by Anna Abner
Startled, she yanked the sheets to her chin like some shaky Victorian maiden. “What the—”
Holden rolled onto his stomach, and muscle rippled along his bare shoulders. She froze, staring at the tiny hairs, nearly translucent, on the back of his neck.
“You’re in my bed?”
He jammed his pillow over his head as if she’d disturbed his sleep.
“Holden!” She shoved him. “What are you doing in my bed?”
Ignoring her, he reached for the bedside phone and punched a number. “Deliver that breakfast now,” he said, his voice husky from sleep. “Thanks.”
“You are unbelievable.” She hopped out of bed, jogged past the open adjoining doors between their supposedly separate rooms, and locked herself in the bathroom. She ran the shower, too angry and startled and—best to be honest—turned on to deal with anything more complicated than hot water and shampoo.
Good God, he’d slept in her bed! Beside her. Maybe all night. Maybe curled around her like a snuggly heating blanket. And how hadn’t she noticed? For God’s sake, when a tall, good-looking, clean-smelling man was in her bed, she wanted to know about it.
He must be out of his freaking mind. They had an agreement. No perverted stuff.
Rebecca stepped out of the shower clean and clear headed and wrapped herself in a soft cotton towel.
Someone knocked on the door.
“I’ll be out in a minute,” she shouted.
“I have your suitcase,” Holden said through the paneling. “Open up.”
She poked her nose out the door, schooling her features. As if waking practically in his arms hadn’t affected her at all.
He looked way too good in the morning. Sort of tousled. And beautiful. And holding her beige overnight bag in his arms.
But none of that meant he could do whatever he pleased. “Why were you in my bed? We talked about this.”
“You had a nightmare. I wanted to be close. Just in case.”
“Oh.” Rebecca didn’t remember any nightmares, but it was not out of the realm of possibility.
“Thanks.” She accepted her bag and closed the door.
Becca dried her hair and then curled it softly around her shoulders the way she always did. But this wasn’t any other day. First, this bathroom was ridiculously small. Second, she didn’t usually style her hair while aroused. So she skimped on the makeup, applying only mascara and lipstick. Today she dressed in black slacks and a sleeveless top. She rolled on deodorant, trying to remember the last time she’d woken up in bed beside a man. It had been a long time.
When Becca emerged, feeling 100 percent better and like a human being again, she was greeted by a mouthwatering breakfast tray and Holden dressed in nothing but a pair of low-slung jeans. God, what a body. Hot. Sexy. She imagined running her hands across his strong, broad shoulders and wide chest. His golden skin would be warm and smooth and sprinkled with fine, golden-brown hair…
He shoved a mug of steaming coffee with cream and sugar under her nose. Their fingers brushed, and electricity zinged between them. Spell or no spell, no one had ever made her feel this level of chemical awareness before, and it was freaking her out.
“There’s Excedrin on the tray,” he said, not seeming to notice the current between them. “For your headache.”
“I’ll eat first.” She tore her gaze from his chest and focused on the spread he’d ordered. Waffles, bacon, eggs, grits, and toast. Good Lord. “This is amazing.” She crammed a triangle of buttered toast into her mouth. “Thank you.”
Holden disappeared through the connecting doors, and by the time he returned she was propped up in bed sipping her second cup of coffee.
“Feeling better?” He was fully dressed, clean shaven, and slightly damp from the shower. He looked fresh and sexy as hell.
“Yep.”
Rebecca picked at her bedspread. Best not to think about his level of sexiness. Because nothing was ever going to happen. She had to remember the plan. Stop the necromancer. Move to Raleigh. Be happy. No room in the plan for him no matter how good he looked in those jeans.
“I got a call from my waitress.” He leaned against the TV stand and sucked on orange wedges. “My ex-waitress. The manager at Sparky’s emptied the safe and took off yesterday. I have to go by the police station to report it and then go to the diner.”
“That’s awful.”
