He nodded slowly, as if trying to file that away somewhere that made sense in his tidy Christian mind.
“Right there,” I said, pointing to a narrow space in front of a tall brick row house. “That’s me. You can park there.”
He pulled up to the curb, engine rumbling low. My heart was pounding for no good reason.
Get it together, Perez.
But I couldn’t. My throat was dry, palms restless. “Uh,” I said before I could stop myself. “You want to come in for a minute?”
Jimmy’s eyes flicked toward the house, then back to me. I could see the wheels turning behind that polite, nervous smile. He wanted to say no, but he also didn’t want to leave.
“Sure,” he muttered finally, voice barely audible over the idling engine.
We got out of the truck. The autumn air felt cooler now, brushing against my overheated skin. I led him up the stone steps, unlocking the front door. The old hinges creaked open and, just like that, my private world lay open before him.
Jimmy stepped inside—and froze.
“Whoa.”
The front room glowed in soft amber light. Tall windows framed velvet curtains, and the walls gleamed with dark woodand gold trim. An antique gramophone stood in the corner, and a glass-topped bar cart sparkled beside a plush art déco sofa. Everything gleamed with a kind of deliberate beauty, polished and timeless.
“This place is…” His voice trailed off. “Amazing. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
I laughed, setting my keys on the sideboard. “What did you expect? Pentagrams on the floor? A trapdoor opening to the bowels of hell?”
He blinked, startled. “I—no, I just—”
His wide-eyed sincerity nearly undid me. God, he was adorable when he was flustered. I had to look away before I did something very, very stupid.
“Come on,” I said, clearing my throat. “You want something to drink?”
“Sure.”
We walked through to the kitchen. It was bright, modern—sleek countertops, stainless steel, sunlight pouring through tall windows.
I grabbed a pitcher of ice water from the fridge and filled two glasses. He took his glass and sipped, then a droplet spilled past his lip, sliding down his chin to splash against the front of his green shirt.
My pulse spiked. The sight of it—just a drop of water on fabric—made my body tense like a bowstring.
Jimmy wiped it with his sleeve, his cheeks pink. “Guess I’m not used to being this nervous,” he said with a laugh that didn’t sound entirely casual.
Neither was I.
Before I could think of something—anything—to say, his phone buzzed. The sound was sharp in the quiet.
He pulled it out of his pocket and groaned. “My dad. I’ve got to take it.”
He stepped away toward the archway, thumb trembling slightly as he swiped the screen. “Hey, Daddy,” he said, voice tight. “Yeah… I’m still in Richmond… No, I wasn’t—no, sir, not there.”
From across the kitchen, I could hear the man’s voice blasting through the phone—low, sharp, commanding, in a tone that didn’t invite disagreement. Jimmy flinched at every syllable.
My chest went tight.
He stammered through replies, trying to sound calm, but his voice cracked around the edges. “I—I told you, I haven’t found anything… I’m not—no, sir, I’m not one of them… I promise.”
The silence after that was worse. I couldn’t hear the words, but I could feel them, like thunder on the other side of a closed door. Whatever his father was saying, it was meant to cut deep.
I shouldn’t have listened. I should’ve walked away. But I couldn’t stop myself. There was something about the way Jimmy’s shoulders hunched, the way he pressed his free hand to his stomach like he was bracing for impact, that hit me square in the gut.
