Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 101168 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101168 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
It would be Jamie’s way of showing Edgar what their home together could look like if he wanted it.
***
The streets had been teeming with Mardi Gras celebrations all week, and Jamie had picked up extra shifts at Le Corbeau, where they had started working, alongside Poe.
Alaitheia Rondeau was, for Jamie, a revelation. They knew the Lovejoys found her frustrating, but her stories about the New Orleans of a different time captivated Jamie. The history of the building, which had been a brothel and a restaurant before it was a jazz club, was palpable in the bootlegging tunnels and storage rooms that she showed them.
In fact, if Jamie didn’t know her ability was seeing ghosts, they might’ve thought she had a bit of other magic in her.
She probably did have at least a touch of magic to have convinced Poe to work at Le Corbeau now that he was—tentatively, as he kept insisting on reminding everyone—staying in town.
Poe’s presence behind the bar at Le Corbeau drew the attention of many a thirsty patron, and the leather gloves he wore only heightened his sense of mystique. Jamie knew from long experience that brooding white men could be all kinds of rude, dismissive, and self-centered and still have scads of patrons vying for their attention. But never had they seen it work to this extent.
People fell over themselves to talk to Poe (he wouldn’t). They asked him to recommend something (he recommended they look deep within themselves and figure out what they wanted to drink). They came on to him in every possible way (he ignored it). Once Jamie even saw an older woman slide a hundred-dollar bill across the bar and give Poe a knowing look. He’d pocketed the money and said he assumed it was a tip for his exceptional service.
When Jamie asked Poe if he was worried that being dismissive would be bad for Le Corbeau’s business, Poe just snorted, winked at his aunt, and said, “We’re not worried, are we?”
She had raised a knowing eyebrow. “We are not,” she replied.
After that, Jamie decided to stick to pouring drinks.
***
Jamie led Edgar through the fence and around the back of Germaine and Carl’s place, enfolding them in quiet and softly twinkling fairy lights.
They had the place all to themselves, as Germaine and Carl were spending a few days with Muriel, doing their annual Mardi Gras something. Germaine and Carl would never tell Jamie exactly what they did. All they knew was that the year before, the couple had been gone for three days, and when they returned, they seemed happy and rejuvenated. Did they bathe in the blood of virgins? Dance naked in the moonlight? Get blasted and eat fancy cheese all night? Jamie had no idea.
“What are we doing, baby?” Edgar asked when they got to the glass French doors of Germain and Carl’s parlor.
Suddenly, Jamie was hit with a wave of nerves. They’d donned the suit that had been Emma’s gift, wanting to look as good as possible for Edgar. The fabric was luscious, and it was tailored perfectly. Jamie smoothed their vest.
“So, um, I made you something. It’s an unhaunted house.”
At the entrance to the unhaunt stood a balloon arch tall enough to walk through, in terra-cotta and dark gray. The colorful sign that hung above it announced, Unhaunted House—Enter at No Risk to Yourself.
“Wait, what?” Edgar uttered in shock. “You made a haunted house? Just for me?”
“No. I made an unhaunted house just for you.”
Edgar took Jamie’s face in his hands and kissed them with the drowning sweetness that had made Jamie fall for him in the beginning.
Edgar took Jamie’s hand and stepped through the balloon arch.
It had been an interesting project: deconstructing the characteristics of a haunt in order to figure out how to create the opposite feeling.
The first unhaunt was a wooden bench like the ones in City Park. It sat on a carpet of moss and greenery and had a view of the live oaks, the lake, and all the animals that could be found there. The fabric drop of the view alone had taken them a full day to paint.
“You can sit on it if you want,” Jamie murmured, not wanting to disturb Edgar’s experience.
Edgar sat on the bench, and Jamie sat beside him. The scents of water and trees came from the oil diffuser they’d hidden among the mosses. A low soundtrack of birdsong, bicycle wheels, and the distant sound of families picnicking played in the background.
“If you open that drawer…” Jamie pointed to the top drawer of a dresser.
Edgar slid it open to reveal a tiny cup of coffee and a beignet.
“You once said that you wished you could be a normal person who could go read on a bench in City Park while you drank coffee on weekend mornings but that you could never relax enough to do it. Because you’re always on the lookout for ghosts. So now you can.”