She set her cup aside and did what she always did when things went badly—she cleaned. She started with her suitcase, arranging it on the luggage sling so it lay flush against the wall. Then she piled the dirty breakfast dishes on the tray and set it outside the door. The wet towels went onto the floor, and her dirty clothes went into a plastic bag that she loaded into her suitcase. Lastly, she snapped the sheets and comforter into place.
“I’ll help you any way I can.” Rebecca scanned the room, content that everything was neat and in its proper place. “Let’s go.”
* * *
Holden grabbed Buster’s leash and shut the door to room seven behind Rebecca, trying not to be obvious about enjoying the sight of her shapely little ass popping in a pair of black slacks.
Her cell phone chimed, and she checked caller ID. “It’s my sister.” She turned away, presenting him with another view of her rear end.
“Hi, Nelly. Everything okay? Did you get the box I sent?” She paused, listening. “Oh.” She massaged her forehead. “That’s my fault. I’ve been really busy.” Another pause. “No, don’t freak out. I’ll do it right this minute. Yeah. Yeah, I know the website. Right. I’ll text you when it’s done.” They said their good-byes and she hung up, looking frazzled.
“What was that about?” Holden asked.
He watched her struggle with whether to be honest with him or gloss over the truth. Finally she said, “My little sister goes to UNC. I pay for it. With everything that’s been going on, I forgot to pay her tuition. They sent her some scary letter, and she freaked out a little.”
“You pay for her college, not your dad?”
Buster pulled at his leash, anxious to destroy the patch of grass near the pool. But Holden petted his glossy fur. He’d have to wait another minute.
Rebecca shook her head. “My dad’s a retired garbage collector.”
“Who paid for your college?”
“I didn’t go to college. There wasn’t money to send me.” After putting her phone away, she made a big show of rifling through her purse.
“What else do you pay for? Her spending money?” Holden guessed.
“Yes.”
“Her car?”
“Yes.”
“Your dad’s car?”
Rebecca sighed, staring into her tan purse like the answer lay somewhere inside a lipstick tube or under the checkbook. “I work hard so I can support them. So yes, I bought them each a car last year. Matching hybrids.”
He’d never met anyone quite like her. She seemed so in control of herself, but he was beginning to think it was all an act and she might be hanging by a thread.
He didn’t know her sister, barely knew her dad, but Holden’s protective instincts kicked in. “If you worked less, maybe you’d be happier and they’d be more responsible.”
Up went her chin. “It’s none of your business.”
“Does your sister even know what’s happening to you?”
Her silence was a definite no.
Rebecca picked up her cell and dialed a number, shutting him out as if she’d raised a wall between them. “Hi, Dad. Listen, I’ve been swamped at work. I overlooked some bills last week. If you get any calls, ignore them. I’ll take care of it today.”
“Hey.” Holden reached for her hand, but she snatched it away, her eyes shiny and sad. “Look at me,” he said, moving into her line of sight. “I think someone should make you their number one priority is all.”
“No one has ever—” She bowed her head, and he had no idea what she was feeling.
“My mother left when I was young,” Rebecca confessed. “My d
ad sacrificed a lot to be a single parent. We were poor. When I turned eighteen I became a Realtor, and I never looked back.” She wiped at her eyes, and her expression hardened. She may as well have turned to stone. “Let’s talk about your family.” She turned the tables, her words like little darts. “Where are your parents?”
Ouch. “My parents pretend I’m dead.”
She recoiled. “What?”
She already knew he’d drowned and come back changed. What wasn’t in those articles was what happened next. “After Wade Lake we moved here to be close to my grandpa. By the time I was legal, they were happy to leave me behind. I haven’t talked to either of them in years.”
“Your parents abandoned you?”
It wasn’t a cheerful memory. There’d been screaming and tears and once, his dad threw an empty pot against the wall. When they left, finally, taking the pitiful glances and the awkward silences with them, it had been a relief.
