Page 76 of Shhh…It’s A Killer Story

"You can't see anything. You're figments."

I muttered, turning away from the mirror. I reached for the plastic clip, pulled my dark hair back, and pinned it haphazardly, letting a few wild strands escape. I didn't want to look like I had spent three hours trying to decide who I wanted to be tonight.

"She's still smiling."

Gerald sighed.

"Shut it."

I said, but the smile stayed, small and sharp and entirely out of my control. I tucked my keys into my pocket, took one last breath inside the cottage, and stepped out onto the porch. The moment my boots hit the gravel lane, the gnomes went beautifully silent.

The valley was settling into its purple twilight, the shadows of the pine trees stretching out like long, skeletal fingers across the track. I walked slowly, the gravel crunching beneath my soles. I wasn't thinking about the word date. That word had too many rules, too many expectations attached to it. Instead, my mind kept looping a frantic, rhythmic sequence of warnings.

Don't trip. Don't stare. Don't say something weird. Actually... you'll definitely say something weird.

I let out a soft, sharp laugh into the cooling air. Of course I would. It was my default setting but for the first time in a very long time, the thought didn't make my chest tighten with anxiety. Elias didn't look at me like I was a puzzle he needed to solve or a nuisance he needed to tolerate. He looked at me with a heavy, unblinking focus that made me feel... normal. Grounded. It was terrifying, honestly. I didn't understand the quiet, steady nature of whatever this was; everything inside me had always lived at a higher, more chaotic volume.

By the time I reached his turnout, the sun had slipped completely behind the ridge. His cottage sat at the very end of the line, its small windows glowing with a warm, amber light that cut through the gathering fog.

I climbed the porch steps, my heart doing that strange, beating thing again, and knocked on the doorframe.

Ba-dum. Ba-dum.

The latch clicked. The heavy oak door swung inward.

Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.

And the air left my lungs completely.

Elias stood in the doorway, and for three seconds, I forgot how to formulate a sentence. He looked entirely too handsome, the kind of rugged, striking presence that completely dominated the space around him. His dark hair was slightly damp from a recent shower, the short strands curling faintly near his temples. He’d rolled the sleeves of his new charcoal button-down up to his forearms, revealing the thick, corded muscle and the dark, prominent veins that branched down toward his wrists.

He smelled of fresh rosemary, clean soap, and the faint, underlying scent of cedar. The warm light from his kitchen caught the sharp line of his jaw and the tiny, pale scar just beneath his left eye was a small mark I found myself immediately wanting to trace with my thumb.

"Hey," His voice had a low, raspy rumble that seemed to vibrate straight through the floorboards.

"Hi, Honey," I breathed. I managed a small, quick smile, my eyes darting to his heavy silver watch before locking back onto his.

"Your kitchen isn't on fire. I consider this an excellent start," A slow, genuine smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, reaching his left side first before softening his entire expression.

" Come on in."

I stepped past him into the cottage, the heat of his body washing over me for a brief second as he closed the door. The house was small, clean, and practical exactly like him.

"Can I get you some wine?" He kept walking toward the counter where an open bottle of red stood next to two glasses.

"Please," Following him into the dining area. He poured the wine with steady, practiced movements. I watched his hands. They were large, rough, and scarred from years of manual work and police duty, yet he handled the glass with a surprising, deliberate gentleness. He handed it to me, his fingers brushing against mine. The contact sent a sharp, electric jolt straight up my arm, but I kept my grip steady, taking a small sip to hide the sudden heat in my cheeks.

"Thank you." I murmured.

The table was already set. He’d laid out two plates of thick, perfectly seared ribeye steaks, accompanied by roasted potatoes and green beans. The scent of garlic and rosemary was thick in the air.

"I cook," he said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as we sat down, looking a little self-conscious for a man of his size.

"I can see that," I replied, setting my glass down.

"What gave it away?"

"The fact your kitchen isn't actively trying to kill me," I teased, my lips curving. "And the steak looks perfect. No cauliflower in sight."