by Ani Gonzalez
Pizza and undead pirates didn't mix and that stupid foghorn effect was giving him a headache.
And now he had this to deal with. He was going to kill Caine.
"Yep," Sarah said, looking gleeful. "It looks great. He added the special MonsterVision animation. You know, the one that glows? You two look very romantic, like you just survived a nuclear explosion or something."
Zach ignored her dig and focused on the tablet in his hands. Inventory, he needed to think about the inventory. They were running low on spiced rum and the hard-to-find Spanish liqueur they used in the peach sangría. He should be thinking about that and not about how Sarah was absolutely right.
Kissing Patricia was very much like a nuclear explosion.
He should also research new music options. This generic horror soundtrack wasn't working. And he had to do some kind of finger food for the town meeting tonight. His usual dish wouldn't cut it this time, not if he wanted to stay in the Historical Preservation Committee's good graces.
He really should come up with something.
Unfortunately, he had nothing. He could always do a bunch of mozzarella and tomato skewers. That was the safest option.
"It's Love Story meets The Day After--" Sarah stopped talking when he handed her the tablet.
"Here," he said. "You do the inventory."
"Wait, what?" Sarah's face twisted with loathing. Inventory used to be a tedious chore, but the new software had turned it into a recurring nightmare. Everyone hated it, which was why he often chose to do it himself.
But not today.
"I have to go do some research," he said, moving around the bar.
"Research?" Sarah asked, brow raised. "Is that what we call it nowadays? Because I've always called it 'Zach's bakery break.' I thought you were just a donut junkie." Her eyes narrowed. "But now I know better."
He ignored the quip, grabbed his jacket and headed out the door. The cold air hit him like a slap in the face and he crossed the parking lot as quickly as he could, trying not to think about Patricia's warm bakery and tempting pastries. He got in his truck, the door slamming with a satisfying thunk, and drove off.
Damn it, he really wanted a warm donut.
But he didn't need a donut, not even an apple cider one with the glossy sugar glaze. He didn't need to go chat with Patricia. He could resist the impulse for one day.
What he needed was a stupid recipe for the town meeting tonight. Preferably one that used up all the leftover dough in his fridge.
And he knew exactly where to get it.
He drove down Main Street which was eerily quiet. Owning a Banshee Creek business was not for the faint of heart. Economic activity varied enormously. Halloween was perennially busy, but the rest of the year was a crap shoot. Yesterday was okay, but today was a bust. Who knew? Maybe a popular paranormal YouTuber posted something last week and gave them a tiny surge. Maybe one of the ghost hunter groups would put up a picture of a pizza slice on Instagram and give them another surge tomorrow.
It was all a big gamble.
But one he intended to win. And the Rosemoor was the ace under his sleeve.
What if he didn't get it though? He pushed the thought out of his head. It was no use worrying about that, he'd find out tonight anyway. And, really, that wasn't the most worrisome question.
What would Patricia do if he did get the Rosemoor? That was the real gut buster.
He drove out of town and through the woods until he reached his parents' farmhouse. He parked the truck and got out, the cold air seeping through the thick leather of his jacket.
Maybe Patricia was right. Maybe he should buy a real winter coat.
He walked to the porch and pushed the door open. Unlocked, as usual. Nobody locked doors in Banshee Creeks. What would be the use? There was no crime to speak off, and the quasi-imaginary critters weren't deterred by locked doors.
"It's me, Mom," he shouted. "I need to borrow a book."
He went straight to the tall bookcase in the kitchen. It was filled with cookbooks. Some were modern, like Ina Garten's Barefoot Contessa, but others were quite obscure. There were nuevo latino cookbooks, Patagonian asado cookbooks, even a Don Quixote cookbook that taught you how to cook the dishes in the Cervantes classic.
He grabbed a tattered pamphlet. Mission accomplished.
"Got it," he shouted. "I'm going now..."
His voice trailed off as his mom entered the kitchen, holding a tablet in her hand.