“I was a different person,” Holden explained. “After. I was depressed and in shock and scared and changed. I didn’t speak for six months. I saw a lot of counselors. When I finally did speak, all I talked about was dying and spirits. I told my mom I could see Grams, and she stopped talking to me after that. She was the first to go back to Minnesota. Later, once I was eighteen, my dad returned to his old job, and I got to stay with Grandpa.”
“Jesus,” Rebecca breathed. “How could they do that?”
“We were all happier to be separated, believe me.”
“But—”
“Sometimes people leave,” he blurted. He hadn’t intended to get all philosophical, but the words poured out nonetheless. “Even though they love each other, they’re better off apart. It’s not necessarily a failure.”
Chapter Nine
Detective Gorey took Holden’s statement but wasn’t optimistic about recovering the stolen money. Only about four hundred dollars was missing, which didn’t make it serious enough to warrant a full-blown federal manhunt, but he sent them away with promises to investigate and some advice to change locks and passwords as soon as possible
At ten thirty sharp, Holden pulled his Jeep into the parking lot of Sparky’s Burgers and Malts and killed the engine.
It was difficult to explain to an outsider what his grandparents’ diner meant to him. Holden had been hanging out there his whole life. At first only during the summers, but after moving to town permanently he’d spent every day there waiting tables, clearing tables, making change, and mixing malts.
This place had saved his life. It gave him something to do with his hands and a distraction from the painful PTSD symptoms. And it gave him a reprieve from seeing the spirits of the dead. Even with the low ceilings and crowded rooms, he’d never felt confined here. On the contrary, the polished metal bar, the neon-blue vinyl booths, and the sweltering kitchen felt more like an embrace than a prison. He loved this place and everything it represented.
Then his grandpa had passed away. And Holden couldn’t step foot in the door without feeling overwhelming grief and disappointment. He’d promoted Sean from waiter to full-time manager, hired another waitress, and hadn’t come back for six months, not until tax season was almost over and he had to pull together the books to file in time. That was two years ago.
He could never be as good as his grandpa—not as good a man, not as good a manager, cook, husband, or father. So he stopped trying.
Now, the diner felt like a mausoleum.
Buster settled into his favorite spot on the black-and-white tiles behind the cash register as he and Rebecca explored the diner.
“Oh, this place is a mess.” Rebecca whistled at the desk piled with random receipts, orders, invoice books, parts of a computer, and what smelled like the contents of a trash can in the closet that doubled as the manager’s office. “I can get this organized for you.” She stared with genuine glee in her eyes. “I love accounting.”
She righted the desk chair and sat. “You must have computerized software. Is it on this dinosaur?” She laughed as she turned on the screen before realizing there was no hard drive. That, too, had been stolen.
“Okay, never mind. I’ll input the numbers later into my laptop.” She hesitated. “That’s okay, right?” Rebecca bit her lip, and Holden stared like a dumb, horny kid. God, her lip was beautiful, and he wanted to suck the perfect pink plumpness into his mouth.
“Holden?”
“Uh.” He turned away. He couldn’t even look at her for a second if he was gonna get his mind screwed on straight. “Yeah. Do what you need to do.” He ducked out, passing through the kitchen and into the dining area.
Grams sat at a booth, her knitting needles clicking and reminding him of happier times. For a split second he imagined she was alive and waiting for Grandpa to lock up and drive her home. He blinked the fantasy away because those days were long gone. So were his grandparents. For the most part.
“You must be thrilled,” he said quietly to the shadow of his Grams. Holden moved around the bar, running his fingers across the cool, clean surface.
“Because you’re falling in love? Yes, I suppose I am.”
He tripped on the plastic mat under his feet. “What? No. Hardly.” He liked Rebecca, sure. He thought she was gorgeous and fascinating and complex, but it ended at admiration.
“No,” he stressed, “because I’m finally here doing my job.”
