Page 75 of Shhh…It’s A Killer Story

The gluten-free boxes. The cauliflower crusts. The vegan cheese I’d just seen at the store. What if she didn't eat meat? I didn't know. What if she looked at these ribeye’s like a crime scene?

I dropped the meat onto the counter, turned around, and ran out the back door. I didn't even take the truck; I just ran back to her property, my lungs burning in the cool mountain air, driven by a sudden, frantic need to fix it. I arrived at her porch completely breathless, my chest heaving, and slammed my hand against the screen door.

The oak door opened almost immediately, as if she hadn't moved from the spot.

Seraphina stood there, looking at my wild eyes, my messy hair, and the way my chest was pumping for air. Her eyes swept down my frame before coming back up to meet my gaze, and she burst into a loud, clear laugh.

"Back so soon?" she teased, leaning her shoulder heavily against the frame, the loose collar of her shirt dipping just a fraction lower. "An invitation is given, Elias. No take-backsies."

I let out a rough, breathless laugh of my own, placing my hands on my hips as I stepped a fraction closer to the porch screen. Our faces were only inches apart now, separated only by the wire.

"No takebacks," I gasped out, my voice raspy. "I just... I needed to ask. Can you eat meat? Any allergies? I realized I bought steaks and didn't check if you’re one of those cauliflower people."

Seraphina laughed harder, her shoulders shaking, her eyes bright and fixed entirely on mine. "No allergies and don't worry, only weirdos don't eat meat. No offense to the cauliflower people."

I let out a long, relieved sigh, the tension draining out of me all at once, replaced by the sudden, heavy awareness of how close she was standing. I could smell the faint scent of cedar and vanilla wafting off her skin through the screen.

"None taken. Okay. Good," I murmured, my voice dropping an octave as I looked down at her.

"See you at six, Detective," she smiled, her voice softening into a murmur that felt like a physical touch.

"Okay. Be safe," I muttered, my eyes lingering on hers for one final, heavy moment before I forced my boots to turn around.

I walked back to my cottage as the sun finally dipped below the ridge, leaving the valley in a cool, purple twilight that felt charged with anticipation.

Seraphina

The silence in the cottage was always a deceptive thing. It pressed against the walls, heavy with expectation, waiting for someone to crack. That was why I talked. People think those who fill the room with words are simple, bubbling over with meaningless enthusiasm. They are wrong. Silence makes people uncomfortable, and uncomfortable people always reveal their edges. They twitch. They shift their eyes. They spill secrets just to stop the quiet from swallowing them whole.

So, I talked and while I talked, I watched but right now, the only audience in the bedroom was the pair of them, perched comfortably at the edge of my dresser.

"You're brushing your hair again."

Gerald murmured. His voice in my head was always flat, like an accountant reading a ledger of my flaws.

"That is the third outfit."

Frank corrected from his imaginary spot near the jewellery box. He had the slow, disappointed tone of a judge who had seen too many repeat offenders.

"Fourth," Gerald countered.

"She's nervous."

I dropped the brush onto the wood with a sharp clack and glared at the empty space beside my mirror.

"I'm excited."

"Same thing."

"It isn't."

I snapped, pulling the hem of the white dress down over my thighs. I’d chosen it over the linen blouse, over the black dress, over everything else.

"You're denying it."

Frank noted, his tiny, imagined arms folding over his chest.

"But your pulse is jumping right at the hollow of your throat. We can see it."