Page 12 of Haunted Spurs

“And did you know that when…” she starts, her voice dropping dangerously low and sharp.

“Oh, so we’re not pretending it didn’t happen. Thank God!” I exclaim, genuinely relieved. I couldn’t stand the idea of her trying to erase our night together.

But the second the words leave my mouth, I realize that, once again, I’ve said the wrong thing. Her glare is about to burn me to a crisp.

My big mouth.

“Are you serious?” she hisses. She lets out a grunt of pure frustration and plants her hands on the floor to stand up.

Finally.

I push off and manage to stand up first. I straighten up over the table and immediately offer her a hand, reaching down to help her out of her hiding spot.

But of course, she tries to do it herself, ignoring my hand like it’s infected.

She tries to get up too fast—thud.

“Ow, motherf…” She smacks her head against the underside of the table. She mutters a string of curses that would make a sailor blush, rubs the back of her head, and finally gives up. With a huff, she slides her soft fingers into my rough palm.

I pull her up easily, and for a second, the proximity knocks the wind out of me. Her scent washes over me, instantly dragging me back to the best night of my life.

But the moment is shattered by an unmistakable sound: the click-clack of nails on the hardwood floor.

“Ollie, stay!” I yell.

My Labrador has just reached the end of the leash and is zeroing in on the muffin Selene dropped on the floor.

I lunge forward. “No, no, no, buddy, stop!” I snatch Ollie mid-air, a millimeter away from the pastry. He whines, squirming in my arms, tongue lolling out, eyes fixed on his prize.

“It has chocolate in it, you greedy little monster! You trying to kill yourself?” I scold him, pulling him back by his harness. I kick the muffin that rolled under the chair out of reach with the toe of my boot.

I straighten up, gripping the leash in one hand and running the other through the hair under my Stetson, a little out of breath. Selene is frozen in front of me, looking at me like I’m an alien.

“Selene, this is Ollie,” I say, pointing to the dog, who is now sitting and wagging his tail, thumping it against the table leg. “Ollie, this is Selene. The dark, grumpy writer type. You know… Ollie has a real soft spot for grumpy writers.”

Selene crosses her arms again. She’s desperately trying to keep up her grumpy, disillusioned author persona, but I can see her lower lip trembling. She bites the inside of her cheek. She’s fighting hard not to burst out laughing.

Suddenly, as if she just realized she almost caved, she snaps out of it. She clears her throat, regains her rigid, unbreakable posture, and turns toward the table.

“Okay, well… see you around,” she dismisses me, her voice trying to sound icy but coming out laced with panic.

She starts gathering her things with impressive, almost frantic speed.

I take a step forward, inadvertently—or maybe not so accidentally—blocking her escape route to the glass doors.

“What’s the rush?” I ask, flashing my most innocent, disarming smile. “How about a coffee? I’ll get you another muffin. Maybe you can tell me about your next book… I promise I’m a great listener.”

She can’t say no to a muffin. It had looked delicious.

She barely pauses. She clutches her bag to her side, shoots me one last look, a lethal mix of terror and pure stubbornness, and sidesteps me.

“I’m busy,” she says, leaving no room for debate.

She strides toward the exit, shoving the glass door open with her shoulder and sending the bell into a frantic ringing behind her, fleeing like the devil himself was on her heels.

Damn.

I stand there staring at the spot beyond the glass where she vanished, swallowed by the crisp autumn air of Main Street. Ollie lets out a pathetic little whine of disappointment as he leans against my knee, staring at the floor where the squashed muffin was.