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Through the cafe window, Mom’s watching. She sends a stern glance my way.

“You’re Ellery. I’m Nick. Get in.”

For a second she doesn’t move, and I get the distinct sense I’m being priced. She marches toward the van, struggling to keep a hold of the basket and the flasks. Her scent swirls alongside the coffee and pastries. Nothing like what I found in the clearing. I breathe it in again without deciding to, which is the last thing I need right now.

I text Mom while I wait.

We are going to discuss this tomorrow.

She digs her phone out of her apron and gives me one of those irritating, knowing smiles.

If I weren’t immortal, that woman would be the death of me.

Seven hours.

Chapter 9

Ellery

Prickly is not the word I would’ve used to describe this man.

Obnoxious. Arrogant. Asshole.

Once again, one of us needs a thesaurus. He managed three sentences on the sidewalk, and one was an order.

My new boss is the same dick who pointed at a mountain and then watched me have a breakdown in the rain. Now I’m stuck with him for the next seven hours.

Naturally, he stood there texting while I hauled myself into this impossibly high tour van one-handed, using the grab handle like I’m boarding a horse, a basket of snacks and two flasks in the other arm. Would it have killed him to help? Probably.

Play nice, Ellery.

I need this job. I need tonight to go well. So far, he hasn’t acknowledged our previous encounter, and I have to assume he wants to pretend it never happened as much as I do. Which is one minuscule blessing.

In silence, we drive up the mountain that Gary navigated when he dumped me here. Up front there are two plush seats and a console down the middle with cup holders and buttons for the stereo. A barrier we’re presumably both grateful for. The heat’s off, and I tuck my hands under my thighs. The leather gives beneath me as it warms. In a canvas jacket, flannel, and T-shirt, he doesn’t seem to feel the chill. There’s a hint of cool mist and something like clean stone coming from his direction, but no air freshener anywhere I can see.

“Do you have any experience in hospitality?” He doesn’t take his eyes off the road.

“No.”

“Great,” he mutters, and shuts up for another mile. “The routine is pretty much the same every night we go out. We pick up the guests, we greet them, you hand them a water and a blanket. I’ll drive us around to find the best spots to see the lights. We set up camp. You serve refreshments. Pack up, go home. Easy.”

Maybe prickly might apply after all.

“I am capable of basic customer service.”

Not the best way to befriend my boss. Wait, befriend? I’m aiming too high. I just need him to tolerate me enough not to fire me.

The van hurtles through the trees, the last smudge of dusk draining from the sky. Soon, there’ll be nothing but dark.

“I’ll go through the process of making camp when we arrive. Do not wander off.”

A tight corner throws me against the door, and he takes his eyes off the road to make his point. I grip the seat and wonder if I’m going to die tonight.

“I repeat, do not wander off.”

“I’m not a child,” I mutter. Ellery, shut up.

Blame the air out here, or being alone, but my politeness filter has taken a vacation around this guy.