Page 31 of Never Invite a Vampire to Dinner

“It’s my house.”

“It will continue being your house if you remain inside it.”

I cross my arms. “That sounded suspiciously like an order.”

“It was a plea dressed as one.”

That stops me for half a second. Half a second is apparently enough, because he’s already gone. He comes back seven minutes later with his coat off, his dark shirt soaked through, and the loose section of trellis tied down well enough that my roses may live to judge me another year.

The shirt is plastered to him. I would like to report that I handle this like an adult. I do not.

The shirt has committed fully to the shape of the man underneath it, and there is an unreasonable amount of man. The wet cotton has gone half transparent and found every single muscle. I forget what I was going to say.

“You’re staring,” Julian says.

“I am assessing storm damage.”

“To me.”

“You’re part of the property now.”

“How rapidly I’ve advanced,” he says dryly.

I turn around before he can see my face and go light candles. All of them. By six, the cottage looks faintly medieval. Candles on the mantel. Candles on the stairs. Candles in every mismatched holder Gran collected over forty years. Four in a loaf pan, which is not ideal but is happening.

The whole downstairs goes soft and gold. Shadows sway across the walls every time the house takes a gust. Rain runs black down the windows.

Julian comes in from checking the back door and stops. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

He looks around at the candles, the crooked shelves crammed with cookbooks, the jars of dried herbs, the wall of photographs beside the stairs.

“It suits you. This house.”

“It’s falling down.”

“So am I, arguably.”

It takes me three seconds. Then I laugh so hard I have to put down the candle I’m holding. Julian never pushes a joke towards you. He leaves it lying around like a coin under a cushion and waits to see if you’ll notice.

The rain gets worse.

By seven, Theo has managed to send one text before the cell tower gives up. Tree down across Point Road. Harbor road under water. Fire department turning everyone back at the Congregational church.

I read it twice, then I look at Julian.

“You’re stuck.”

“I am.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Do not be.” He glances towards the black window. “I have been stuck in considerably worse company.”

Something inside me makes a small, pleased sound. I ignore it.