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“And you were recently promoted to manager.”
“No.” I frowned.
“The deceased left a note on his desk,” Sergeant Rusty insisted, digging into an evidence envelope. “Note to Self: Have ‘Jane Jameson, Manager’ plaque engraved for Jane.”
“Aw, Mr. Wainwright.”
Mr. Wainwright ducked his head. “You deserve it, Jane. You’re going to be running the store now, anyway.”
Annoyed at my lack of attention, Rusty cleared his throat. “And you found the body?”
“Yes. I told the dispatcher that when I called nine-one-one.”
“And you performed CPR?”
“I did, but I think he’d been gone for a while at that point.”
“I thought vampires couldn’t breathe,” he said, narrowing his eyes at me.
“I don’t have to, but it doesn’t mean I can’t,” I told him. “Do I need to call a council representative? I’m allowed to under the Undead Civil Rights Act of 2002.”
“We’ll let you know,” Rusty said. “For right now, let’s just say that you’ll probably be hearing from us again.”
Rusty cleared out of the shop as if his polyester pants were on fire. The ambulance crew drove away with the body—I couldn’t think of it as Mr. Wainwright. I was alone. And it was suddenly so quiet. Numb, I sank into a chair behind the counter and stared at a ledger next to the register. I could make out Mr. Wainwright’s chicken scratch, a reminder for me to reorder a book called Life on Loch Ness. I ran my fingers over his indented scrawl, leaned my head against the counter, and cried.
I’m not sure how long I sat there. The next thing I remembered was Gabriel striding through the shop door, calling for me. I couldn’t seem to look up, to put together the words to respond. The smallest movement took too much effort.>“Is it serious?” he asked.
I stared down at my coffee cup, ashamed that I was unable to answer. I didn’t know where I stood with Gabriel right now. Was it unfair that I didn’t want to give Adam the impression that I was totally unavailable? Was I just using his unabashed interest as a convenient excuse to look for a way out of an uncomfortable, uncertain situation with my sire? Why did I feel so guilty for thinking that way when Gabriel’s actions were so suspicious?
Why couldn’t I be a Marianne instead of an Elinor? Just live in the moment and take what I wanted from life? Why did I have to think everything through? Elinor is a pushover. She lets everyone else act any way they please, leaving her to clean up their messes without complaint. Marianne may be misguided and silly, but at least she has some fun every once in a while.
Adam took advantage of my silence. “If you can’t answer, that probably means something.”
I nodded, still unable to add anything to the exchange.
“Well, if something changes or you decide that you’re … I just want you to know that if you ever need someone to talk to, I’d like that person to be me. Damn it, that made no sense. I’m sorry, you just make me a little nervous,” he admitted. His blush brought a flood of deep, healthy pink to his cheeks.
“I make you nervous?” I was strangely pleased by that. After all, he’d made me stutter and drool for most of my adolescence. Turnabout was fair play.
The blush that had subsided only a few seconds before rushed back into his cheeks. “Well, yeah. I like spending time with you. I’m grateful that I’m getting to know you again. I don’t want to screw this up.”
I was able to tamp down my instinct to squeal. I had some cool, flirty speech prepared about Adam playing his cards right, but he suddenly stood up, took my face in his hands, and brushed a quick kiss across my cheek, leaving a tingling path where his lips had touched my skin. He was so warm, vital, full of life. He smelled like sundried cotton and peppermint, though I imagined that last part was probably just doggie shampoo. The pattern of his hands seemed burned into my cheeks, branding me. How could I have forgotten how warm human men were? It was like sliding into a bone-softening hot bath at the end of a long, blustery day, comforting and sweet. He pulled away from me and smiled. I sat stunned, watching him cross to the kitchen door.
“Just think about what I said, Jane,” he said as he stepped outside. “Give me a call sometime, even if it’s just to talk. I want to see you again.”
“I will,” I promised before I had a chance to filter my response. I seemed to be channeling the teenage Jane, who had no impulse control or loyalty to Gabriel.
Adam took care to close the door quietly, but somehow that tiny snick woke Nevie up and had her squalling.
I sighed and thumped my head against the counter.
By the time Mama Ginger saw fit to return, I’d changed six more diapers and spent an hour cleaning substances I’d rather not describe out of my carpet. There were suspiciously permanent-looking stains on my new couch. I was not a happy camper.
“Are you crazy?” I demanded as Mama Ginger opened my door. “What is wrong with you?”
“What?” she asked, peering into the bouncie, where Neveah dozed peacefully. “She’s fine. I knew she would be.”
“What if she’d gotten sick?” I hissed. “What if something went wrong? I didn’t know how to get in touch with you. I am covered in baby spit-up. My house smells like compost!”
