Page 32 of A Love Like Candle Light

“Fuck, Abby,” I whisper and sink to the ground.

This will either be the best thing to ever happen to me or absolutely devastating.

Chapter 11

Kylie

There’s a soft knock on my door, about twenty minutes after the call. Abby rushes toward the front door, tail wagging excitedly and about as quickly as my heart is beating.

I hesitate for a moment before I open the door. Breathe, Kylie. No need to be nervous.

As soon as the door is open far enough for her to slip through, Abby darts through the gap. She pushes it open so strongly, the fall wreath I got from Wayward Hollow’s flower shop swings dangerously. After walking past it twice, admiring the orange gingham bow, chrysanthemums, pinecones and small plastic pumpkin arrangement, and listening to the voice in my head telling me I don’t need it, I decided to ignore it. Now I have the prettiest front door of Wayward Hollow, I dare say.

“I think my dog likes you,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant as Abby darts all around Erik. ‘Just like her owner,’ I add in my head. Abby runs around him, tail wagging as fast as helicopter blades and jumps up his side, whining until he gets on his knees to say hi to her properly.

“I’m not complaining.” He glances up at me between dog kisses, with a smile that takes my fucking breath away. There’s something about him on his knees that makes my stomach flutter.

“Abby, that’s enough.”

She shoots me a look over her shoulder as if to say, ‘I don’t have to listen to you.’ I don’t repeat myself and cross my arms in front of my chest and wait for her to listen to me, the way my dog trainer taught me. Once she realizes I stand on business, she gets off him to dart back into the house.

“It’s okay,” Erik mumbles and gets up.

“It’s okay once you’re inside. I don’t want her to get into bad habits,” I mumble and motion for him to come inside, softly closing the door behind him. “I’m sorry for calling you so late, but I don’t think Nic, Lauren, and Kieran are the right people to ask.” I run my hand over my face. “They’d probably be scared too, which would make me more scared, it would turn into a vicious cycle, and by the end of it we’d all be hiding under our blankets counting down the seconds until sunrise.”

“Kylie.” He puts his hand on my shoulder and waits for me to meet his eyes. I hadn’t spared it too much thought before, but now that he’s standing right in front of me? Damn, he’s tall. Almost a full head taller than me.

“You don’t need to apologize all the time. If I hadn’t wanted to come over, I would have told you.”

I stare at him, the soft smile playing at his lips, the way a strand of his blonde hair falls into his face, and the ever-so-slight lines in the corners of his eyes.

“You wanted to come here?” The flabbergasted words tumble out in a squeak before I can stop them. Well done, Kylie, you don’t sound needy at all. “Oh. Fuck. Please ignore that I asked that.”

“No, I won’t.” He lets go of my shoulder. Almost absentmindedly, he brushes a strand of my hair behind my ear. His finger hovers right by my temple and his eyes widen, ever so slightly.

My heart beats in my throat and my brain is running at a thousand miles an hour. But before I can blabber my thoughts without a filter again, he retracts his hand, staring at it as though he had an out of body experience. I guess that makes two of us.

Is this the part where he backpedals?

“Maybe ‘want’ is a strong word, but I like talking to you.”

My breath hitches. There’s so much sincerity in his voice and it spreads over my heart like a warm blanket.

“I like talking to you too,” I admit in a whisper, feeling blood rush into my cheeks. How does he say these things so nonchalantly? Is blushing not programmed into his genes?

“Also, when I became a cop, I swore to protect my community to the best of my ability.” His smile turns into a devilish grin. “Including from ghosts.”

I huff out a breath. “I doubt they made you say that when you graduated from the police academy.”

“It was implied.” He leans down to take off his shoes.

I shake my head at him and walk ahead to my living room, subtly putting my cold palms on my burning cheeks. “I was just about to make myself some hot chocolate. Do you want one too?” I ask him over my shoulder and head straight on to my kitchen.

“I’d love one.”

Soft footsteps behind me trail into the living room. They’re joined by a four-pawed pitter patter as Abby strikes again.

Shuffling commences, while I fill a small pot with enough milk for two cups. Could I throw them in the microwave? Yes. But I’d feel like a heathen. Hot chocolate has to prepared with a little fear of burning the milk and ‘oh shit it’s boiling over’ in order to taste right.