Page 83 of Haunt Me, Maybe

The square was nearly empty now that most people were back inside. A delivery truck rumbled somewhere down the block, and birds landed on the grass hunting for worms. A perfectly normal morning. It looked harmless, but that didn’t mean it was. Fuck, he was right.

“I just needed air,” I whispered. “To breathe. To see the town before…”

Before everything changed.

He stepped closer, until the cool edge of him brushed my skin.

“You can’t disappear on me,” he said, softer but no less firm.

I’d scared him. It was there in his tight shoulders and intense stare. Did he think I decided to run after all?

“I wasn’t disappearing,” I swore. “Not intentionally.”

His gaze searched mine, and then he exhaled. Was he afraid I’d run and leave him to face Gideon alone? Or that my disappearing meant rejection of…us?

“I know you’re scared,” he said. “You’d be insane not to be.”

A weak laugh slipped out of me. I had insane locked down.

“But I’ve watched you these last few days, and I’ve seen you take something that used to tear you apart and turn it into something steady. Something powerful. You’re ready, Aven. And no matter what happens, I’m right here.”

The certainty in his voice hit harder than his earlier reprimand, and I swallowed over a suddenly tight throat.

“What if I fail?” Because that was the most likely outcome.

He didn’t even hesitate. “You won’t.” Brushing a fallen leaf from my shoulder, Wes then lifted my chin with a finger. “But even if the worst happens, we face it together. I don’t care what that looks like. You don’t carry it alone.”

Goddess, that did it. I blinked back tears of relief. Of gratitude. Holding myself together was almost impossible under his scrutiny, but I managed it. As the lazy autumn morning bloomed around us, Wes studied me for a long beat.

“You know what you need?” he asked.

I arched a brow. “A bodyguard who isn’t bossy?”

A faint smirk tugged at his mouth. “A normal day.”

That sounded amazing. And impossible. There was so much still to do, to practice. But he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“You’ve been watching this town through windows and fear for too long. You deserve to see it up close, from the oldest not-quite-living resident.” He opened his arms wide, playful and earnest all at once. “Amber Grove, the full access tour. But there’s one rule: you don’t wander off without me. Deal?”

“Yes, sir,” I murmured, and I swore his gaze darkened.

Off we went. Wes started with the hidden bench tucked behind the library, half-swallowed by ivy, where generations of teenagers carved their initials into the wood. Layer over layer of forever promises, some crossed out, some weathered and softened by time.

“The town’s most reliable heartbreak archive,” he said with a chuckle.

I ran my fingers over the grooves, imagining him here once—laughing and careless, alive. Wes guided me through the diner’s back alley, where they left day-old leftovers for the strays.

We paused at the old oak at the edge of the green, its trunk split clean down the center by lightning decades ago. The town wrapped the scar in fairy lights rather than cut it down.

Giggling, we watched the diner owner hang a chalkboard sign: Pumpkin Spice Everything—Try Not To Judge. And next door, the florist arranged cinnamon-scented mums on her stoop.

Leaves crunched beneath my boots as we circled the gazebo, the sound sharp in the crisp morning air. Wes walked beside me like the best kind of shadow; close enough to feel, but cool enough to remind me he wasn’t entirely of this world.

I’d never had mornings like this. Never stayed anywhere long enough to learn the small, quaint rituals that made a town breathe. Never allowed myself to soften into belonging. Amber Grove felt different. Almost dangerous in its sweetness. The tour ended where, apparently, most secrets in town did—behind the clock tower.

Wes led me around the back of the old brick building, past a rusted bicycle rack and a forgotten flower bed tangled with late asters. A narrow iron door hung crooked on its hinges, the latch long surrendered to time. He pushed it open with one hand and stepped inside.

“After you,” he said, voice lower now. Warmer.