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)
Jamie regarded him intently, and for a moment, like at the club when they first met, Edgar felt terrified that Jamie could read his mind. They looked at him as if they saw far more than he meant to reveal. Just as he felt like he’d drown in their eyes, they quirked an eyebrow.
“Well, I certainly can’t allow food to go to waste, so.” They pulled the cheesecake and sorbet toward them and dug in.
A lightness fluttered in Edgar’s chest. Joy at Jamie’s joy. Envy that he didn’t share it. Hope that perhaps someday he might.
“This cheesecake isn’t very sweet at all. Want to try?”
Edgar took a small bite. It did taste sweet to him, but not as sweet as most desserts. It was pretty good.
Jamie tried the sorbet.
“Ooh. Kinda sour. Really good. Wanna try?”
“Okay.” He ate a bite, and the grapefruit sourness made his mouth pucker, then gave way to a mellow sweetness that was more fruit than sugar.
“I like that,” he said, surprised.
Jamie pushed it in front of him. “So no beignets and coffee for you, huh?”
“Nah. Powdered sugar is like sweet chalk. And it squeaks.”
“More for me, then. If we ever go out for coffee, that is,” Jamie teased.
Edgar pictured how it could be. Walking hand in hand with Jamie, each sipping their coffee as they wandered through the Garden District or along the river. Jamie would carry a bag of beignets, munching as they went. Maybe he would lean over to kiss them and come away with the faintest taste of sweetness from their tongue.
“We should,” he murmured.
“I’d love that,” Jamie said softly.
They acquitted themself admirably but couldn’t quite finish all four desserts and relinquished the remains to the waiter in exchange for the check. Jamie slid their credit card into the envelope before Edgar could even offer to pay.
“So what do you say, Edgar I-don’t-know-your-last-name-yet? Wanna come with me on the second half of our date? Or do you want to take off?”
Edgar hadn’t known there was a second part to the date, but he definitely wanted to go on it. “Yes.”
Jamie cocked their head.
“I mean, yes, I want to go on the second half of our date. Are you sure I can’t split—”
Jamie waved him off and accepted their credit card back from the waiter.
“It’s my pleasure.”
“Lovejoy, by the way. My last name.”
Jamie snorted. “Of course it is.”
Outside, the balmy evening air settled around them. The quarter was coming alive with evening revelers, the afternoon bands that played for shoppers and tourists along Bourbon Street giving way to partiers wielding radioactive-colored cocktails in bright plastic go-cups of different shapes—purple voodoo punch, pink fishbowls, green hand grenades, and daiquiris in every color of the rainbow.
“So, um, where are we going?”
“You’ll see,” Jamie said with a grin. They walked with purpose.
Edgar did not appreciate surprises. Surprises meant unfamiliar places, and sometimes unfamiliar places meant ghosts. But since he couldn’t say that, he said, “It’s weird to be down here on a Saturday night. Usually I avoid the quarter like the plague on weekends.”
“Same. Once, I had to pick something up for work the morning after St. Patrick’s Day, and I knew Bourbon Street would be deserted because everyone was so hungover, so I cut down it. And oh boy, what a mistake. Just puke and pee and wigs and beads, and even the street was sticky, and it was ick. Very gross.”
They shuddered.
“But we have a good reason for being here, and I promise it doesn’t include cocktails that look the same color coming back up. God, sorry, I don’t mean to keep talking about vomit on a date.”
Edgar smiled. But as they crossed Rampart, all humor drained from Edgar as he realized where they were.
Jamie grinned at him. “Here we are.” And they gestured to a sign that announced what the second half of their date would be.
A ghost tour.
8
Jamie
Jamie was tipsy with excitement as they walked through the French Quarter with Edgar by their side. Every time their shoulders bumped or their fingers grazed, Jamie felt a frisson of possibility.
Had there been some strange, awkward moments during dinner? Yes. But Jamie chalked it up to first-date nerves on both their parts. They couldn’t wait for a time when Edgar felt comfortable enough to let his guard down. Hopefully, a little bit of kitschy haunted fun would help. An excuse to stand close in the dark, to whisper, lips grazing cheeks, to hold hands.
“Here we are,” Jamie said as they approached the sign that announced FRENCH QUARTER GHOST TOURS. “I signed us up for Carys’ ghost tour! I know she’s a friend of yours, so I thought—”
The expression on Edgar’s face brought Jamie up short. He looked like he’d retreated to the dimension he’d been in when Jamie first saw him at the Never Lounge.
Their stomach fell. Edgar clearly thought it was stupid, and no wonder, since they were locals and this was mostly a silly tourist thing. Or maybe Edgar was one of those people who considered horror lowbrow, like their parents.