She didn’t have to say it aloud. He knew she wished he’d run the diner before it wasted away and closed down for good. Or became some loud chain restaurant.
“I only want you to be happy, bubba.”
“Mmm. So you can leave.”
She set her knitting in her lap and really looked at him. “You can’t be scared forever, darling. Teddy and I ran this place for ourselves, not so you’d be shackled to it for the rest of your life. But I know you can run Sparky’s, raise a family, and be happy. Because I’ve done it. What’s so wrong with that?”
You wouldn’t be there. “Nothing’s wrong with that.”
Holden could sell the business and walk away. He’d received offers. But he didn’t want to sell. This little diner with the neon signs and the mini jukeboxes was like a second home to him. He would never say these things to Grams, but he wanted to run it. Desperately. He just couldn’t. Because he’d never be as good at anything as his grandpa. So, he did nothing. And the business slowly died right along with everyone and everything else in his life.
“I’m glad you’re here.” Grams smiled down at the beginning of a lavender sweater that, no matter how much she knitted, never got any bigger.
He flipped on the Open sign, keyed on the cash register, and turned on all the lights. Inside the walk-in cooler he found enough food for a hundred burger-and-fry combos, a couple dozen cups of chicken noodle soup, and at least eight gallons of ice cream.
The short-order cook, Wilson, let himself in, banging the back door against the wall. “Hello y’all!”
“Wilson, good afternoon.”
The skinny young man jumped and then palmed the door to quiet the noise. “Mr. Clark, sir?”
“Sean and Kate quit yesterday,” Holden blurted. He could count the number of conversations he’d had with his cook on one hand. Half a hand. “But we’re going to open for lunch anyway.”
“You bet, sir. I mean, yes. Let’s do that.” He tied on an apron and started the grill and the fryer. “Did they say why?”
“They think I’m a bad boss.”
Wilson’s eyes widened, but he didn’t say anything as he rapidly prepped his work area. A set of tongs clattered to the floor, but he tossed them into the sink and kept going.
The bell over the door chimed with their first customer of the day. Holden left the kitchen to greet the new guest. Except he hadn’t waited tables in years. Miss Sunshine in the back was more suited to dealing with people, but she was so happy invoicing receipts and calculating losses that he didn’t want to bother her with a potential job swap.
“Afternoon,” he greeted
just like he always had and added, “Welcome to Sparky’s, where the past is more than a memory.”
The guy chose a seat at the bar and studied the specials leaflet.
Holden passed him a menu and stood awkwardly at the cash register. He opened the drawer and saw they had no change at all. Not even a penny for good luck. The safe in the back was just as bare bones. He ducked his head into the office.
“Rebecca, I forgot to get change. I’m gonna have to run to the bank. Can you wait tables? I’ll show you how.”
“Absolutely!” Her eyes lit up. “And I know how. I worked at a restaurant in high school.”
He introduced her to Wilson and gave her the rundown—the menus, the condiments, the order tickets. “You gonna be okay?”
“Oh yeah. This is fun.” She shooed him with her arms. “Scoot. I got this.”
“Buster’s asleep behind the counter. I’ll be back in half an hour.”
It turned out his trip took longer than that. There was a line at the bank. Then he swung by a gas station to fill up the Jeep.
When Holden strolled back through the doors of Sparky’s, the first thing he saw was Becca behind the bar laughing with the four men seated across from her. The place was packed and the jukebox blared “Chantilly Lace.” It hadn’t been so full of life in years.
“Hi!” Rebecca’s big smile twisted his insides. She seemed to grow more beautiful, and yet more fragile, by the day. The black veil around her shoulders had darkened overnight. The face in the shadow was now clear and defined.
She gestured for him to join her. “Once I got the hang of it I had to share my waitressing skills with some friends.” She waved to the dining area at large, and several people waved back. “I sent a mass text to my friends at the realty organization that not only was lunch 10 percent off today at Sparky’s, but they get to watch me serve it.” She laughed.