"Oh, you're going, all right," she said, flipping the tablet so he could see the screen. "You're going to explain this right now."
He stared at the screen and cursed the day he'd taught his mom how to use social media.
"I don't interfere in my boys' lives," Isabel Franco said, eyes raised high as if appealing to a higher deity. "I didn't say anything when Sebastian got engaged to that Hollywood harpy."
Zach begged to disagree. She'd said plenty. She just didn't say it to Sebastian.
"I didn't say anything when Gabe hired that 'Billionaire Matchmaker' person." She snorted. "Or when he got matched up with that flaky sculptor."
Now that was an outright lie. She'd been the one who'd hired the matchmaker and when things didn't go the way she'd planned she'd called Gabe and screamed at him, in Spanish no less. When Isabel Franco switched to Spanish, shit got real.
"And," she continued, glaring at him, "I didn't say anything about that crazy drummer you picked up in Punta del Este."
"Um, no," he admitted. That is, she hadn't said anything to him. She'd said plenty to his brothers though.
"Or the loony waitress you hired with the skull tattoos."
"She wasn't..." he started, then thought better of it. But Beatrice wasn't loony, she was just...eccentric.
"I let my kids be free," she wailed. "I let you be independent."
He held on to his book and started to back out of the kitchen. Maybe he could sneak out while his mother sang her woes to the ceiling. Sure, it wasn't the manly thing to do, but, hey, he had a town meeting to prep for.
"I figured we'd raised you to be self-sufficient..."
He crossed the foyer. The door was so close...
"I didn't even mind when you were found," she paused, "well, let's just leave it as 'found.'"
He froze. He could practically see the quotation marks around the word.
"Locked up in the Lavender House," she continued. "I mean sure it was stupid..."
The Lavender House was the town's nickname for the PRoVE headquarters. He felt a chill run down his spine.
His mom knew about the...
"That poor Brenda girl was too attached to you," she continued, following him into the foyer. "That was a mistake."
Holy hell, how had his mom found out?
"How was I supposed to..." he sputtered helplessly.
She aimed a level glance at him and he shut up. She was right. He'd known that Brenda was head over heels in love with him. He'd known that she was unhappy with the amount of time that he'd been spending at the restaurant.
He just hadn't wanted to deal with it.
"I don't care," she replied. "Just don't do it with Patricia. She's a family friend and she deserves better." She threw up her hands in exasperation. "Why can't you boys leave our friends' daughters alone. First it was Gabe, and now you."
Oh, that was unfair. His mom had set up Gabe. It had been masterful matchmaking. She couldn't play the martyr now.
"You were all in favor of Gabe pairing off with Elizabeth. Why is this so different?"
She aimed a level glance at him.
"You're not Gabe," she said. "And Patricia's definitely not Elizabeth. She's more sensitive. She doesn't need to go through another heartbreak."
"Another one?" he asked. "What do you mean? What heartbreak?"
As far as he knew Patricia hadn't had any boyfriends. Oh, she'd had a fling with that weird guy in Caine's group, but that didn't last long. Not a surprise since the guy had nothing going for him, other than great tast
e in women.
But that was it.
No boyfriends, not that many dates, not even a fling.
Come to think of it, it was kind of strange for someone as attractive as Patricia.
"Did she meet someone in New York?" he asked, not liking the idea at all.
Patricia never mentioned New York. He knew she'd lived there for a year and worked as a pastry chef at a fancy restaurant, but that was it. She never talked about it.
Weird. In his experience people who'd worked at fancy restaurants mentioned it constantly. That guy who opened the new pizza place in Middleburg turned two months as a busboy at Wolfgang Puck's into an imaginary apprenticeship on ground-breaking pizza-making.
But Patricia never talked about it, and, come to think of it, nobody else did, either. The famous Banshee Creek grapevine was completely silent on this, and that was surprising. Gossip spread quickly in this town. Hell, a two-second kiss in the woods made it onto the Internet in a couple of hours.
