Page 79 of 10 Things I Hate About Zombies

Maybe he’d asked too much of her.

Yes, that’s all it was. Definitely nothing more than that. Because it couldn’t be more than that, could it?

‘She’s … dealing with a bit of hay fever.’ Nick hoped this excuse would fly with Larissa, who was pretty fearsome when it came to cross-examining a witness. ‘We’ve got her dosed up on Benadryl,’ he added, for good measure.

He shot Zoey a quick glance, crossing his fingers that she didn’t mind the fabrication.

‘Want me to DoorDash some soup?’ asked Cleo.

Zoey groaned.

‘I get it,’ said Cleo agreeably. ‘I’m not a soup girl, either. Unless it’s pho. Soup of the gods.’

‘Let’s get you inside, babe,’ said Nick hurriedly. ‘Away from the pollen.’

He held the door for Zoey and his sisters, who followed at a safe distance. Cleo was smiling gamely, but Larissa was wearing her usual bloody-hell-Nick-get-some-standards expression. All right, so Jessica had demonstrated some shortcomings. But Zoey was different. She had so much going for her. She was just having an … off night.

They squeezed into the B&B’s lavishly decorated sunroom, which was a riot of patterned wallpaper and art glass. Dried flowers filled vases of all sizes, and a massive grandfather clock ticked a stately rhythm across the glossy hardwoods. Alice took a seat just inside the door, like the good girl she was.

Samson and Charles, the B&B owners, whom Nick had met at the farmers’ market a couple of times, greeted them effusively.

‘Welcome back inside!’ they chorused, in a way that suggested they spent several hours a week working on the line.

No, Samson! With feeling!

Must you do that finger waggle, Charles?

‘Nick, wonderful to see you!’ Samson stepped forward to give Nick a kiss on each cheek.

‘And this must be Zoey?’ Charles leaned in to do the same. ‘I’m loving the green eye shadow. Really brings out your … cheekbones.’

Zoey blinked slowly. Perhaps to show off the eye shadow, thought Nick. Or perhaps she was just overwhelmed by the B&B’s very strong floral aroma. Apparently this was where potpourri migrated for the winter.

He found himself hovering close to her, just in case.

Just in case what, Nick?

No, he wasn’t going to speak it into existence. Because it wasn’t that. It couldn’t be that.

‘We’ve put together a grazing table for your group. Just some nibbles and some vino. Nothing fancy.’ Samson pointed at a small side table, which teetered under a cheese platter that was the opposite of nothing fancy. ‘And Zoey, if you haven’t seen our little B&B’s cameo on Monsterio, you simply must. The YouTube clip is queued up on the monitor right over there.’

‘We’ve already seen it twice,’ whispered Cleo. ‘But humour them. We won this trip, after all – we’re not paying a cent to be here.’

‘I’m going to watch it on repeat,’ promised Nick. If his farm ended up on a show, he’d be telling everyone about it, wouldn’t he? Especially if he got paid for the pleasure. Looping his arm around Zoey’s waist, Nick hit play on the clip, marvelling at the practical effects on display – there was a brilliantly Eighties werewolf transformation taking place in a facsimile of the parlour where he was presently standing. ‘Oh hey, that’s the exact same couch. And bookshelf. And is that you, Samson?’

Samson nodded proudly. ‘I had a speaking line, so I get residuals. Residuals!’

‘Brr …’ whispered Zoey.

‘Are you cold, babe?’ Swallowing, Nick took off his plaid shirt and wrapped it around her shoulders. She was definitely coming down with something. He hoped it wasn’t the flu. Although the flu was better than … the alternative.

‘Pretty exciting, isn’t it?’ said Samson, poking at the monitor. ‘They changed the layout of the garden and took out a wall, which they rebuilt in a day – incredible what a set designer can do – but other than that, they didn’t change anything. I told you the ceramic music box lady with the umbrella wasn’t kitschy,’ he added in an aside to Charles. ‘If it’s good enough for Hollywood …’

Charles crossed his arms. ‘That production was hardly Hollywood. I don’t think it was even union.’

Samson rolled his eyes. ‘He’s just mad because he didn’t get a speaking line. Or get into the Irvington Men’s Choir this year.’

‘It was a competitive year!’ Charles shot Samson a look that indicated they would absolutely be relitigating this conversation later. ‘Anyway, we won’t ruin your party. Girls, you have the code to get in after hours?’