Page 44 of With All My Haunted Heart

One corner of her lips quirks up. “That’s some serial killer shit, Pippa.”

“It is not!” I say, but I’m smiling for real now, and my heart soars when she matches the expression. “You listen to too much true crime.”

“You can’t tell me a serial killer wouldn’t love to have a spell like that on hand. They wouldn’t have to use abandoned warehouses or reinforced basements for their murdering.”

“Now you sound like you have bodies stashed somewhere.”

Elle shrugs, but there’s a new weight in her gaze alongside the teasing. “Who’s to say? Maybe I do.”

I step closer until she has to tip her chin up to meet my gaze. “We should fill the B&B with the ghosts of your victims. Perhaps they’ll meet your standards.”

All the humor falls from her face as she looks away, and I’m stabbed with regret. “Elle. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“No, it was a fair shot. I am sorry about Friday…and for avoiding you all weekend.” She rubs her hands along her arms, like she’s suddenly cold. “I haven’t acted like it, but I do realize how fucking incredible you are.”

Her words hook into my ribs, stealing my breath. Is she…

“I never meant for you to feel like I take you for granted,” she continues, the shadow of a smile flourishing into something mischievous and heated. “I don’t actually plan to kiss your ass, though. That seems excessive.”

“Oh, come on,” I tease, caught up in a sudden boldness I have no right to feel. “I have a great ass.”

Elle’s gaze travels down the length of me, lingering on the curve of my chest before finally settling on my hips. Her pupils blow wide, darkening the green of her eyes. “I can’t say that I disagree.” She’s biting her bottom lip as she backs away. “See you in the morning, Pippa.”

And then she exits the library, leaving me parsing a double negative and wondering what the hell I’ve gotten myself into.

Chapter

Thirteen

“This is for you.”

Elle leans over me, smelling like cinnamon, butter, and warm bread, and places a piece of paper on the table beside my bowl of oatmeal. She lingers a moment, the heat of her body warming me through my flannel. I shiver when she steps away.

I swallow the oatmeal in my mouth, nearly choking on a thick clump of it in my haste. “What is it?”

“Ghost parameters.” Elle sits in the chair beside me instead of her usual spot on the other side of the table. The green sweater she’s wearing slips over one shoulder, highlighting the curve of muscle and smooth skin. “Organized by order of importance.”

“Wouldn’t expect anything less.” I tear my gaze from her collarbone—and the sudden urge to press my lips to the hollow of her throat—and focus on the list she’s put together.

Nonnegotiable

A decent human (queer-friendly, not racist, etc.)

Not terrifying to look at (no decapitations)

Happy to interact with guests

Knows how to be appropriate around children and teens

Highly Preferred

Had an interesting life / good stories to tell to guests

Good roommates—someone Alex and I will be glad to see on a daily basis

Extroverts?

Possible to find ghosts who lived in a variety of historical time periods?