Patricia had kept a traumatic love affair completely secret.
Very impressive.
His mom paused, considering her answer. "Speaking of your brother. He has something he needs to talk to you about."
"Wow, that's a smooth change of subject, Mom," he said. "I know what Gabe wants to talk about. I just don't want to talk to him about it."
She let out a long-suffering sigh, but Zach ignored it. Gabe could take his money and his offer and stick them both into a hot calzone.
"And speaking of stuff people don't want to talk about," he continued. "Spill the beans on Patricia."
She shook her head. "It's not my story to tell." She looked right into his eyes. "I love you, Zach, but your relationship track record is abysmal. Go find someone else, leave Patricia alone."
He looked at her.
She looked back.
The staring contest went on for a couple of seconds, until he shook his head and opened the door. He never won staring contests with his mom, and this wasn't going to be an exception. She didn't want to talk about Patricia and he wasn't going to change that.
"Fine," he said, walking out. "See you at the town meeting tonight."
"Oh," she replied with narrowed eyes. "I'll be there. Watching."
She slammed the door behind him for emphasis, leaving him alone on the porch holding a tattered cookbook.
A surprised deer looked up and stared at him. It had a brownish-red coat and glossy black eyes, but, luckily, it didn't have any vampire fangs. It leaped away when Zach stepped off the porch.
Great, just what he needed, his mom would be at the library tonight, watching over him. What did she think he was going to do to Patricia? Drag her behind the stacks and ravish her?
Unfortunately, part of him was very attracted to that idea.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
THE BANSHEE Creek library was full of people. Patricia tried to estimate the number of attendees, but gave up when she realized she'd counted the PRoVE tech guy three times. The Banshee Creek library was a small, colonial building with lots of historical charm and not that much open space.
And it was packed to the gills.
Holly, along with the rest of the library staff, had moved the tables and put up folding chairs, but the meeting tonight would still be standing room only.
"Do you have any more hot cocoa?" Holly whispered as she poured creamy hot chocolate into a paper cup and handed it to an elderly lady wearing a frilly blouse with a huge "Banshee Creek is MONSTER Country" pin. The pin matched her handmade "Virginia is for Ghost Lovers" sign.
"I have more chocolate mix in my van," Patricia whispered back. "But we'll need more milk."
Holly nodded. "I'll send out for it."
"And marshmallows," Patricia added.
The meeting hadn't even started and they were already running low on supplies. The night was cold and wet, perfect for a cup of hot cocoa and a long, contentious town meeting.
She handed a bag of donut holes to a little girl with pigtails, noting that the child was wearing a white t-shirt with a red heart in front and someone had crossed out the heart with black marker. She sighed. The anti-valentine movement had shown up in force and pretty much everyone else was wearing some kind of homemade political propaganda. "Haunts Trump Hearts" seemed particularly popular.
The little girl looked at her hot cocoa suspiciously.
"I want ghost-shaped marshmallows," she said.
"Sorry, honey," Patricia replied. "We don't have those today. We only have plain."
Plain, white marshmallows for the hot chocolate, plain white powdered sugar for the donut holes. In fact, even the chocolate mix was plain. She hated the council's Valentine's Day idea as much as the rest of the town, but she couldn't take the risk of offending the people who were about to make the Rosemoor decision.
That meant no ghosts, no hearts, nothing.
The little girl glared at her.
"It's called Banshee Creek for a reason," she hissed.
She grabbed a second bag of donut holes and flounced off into the crowd, pigtails bouncing menacingly.
"Great." The voice behind her was low, with a hint of a growl. It was very distinctive, very familiar and it made a shiver run down her spine. "We can now add demon children to our list of indigenous paranormal critters."
She turned as Zach placed two foil-covered catering pans on the table. Despite the cold he was dressed in jeans and a short-sleeved shirt that showed off his tight muscles. His hair was wet, as if he'd just taken a shower. His arm grazed her back as he reached around her to straighten the tablecloth, and the contact made her jerk.
