care less.
Hawke follows after, setting down our third beers for the night. We drained two while waiting for our little brother to show.
“Good. Expensive as shit, but don’t worry, I’m staying on budget.” His mouth lifts, and he steals Hawke’s drink. “You’re not gonna believe what I’m doing to the haunted house.”
Hawke’s eyes thin as he watches Ford swallow down half his beverage. “What are you doing with the haunted house?” he asks.
“Aw, come on,” Ford jokes. “You don’t wanna be surprised?”
The idea alone is laughable. Hawke hates surprises. None of us like surprises, but Hawke despises them. So much so, he doesn’t even bother answering Ford’s rhetorical question as he turns back to me. “Do you know what he’s up to?”
“Do I ever?”
“Speaking of plans.” Ford rubs his hands together. “Roman, where would I order pig's blood in bulk?”
Hawke’s eyes widen. “Are you serious?”
With a deadpan look, Ford draws a cross over his chest. “As ED.”
Roman barely catches his amusement as he rubs at his jaw, looking bored. “Sounds promising.”
