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)
Emma frowned, like she couldn’t compute someone turning down a family demand. It certainly wasn’t common, not in their family.
“Well, maybe I can ask Meredith,” she mused. “You know how Meredith is. She was really upset when I said I picked you.”
Jamie didn’t, and they didn’t care. “Sounds good.”
“My roommate. Mer. You remember Meredith.”
Their parents were both looking at Jamie as if they’d said they didn’t remember who the pope was. Jamie was ninety-nine percent sure they’d never even seen a picture of this person, but they gave a noncommittal nod to keep the conversation moving forward.
“She’ll be good with all the planning. She was secretary of our sorority.”
Relief flooded Jamie at being let off the hook. They could just imagine pulling an all-nighter because they had to plan a fucking bachelorette party.
Emma went on, “And I swear I’m not gonna be all bridezilla about this. Like, I’ll make sure all the bridesmaids will look good in the color I choose. And I won’t pick any dress you would hate either. God, remember Shawna Kinkaide’s wedding?” Emma asked, turning to their mom. “She had me wear that lime mermaid dress? Yikes.” Emma shuddered.
Heat clawed up Jamie’s throat and finally exploded.
“Dude, I’m not wearing a fucking dress!”
Jamie’s mother looked around the restaurant to make sure no one had heard her offspring curse.
The second Bloody Mary metabolized all at once, and Jamie became acutely aware of their heart and how hard it was pounding. There was a strange ringing sound in the restaurant. No, in their ears.
“How about I wear a tux, okay?” Jamie offered weakly.
“It’s not black tie,” Blythe snapped, sounding horrified.
“A suit, then,” Jamie offered. “You tell me the color, and I’ll take care of the rest.”
There was an awkward silence at the table—the kind Jamie had gotten used to after coming out to their family.
“Whatever,” Emma sniffed.
“We’ll figure it out,” their father soothed, placing a placating hand on his wife’s arm.
A familiar shame settled over Jamie, a shame that stiffened their spine, squared their shoulders, and lifted their chin, just like it had when they were a child.
“Yes,” Blythe said. “We certainly will.”
It sounded more like a threat than a reassurance in her mouth.
Jamie took a bite of cold pancake. It stuck in their throat.
5
Edgar
Things were not going well, for entirely mundane reasons—a depressing reminder that while being haunted was Edgar’s biggest problem, it wasn’t the only one. Edgar had gotten splattered with muddy water by a passing truck, popped a tire on his bike, and torn the hem of his shirt while fixing it, and it was only 3 p.m. So when he approached the next address for delivery and the sign read BAINBRIDGE ANTIQUES, it was just confirmation that today was not his day.
“Come on,” he muttered and double-checked the address.
Antique stores, estate sales, museums—those places all held objects likely to be connected to the dead. That meant a far greater likelihood of a ghost hanging around.
With a sigh, he heaved the box of Lagniappe Lemonade bottles from the trolley of his bike. He’d just square his shoulders, keep a tight grip on the box, and get out as quickly as possible.
After the bright sun, Bainbridge Antiques was so dark that for a moment, Edgar could hardly see anything. As his eyes adjusted, he found himself in a narrow entryway lined with art and furniture. Quiet hung over the place. Edgar didn’t want to disturb it—or anything in it—so he picked his way carefully down the serpentine hall. The layout was like a beehive, with furniture and mirrors dividing the space into cells and corridors that led to who knew where.
Edgar followed two faint voices down the rightmost path and came to the center of the maze, a stack of luxurious rugs illuminated by dozens of softly lit crystal chandeliers.
“Delivery for Mr. Bainbridge,” Edgar said when a stooped white-haired man came into view. “Where would you like it?”
“Oh, hello, dear boy,” the man said delightedly. “Hmm.” He looked around him as though even he wasn’t entirely sure where anything was.
“And I’ll just need your signature.” Edgar shifted the heavy box from one arm to the other to pull out his phone.
“Have you ever tried this beverage?” Mr. Bainbridge asked. He peered up at Edgar, eyes sparkling behind his spectacles. “I must admit, I was beguiled by the packaging.”
But before Edgar could answer, a figure emerged from behind a large mirror. Someone Edgar hadn’t expected to see again after their meeting at the Never Lounge the weekend before. Hoped, but not expected.
Jamie.
Dressed in Carhartts, work boots, and a white undershirt, they looked nothing like they had at the club, but Edgar would’ve recognized them anywhere.
Edgar had watched Jamie’s burlesque performance with an ache in his throat that he couldn’t explain. Every twist of Jamie’s hips and drape of their arms had felt like magic, and the look on Jamie’s face as they performed…well, it had made Edgar wonder if that was what Jamie would look like in the throes of passion.