Page 26 of Grave Expectations

“For now,” he said.

“For now? We’ve only a week until the Pumpkin Festival. Do you really want to strengthen the tether that much more?” Roz asked.

Alaric stared at her for a long moment, considering. He was back to looking surly, assessing her quietly. She squirmed under his gaze, wanting so desperately to know what he was thinking. She barely knew him, she realized. She couldn’t read his expressions, she had no idea what was going through his head.

A wave of insecurity crashed into her. He’d been alone for three hundred years and was just clinging to her because he was lonely. He didn’t actually like her, he was just horny and there was no one else around. When the Pumpkin Festival came and the barrier between the living and dead was the thinnest, they’d break the curse and he could pass on…see that woman he’d loved so long ago.

And then Roz would be alone again, with the cemetery. Avoided by the townspeople, unable to leave and abandon her sister and duties. She didn’t want kids, didn’t care about childbearing age bullshit. But having someone around to talk to, to sleep with…it was nice.

“Out with it,” Roz said, waving her hands. She couldn’t stand the awkward silence as he stared at her.

“I’m considering my words,” he said. “I have been told I’m too quick to speak.”

“That’s never good,” Roz muttered.

“What?”

“That whatever you have to say, you have to do it in a way that won’t hurt my feelings.”

“I worry more about frightening you,” he admitted. Roz didn’t know what to say to that. What could he possibly say that would scare her?

“I will think on it some more. Where are we going?” he said at last.

“I was going to the bakery,” she said. “I need a cinnamon roll.”

“Town favorite,” Alaric remarked.

“Did you have them in the 1690s?”

“Love, we drank home-brewed alcohol.”

Roz’s face heated at being called love. He didn’t mean it on any deeper level. It was like being called “bro” or “dude,” but in the 1600s.

“Then how did you know it’s a town favorite?”

“Sometimes I sit in the bakery and watch. They sell out of cinnamon rolls more often than not.”

Right. She’d forgotten about his nomadic confession, that he would sit amongst the people of Pumpkin Hollow just to feel close to them. It filled her with an awful sadness, and then a sense of urgency. They should be trying to break the curse, to let him loose, to get him out of his purgatory.

She pushed the door open to Wicked Whisk, holding the door open for Alaric. Rowan sat behind the counter, his elbow resting on top of it, his head piled on his hand. When the door closed, he jerked upright, straightening his apron. His red-rimmed eyes took in Roz, the corners of his mouth turning up slightly.

“Hey,” he said, his voice thick with sleep.

“Hey. Can I grab a few cinnamon rolls?” Roz asked.

“They’re almost done…can you wait, like, fifteen minutes?” he asked.

“Sure,” Roz agreed. Rowan’s cell phone rang and he looked at her apologetically. “I gotta take this.”

“No worries,” Roz said to Rowen’s retreating form. “He looks kind of awful, huh?”

“I’m sure he has a lot going on,” Alaric said evasively.

“Like what?” Roz asked, turning to look at Alaric. He slid his arms around her waist before she could, his mouth lowering to her ear. A delicious shiver ran down her spine.

“How long do you think he’ll be away?” Alaric asked. She was aware he was intentionally changing the subject but realized she didn’t care.

“Why?” she breathed.