"Aren't you cold in that shirt?" she blurted out without thinking. She hadn't seen him in person since the dreaded Night of the Vampire Deer. Sure, they'd spent a couple of hours on the phone plotting Caine's untimely demise, but that hadn't been face to face. The physical proximity was...disturbing.
In a good way.
He looked surprised, then sheepish. "I didn't want to wear a logo shirt," he explained, nodding toward a "No Bloody Valentines" sign that featured a large knife and a vintage hockey mask. "I'm trying to stay neutral." His grin turned sheepish. "Caine asked for my support, but I didn't want to sabotage myself with the committee."
Patricia smiled and pointed to her outfit.
"Great minds think alike," she said. "I take it you didn't bring your Spooktacular Pizza with all the toppings in the world."
It was Zach's signature dish and he brought it to every single event even though the town always penalized him because the toppings fell off and were a pain to clean up.
Zach nodded.
"I made empanadas with pizza filling," he said. "They're like small calzones..."
"I know what an empanada is, Zach," she replied crossly. "I'm a baker."
"Right, um, they're easy to eat and..."
"Unlikely to result in a steep fine," she finished for him.
"Pretty much," he laughed.
He picked up the white napkin and smiled.
"No pink and orange," he said.
She smiled back.
"No pink," she replied. "Not even a tiny little stripe."
A rakish grin crossed his face. "You are a worthy opponent, Miss O'Dare."
Her good mood evaporated instantly. She didn't like to think of them as opponents. Why, oh why, did Zach decide to go after the Rosemoor? He had a thriving restaurant with a real kitchen and tables that could fit four people. He could just stay in his current bungalow.
She was the one with the three-foot counter and the rickety bistro furniture that could barely fit two coffee cups and a milk jug. She was the one who needed the space.
And she was going to get it. She covered up her discomfort with a saucy grin.
"You bet your spicy meatballs, Mr. Franco."
Zach looked shocked.
"Oh dear," she said, covering her mouth with the white napkin. "That sounded different in my head."
Zach laughed, a loud booming sound that echoed t
hrough the suddenly quiet library. Patricia suddenly realized that everyone was looking at them. Holly looked surprised. Mrs. Franco did not look pleased.
The little girl in pigtails glared at Patricia in disapproval.
What, they'd never seen someone make an unfortunate meatball joke before?
But the silence did not last long. Elizabeth, stunning as always in a skin-tight red sweater dress and high heels, entered the library, movie star smile firmly in place. The anti-Valentine hordes immediately set upon her, voicing their dismay at the Historical Preservation Committee's proposal.
"A red dress?" Zach muttered. "That's like waving a red flag in front of a bunch of bulls."
Patricia stared at the crowd in dismay.
"More like blood before a gang of hungry sharks," she replied. "We should go help her."
"Help," Zach snorted. "More like hinder. I think Princess Verdala has everything under control."
And he seemed to be right. Elizabeth waved regally to a couple of acquaintances and walked to the podium. She swept her hair back with a graceful gesture and faced the angry townspeople with regal aplomb.
The Cannibal Alien Princess thing sure did great things for your posture. The attendees focused on Elizabeth, paying no attention to Zach and Patricia.
That wouldn't last long, though.
"C'mon," Zach whispered. "Let's go upstairs."
He pulled on her arm, leading her away from the refreshments table.
"Where are we going?" she whispered.
"Somewhere private." They reached the back staircase. "I don't know about you, but I don't want an audience around when they announce who won the bid." He sounded angry. "There's already too much gossip in this town."
She didn't understand why his distaste was so intense -- Zach should be used to being the target of the town gossips by now -- but she liked his idea. Privacy sounded very attractive right now.
He led her to the spiral staircase in the back, a spindly wood contraption that did not look particularly solid. Patricia vaguely recalled climbing up the spiral staircase as a child. It had seemed a lot sturdier then, but she wasn't a child anymore and the staircase looked small and flimsy to her adult eyes.