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)
Edgar didn’t want fear to cost him anything more. Not ever again.
He swallowed hard and cupped Jamie’s face.
“Jamie, I love you. I love everything about you. You’re my best friend, and I think you’re amazing. That…that’s all.”
Jamie’s face did something complicated and precious. “I love you too,” they said right away. “I respect you so much. Your kindness and your generosity. The way you always expect the best of me. Also did I mention how brave and handsome and incredibly sexy you are?”
Edgar pulled them close.
“I love you,” they whispered and kissed his cheek. “I love you.” A kiss to his jaw. “I really fucking love you.”
“What a night,” Edgar said. Then he started to cry.
32
Jamie
Mardi Gras, Four Months Later
The thing about having Edgar Lovejoy for a boyfriend was that Jamie was constantly getting sneak attacked by things that turned their heart to absolute mush.
Unpredictable tiny things, like when he made Jamie a birthday cake. It had been delicious, and Jamie had said so. What they didn’t find out until later, from Poe, was that Edgar had been over at Allie and Poe’s place five days in a row practicing how to make it.
There was the time he bumped into a bush while they were walking to get coffee and absently murmured, “Oops, sorry,” without breaking stride. The way he ducked his head when Jamie opened a door for him, surprised and pleased by the courtesy. How he’d introduced Jamie to his coworker at the cat café by saying, “This is my…Jamie,” and hadn’t noticed.
The time he’d texted Jamie, Do you want to come fuck me, please?, got immediately self-conscious, and texted the follow-up, Yikes, is that weird? If so I am totally kidding, and a string of emojis that Jamie could only parse as a pictography of shame. Edgar’s request and uncertainty had tingled deep in Jamie’s gut, and they’d made sure that Edgar would never doubt himself about sending similar texts in the future.
There was the way he mumbled in his sleep, as if even in dreams, he didn’t want to disturb anyone. The way he sometimes gasped an “Oh!” of surprise at the pleasure Jamie caused him. And how he fell asleep in Jamie’s arms, head heavy on their shoulder like Edgar trusted they could take his weight.
At Jamie’s request, they’d decided not to celebrate Christmas with Jamie’s parents, but Jamie had made plans to meet up with Emma in the new year. Although Jamie knew their parents were hurt and offended by their decision, it had led to the nicest Christmas they’d had in some time, celebrating Christmas Eve at Allie and Poe’s, quaffing champagne and playing an old version of Trivial Pursuit that Allie took from Magpie Vintage. Even Edgar had sipped a glass, resulting in an adorable tipsy confidence in his incorrect answers that Jamie wished they’d taken video of.
But that night, in bed, after Edgar’d fallen asleep, Jamie had felt a dislocating sadness that they pulled around themself like a blanket and huddled in. And Edgar had known. He’d known Jamie would feel bittersweet about their first Christmas without the Wendon-Dales, and he’d planned a new tradition to replace the old. He had curated a movie marathon of holiday romantic comedies and prepared a cheese plate to go with them. Jamie had burst into tears on the spot and found themself cuddled under a blanket and a large man who kissed their face and held them close.
When Jamie was ready, Edgar bundled them into the living room, put the cheese plate on the coffee table, pushed Play on the first movie, and cuddled Jamie close. It was two in the morning.
There was the time Jamie had been a guest on a haunting podcast and Edgar had texted everyone they knew to tell them to listen.
Then there was their first fight. It had been a silly nothing of a fight—stress plus exhaustion caused Edgar to snap at Jamie, and Jamie had snapped back. They’d both apologized later, and Edgar had said in a serious but shaky voice, “I don’t like when I’m not at my best for you.”
Jamie wanted to ask Edgar if he wanted to move in together. They loved Edgar and were sick of missing him on nights when they were too tired to drive over. They hated that when they weren’t together, Edgar woke from his nightmares all alone.
They were ready.
But unlike Jamie, who’d been living with five other people when they got the chance to live in Germaine and Carl’s guesthouse, Edgar had always lived alone, by choice. His home was his sanctuary, and Jamie wasn’t positive he’d want to share it. So Jamie decided to compose a love letter for Edgar in the form they knew best: a haunt. Only this was no ordinary haunt.
This was an unhaunt. The opposite of something that would scare or startle, this would be a place that soothed and comforted, a place that inspired happiness.