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“Sure thing. See you in a bit,” the guy says, turning toward the shop.
“Come on.” Roman places his hand on my lower back and leads me to the passenger door, opening it.
“We’re not actually going to a hotel, are we?” I ask, looking at him as I climb up into my seat.
“Yes, we are.” He grabs my seat belt and pulls it loose, then leans in, buckling it in place.
“Roman, the rain is going to stop soon. We can wait somewhere until then and save the vouchers I have for a hotel until we?—”
“Quiet, Elora.” He steps back and slams the door shut before I can get more out.
Glaring at him, I watch him through the windshield as he walks around to the driver’s door and slides in behind the wheel. I continue glaring at him as he picks up his phone. Not that he notices.
“Did you seriously tell me to be quiet?” I ask when he drops his phone into the cupholder once again.
“Yep.” He glances at me while placing his hand on the back of my seat before turning fully to look out the rear window so he can reverse out of the spot we’re in.
“You told me ‘quiet,’ like I’m a child?”
He focuses on me. “Elora, I’m not going to argue with you about getting the wipers fixed.” His hand moves from the headrest to the back of my neck. “That’s not something even up for discussion.”
“Not up for discussion,” I whisper-hiss, looking into his eyes that have fascinated me since the moment we met.
“Are you in this car?”
“Yes,” I snap.
“Then I’m going to make it as safe as I can without pushing it off a cliff and replacing it completely.”
“I think I’m done talking to you for the day,” I mumble, and he grins, giving my neck a squeeze before letting his hand fall away.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I focus my attention out the passenger side window while he puts the shifter in drive and pulls out of the parking lot.
After about ten minutes, he parks in front of what can only be described as a Victorian mansion. The outside is painted a pretty pastel pink with lacy white gingerbread trim, huge bay windows, and an elegant turret.
“What’s this?” I ask, all thoughts of the silent treatment I planned on giving him leaving my head in an instant.
“Where we’re staying.” He gets out while I stare at the house through the windshield.
“Roman, we can’t stay here,” I tell him when he opens my door a moment later.
“It’s just for the night while they fix the wipers on the van.”
“I don’t have a voucher for this place.”
“It’s fine, and when I was looking online, this is the only thing that came up with rooms available.”
“Probably because all the guests have been scared away by the ghosts who live here.”
“There’s no such thing as ghosts, Elora.” He leans around me and unhooks my seat belt.
“Says every person before a malevolent spirit attacks them,” I murmur, looking over his shoulder at the house that must be over a hundred years old and is for sure haunted. Not even the pink paint can hide that.
“Come on. I want to get the van back to the shop so they can start working on it.”
“If I die?—”
“Don’t—” His hand strikes out, wrapping around my jaw so fast my breath catches in the back of my throat. His grip on my jaw doesn’t hurt, but it’s firm and unyielding. “—ever joke about that, Elora.”
