Page 9

“Okay, okay.” I laughed as I turned away from the table and started down the stretching hall, past the stairs with their elaborate banister, and over to the wide front door. “Keep your socks on,” I told Polo, who followed me closely, his tongue out and his panting mouth spread into a smile that matched my own.

I reached for the doorhandle, then paused to take a quick breath. I was acting like a dork, but I was just so happy to have my first guest since moving to Glenside. I’d been trying so hard to find a place in the community, and with Bastian, it seemed like I might be getting somewhere. Better still, Bastian was a hunk and a half. At least, he was my type. Tall, interesting, and sure of himself absolutely did it for me every time.

“Hi!” I said with way too much enthusiasm as soon as I pulled open the door.

Anything else I might have said dried up in my open mouth as I drank in the sight of him.

Did I say Bastian Gorman was handsome? He was so much more than that. He stood there in another long black coat, this one with a high collar that was decorated with silver studs. The same pattern of studs ran around the cuffs of his sleeves and the bottom hem of the coat. He had a black backpack slung over one shoulder, and atop his bright red hair he wore a black, wide-brimmed gambler hat.

“Good evening,” he said with a quick, solemn nod.

I couldn’t breathe for a second. My insides vibrated with delight and desire. Bastian’s expression was dead serious, but I totally got the vibe that he was playing a part and having a blast with it.

I loved it.

“I’m so glad you could come,” I blurted out in one breathy blast. “You look fantastic. I mean, come inside. I’ve got a whole house full of ghosts that need hunting. I’m sure Josaiah Fairfield won’t mind.”

I opened the door all the way, stood back, and gestured with my arm for Bastian to come inside and make himself at home. Polo stepped back with me, ears perked up and tail wagging.

Bastian came inside, dropping his persona a little as I closed the door. He crouched and offered his hand to Polo. “Is this the famous greyhound I’ve heard so much about?” he asked in the same hypnotic voice he’d used at the funeral parlor.

That voice did things to me, and I’d only heard it a little bit. I wanted to hear it reading me bedtime stories, preferably while I lay naked on my back with him above me.

I shook my head, taming my thoughts and focusing on being a friendly neighbor and hauntee. “Yep. This is Polo. He likes you.”

Polo finished sniffing Bastian’s hand, then stepped into the man like the shameless flirt he was, begging for rubbies.

I wanted to beg for rubbies, too.

“He’s a good boy,” Bastian said, scratching Polo’s head and ears, then running a hand down his back. “Aren’t you, boy?”

Yes, yes, I was.

I had to shake my head harder to get my libido to take a back seat. It’d been way too long since I’d had any of my itches scratched, and I was not going to let that make me rush into anything.

“This is the house.” I gestured around and glanced up the old staircase to the second floor. “As you can see, there’s a lot of it and it needs work.”

“It’s great,” Bastian said, standing and looking around himself. “I’m glad to see it’s got a lot of the original features.”

“Which is one reason it’s going to take so long to renovate,” I said, nodding. “I want to preserve all those original features as much as possible. Well, not the original electric and plumbing. I definitely want that to be modern. I have plans to gut the upstairs bathroom and put something state-of-the-art in there. That might be why the ghosts are restless.”

I was joking, but Bastian nodded stoically. “Could be.”

My smile grew. I liked him. A lot. Something about him just made sense to me.

“Have you had supper yet?” I asked. “I made a bunch of food for supper. Probably way too much food. But I’m Italian. It’s in my DNA to make food when people are coming over.”

“I like food,” Bastian said. His face did something weird and pinchy, like he thought his honest answer was wrong.

“Then you’ve come to the right place,” I said, starting forward and gesturing for him to follow me.

We walked the length of the hall to the kitchen, the floorboards creaking under our feet.

“I need to get some sort of runner for the hall to preserve the floorboards and maybe dampen the sound as much as possible, but I’ve been so busy with Provisions that I haven’t really had time yet,” I said as we crossed into the kitchen.

“The hardwood is nice,” Bastian said. “Hardwood is always nice.”

I nearly choked on my own spit. Had Bastian said it that way on purpose?