Page 85 of A Love Like Candle Light

“No, it’s not. And you know it.” As we pull onto the highway, my hand frees up and I put it on her knee, rubbing gentle circles on it with my thumb until she stops it, only to lace her fingers with mine.

The sun sets in the distance, casting a golden glow over the red, yellow, and green forests we drive past.

It takes us half an hour to reach the spot my friend recommended and I’m loving every second of the drive. We talk about any and everything. My favorite book. Her favorite true crime documentary. Growing up in Wayward Hollow.

By the time we’re there, the sun has mostly disappeared behind mountains in the distance, only a hint of orange illuminating the sky.

“If it weren’t you with me, I’d get mad serial killer vibes,” Kylie whispers and stares at the off-road I’m pulling into. And she’d be wise to. The road consists of dried mud trails on the ground, leading through a thick forest.

“If I were a serial killer, I’d be smarter about it,” I promise her with a wink. She rolls her eyes.

The spot I pull into is not too far off the road. It’s a wide field atop a hill, so far up we can see for miles. Mainly treetops and mountains in the very distance.

Her stomach grumbles the moment I turn off the engine. “Shit, I should’ve brought a snack.”

“I’m way ahead of you,” I promise and get out. She climbs out of it before I can open the door for her, earning herself a playful glare.

“Hey, I’m not sitting around and waiting for you to walk around your car. I’m way too impatient, and you haven’t even told me what we’re doing here.”

“We’re having a picnic.” Her face lights up and she lets out the cutest giggle. “Come on, let Abby out of the car and I’ll get the food from the trunk.”

“Yay!” she squeals and opens the door for her dog. Meanwhile, I pull several blankets out of my trunk along with a backpack full of food containers.

“Come on, I can carry something.” She makes grabby hands. Knowing she wouldn’t accept an objection; I hand her one of the blankets, kissing the side of her head while I have her close.

She purses her lips and holds the blanket up. “Seriously?”

“Seriously. How about you go ahead and find a spot for us to set up at?”

“Okay.” Abby and her dart off. I watch them skip over the grass, pondering over the perfect spot. Finally, they declare a space not too far from the car the winner and Kylie spreads out the blanket. We can still see the car from there, but it’s also far enough away from the trees surrounding this free space so we can see the stars.

Both of them watch me expectantly as I make my way over with the food in tow.

“This is so cool,” Kylie declares and pats the blanket right next to her. Taking the hint, I sit down right there, our thighs touching.

“Thank you, Erik,” Kylie whispers once I’ve unpacked all of the food containers. There’s an assortment of pastries from Caleb’s, finger food I got from the supermarket and I got aunt Molly to bake me her famous pizza rolls for the occasion. She was all too happy to support my wooing endeavors.

Abby is running around the field, chasing invisible butterflies and clearly hasn’t noticed all the food on the blanket yet, or the can of dog food I brought for her.

“How did you get so into true crime?” I ask Kylie and open up the containers holding Molly’s pizza rolls.

“I had a lot of alone time.” Her smile turns sad. “One evening I watched a documentary and got hooked. Though I have to say I’m not the biggest fan of this whole trend surrounding true crime.” She waves a hand through the air and sighs. “Documentaries are one thing, but I don’t know, gossipy kinds of podcasts or videos about those terrible people and their victims feel a little icky to me.”

“There are gossipy podcasts about true crime?” My eyes widen. What a concept.

“Yep.”

I hold up a pizza roll for her and she bites into it. “I’m not sure what to think about that.”

“Trust me, it’s a can of worms you don’t want to open,” she says with a full mouth, then closes her eyes and lets out a groan and hits the blanket with her palm. “Fuck, this is delicious.”

“Thank you. I’ll tell Aunt Molly.”

“These are from your aunt?” Her eyes widen. “Damn, then tell her she’s a genius. Put it on thick, I want her to like me.”

“Sure. Speaking of,” I pull out my phone and shoot her a quick message asking for pictures of my mother and dad. Then I put it on silent and slide it right back into my pocket where it will remain for the rest of the evening.

We stay on the blanket, talking about anything. How she’s liking Wayward Hollow. How her ghost is doing. Her hobbies. I want to know everything about her. All her secrets, all her little quirks.