A broad, radiant smile spreads across my face. Somehow, that little question feels more confident and courageous than anything Manny has done since I met him.
I don't hesitate. “I thought you'd never ask.”
Chapter seven
Fright Night
The moon is a sharp sliver in the sky, and despite the humidity, the air feels like an extension of my skin. The moment we exited the bar, it felt like we fell back into some routine we could never have possibly had. An easy rhythm of banter covering so many things: poetry, music, books, even my own past. Nothing felt off the table anymore.
We turn a corner, the rhythmic clack of my boots almost in time with the slap of Manny’s shoes. The entire time, I am struggling to get a thought out between chuckles. “I swear, I thought he was asking me on a date!”
“Pitchforks and torches weren’t a dead giveaway? Actually, how did they not think that was a cliche?!”
“To be fair, it wasn’t a cliche yet.” I have to stop, choking on my own laughter.
Manny slows next to me, his firm hand rubbing circles into my back as my mismatched lungs try to catch theirbreath. When I look back up at him, I see the Manny from before, the one I met that first night, but knowing what I know, I’ve become so curious about what was actually going through his head.
“So, I gotta ask.” My words come out between exhausted exhales. “What did you think when you first saw me?”
It takes a moment for him to get his composure, but there’s no more of that holding back. “I thought you were too sexy for a haunted house.”
“And your eyeglass prescription had no effect on your ability to leer at me?”
He purses his lips, caught in the lie. “Maybe, maybe I saw a curvy woman, yeah, but I also saw someone in need.”
The answer catches me completely by surprise, and I almost forget that the only reason I ran out that door was that I was having a borderline panic attack. He waits to make sure I have no witty comeback before continuing. “I saw you were having a bad time, not uncommon at a bar, though not usually at our bar, and I wanted to help.”
He steps back and then gestures to himself. “Only problem is I look like this, and I didn’t want to add to your panic attack. You bust into a back alley only to get cornered by a big dude.”
“So your solution was to flirt with me?”
“I thought I was being corny! Like, if she thinks I’m some idiot, maybe it will get her mind off whatever isbothering her. That and a cigarette seemed to do the trick.”
I wanted to protest, but I couldn’t argue with the results. “So, you didn’t actually think I was a sexy Frankenstein?”
He pauses, one foot caught in a trap. “Ah, well. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t intrigued.”
“Intrigued? Is that like interesting?” I tease, bringing up thoughts of yesterday's conversation about books and inspiration.
He continues, as if walking will somehow get him away from the topic. “Let’s just say if I had to do it over again, I would have tried to play it a little smoother. Though I swear I wasn't trying to be rude. I thought you worked at the new place up the road. How could I imagine someone so amazing would walk into my bar?”
We turn the corner and are immediately assaulted by the flashing of a bright, glowing neon sign.
“Speak of the devil,” Manny declares.
When he had first described it, I was expecting some sort of classy haunted house; instead, we are met withSteamboat Willie's Horror Tour.A fair use cash grab on some recently liberated Disney IP.
I chuckle, a genuine, throaty sound that rumbles in my chest. Somehow, I can’t reconcile his calling me amazing with whatever thisis.
“And what, exactly, did you imagine the women who work there look like?” I tease, a playful glint in my eyes. “Because if this is your standard for 'amazing,' you must walk around perpetually disappointed.”
I can see how badly he wants to frown, but that cheeky smile is beating him so thoroughly. I look back at the haunted house in all its tacky glory, a cacophony of mismatched themes, with neon signs promising both family-friendly scares and seedy thrills. Something swells in me, not an act, but a genuine enthusiasm, as my fingers lace with Manny’s. “Come on! We gotta go!”
He shakes his head, letting me lead him like a dog on a leash. We approach the painted plywood entrance. Manny slips the teenager the requisite $10 bill as I slip my arm around his bicep. The teen jerks his head for us to enter, and I follow, hoping this sideshow will live up to the unrealistic expectations Manny has set for it.
Inside, the air instantly changes, thick with the scent of dry-ice fog and fake cobwebs, underscored by a low, cackling soundtrack. It's cheesy. It's predictable. And I absolutely love it.
“It's perfect, isn't it?” I whisper, my eyes dancing with mischief in the strobing lights. I tug Manny deeper inside, past a skeletal figure that pops out with a groan. He doesn’t even flinch, his focus entirely on me.
