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She may slam a window when she catches me hovering outside, watching her.

And she definitely isn't ready to hear the word promised again.

That's okay.

For the first time in my life, I have purpose. And if Belinda Ramos needs proof that being mine doesn't mean she stops belonging to herself?

Then I'll give her all the proof she needs.

One cobblestone.

One ghost disco.

One fucking tomato at a time.

Chapter 23

Belinda

Tomorrow is Halloween.

Tomorrow is the official grand opening of Bell’s Books, Bed & Breakfast.

I should be worried about the fact that the extra sheets I ordered never arrived.

Or whether I double-checked every guest’s allergy information.

Or the fact that the Headless Horseman—yep, he’s real—has been seen every night this past week, riding through town and howling like a Banshee.

Or whether the vegetarian vampire bats will stay in their new roost instead of deciding my belfry is more luxurious.

A belfry that is finally bat-free, thanks to a certain Jersey Devil.

I should probably also worry about whether the ghosts will get tired of their new and improved disco sanctuary and start wandering the halls again.

I have a fully booked B&B. On Halloween. In Arrhythmia, Texas.

There are approximately six thousand things I should be thinking about. But I'm not thinking about any of them.

Nope. Not a one.

Instead, every thought in my head is centered on one infuriating male.

“Goddess damn it, Damian,” I mutter. “Why'd you have to turn out to be so sweet?”

Sparky looks up from where he's sprawled across one of the kitchen chairs.

“Don't judge me.”

He yawns.

“Asshole.”

I look down at the plate of pasta I made myself for dinner.

Nothing fancy. Just homemade ricotta gnocchi with fresh tomato sauce made from Damian's Brandywines, shaved Pecorino Romano, fresh basil, and enough garlic to make a Vampire reconsider his life choices.

Okay. Maybe it’s a little fancy.