Page 74 of Shhh…It’s A Killer Story

As I sifted through the charcoal button-downs, my mind went back to that missing jersey. My mind wandered back to my kitchen.

She'd looked entirely too comfortable standing there, sunlight spilling through the window and catching in the loose waves of her dark hair. One sleeve of her sweater had slipped over her hand as she reached for the coffee mugs, and she'd kept blowing the same stubborn strand of hair away from her face instead of tucking it behind her ear. She talked the entire time about coffee, Blackridge, dogs, and absolutely nothing moving around the kitchen as though she'd lived there for years. Every now and then she'd glance over her shoulder with that crooked little smile, the one that made it seem as though she'd just let me in on a joke only she understood. Somehow… The kitchen had felt less empty with her in it.

Standing in the shop now, I realized I wanted her to wear my things and have my jerseys. I liked the territorial feeling that came with the thought of her wrapping herself in something that belonged to me when the nights grew cold. Fuck I was going insane. I grabbed three new shirts, paid, and left.

The drive back up the valley road was uneventful.

My cottage sat at the very end of the gravel track. Seraphina's was only a few steps away. As I reached her driveway, my foot eased onto the brake before I'd consciously decided to stop. I stared at her front porch for a moment. I pulled into the small dirt turnout, killed the engine, and climbed out. The afternoon breeze stirred the wind chimes hanging beneath the porch roof as I stepped onto the weathered boards. Before I could knock, a familiar voice drifted through the slightly open kitchen window.

"No, Gerald, you absolutely cannot put that there."

A pause.

"Frank, don't encourage him."

Another pause.

"I'm serious. If one more coffee mug mysteriously disappears, I'm blaming both of you."

Silence. Then…

"Don't look at me like that. You know exactly what you did."

I frowned. Was... Was she talking to herself? Or did she have someone over?

A small smirk tugged at my mouth. I rapped my knuckles against the wooden doorframe.

The muttering stopped instantly. Bare feet thudded against the floorboards, and the heavy oak door swung inward.

Seraphina stood there. She was wearing an oversized white button-down shirt that hung loosely off one shoulder, exposing a pale stretch of skin and the delicate curve of her collarbone. Her dark hair was pinned back haphazardly, a few wild strands framing her face. The moment she saw my face through the screen, her whole expression lit up with a radiant, genuine smile.

"Honey, what are you doing here?" she asked, her voice bright and warm.

The word honey hit me like a physical blow to the chest. My heart did a sudden, violent roll. For the first time in my life, I stuttered, my throat closing up. My hands felt entirely too big for my pockets. "I... uh, I was just down at the store. Got some groceries."

She tilted her head, her dark eyes tracking the sudden tension in my jaw. A small, knowing amusement curved her lips. "Did you come all the way up the hill just to show me your vegetables, Elias?"

"No," I said, finally forcing my voice into its normal register and leaning my arm against the doorframe, bringing myself a little closer to the screen. "I was wondering... if you were free for dinner tonight? At my place."

She happily agreed without a second of hesitation. "I’d love to. What time?"

"Any time after six," I said, my gaze dropping to her mouth for a fraction of a second before lifting back to her eyes. "I’ll be ready."

"I’ll be there," she said softly, her tone dipping into something lower, a little more intimate.

We just stood there, staring at each other through the thin wire mesh. The silence between us was suddenly thick, warm, and electric, heavy with the unsaid things stretching between the space of a few inches. I could see the pulse jumping at the base of her throat. I cleared my throat before I did something entirely reckless, like tearing the door open.

"Be safe," I said.

She chuckled, a low, melodic sound that stirred the air. "I’m just walking a few steps, Honey. I think I’ll survive."

"Just... be safe."

I climbed back into my truck, my hands gripping the steering wheel a little tighter than necessary and drove the short distance home. I carried the paper grocery bags into my dark kitchen and started unpacking the items: the milk, the butter, the thick, heavy ribeye steaks...

I froze with a steak in my hand.

Fuck.