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“Call me tomorrow if you’re still hearing the noise.” I waited as she climbed the steps. “I’ll wiggle under there and see if I notice anything. If it’s a nocturnal animal, we might get lucky and find it asleep.”
“Good idea.” She clutched her gun tighter. “Send your trapper boy.”
“Okay.” I walked right into that one. “Sure.” I smiled. “I’ll ask him to swing by in the morning.”
“I promise I’ll keep my gun to myself.”
“I’m sure he would appreciate that.”
Under her breath, too quiet for human ears, she added, “But I didn’t say nothing about my hands.”
Shaking my head, I began the stroll home, enjoying the frog song and the sliver of crescent moon to light my path. Witches languished without a community, but we craved nature. Our gifts, light and dark, were tied to the earth. I got a boost from people, but I found soul-deep peace in the quiet night.
Halfway home, headlights washed over my shoulders, and I stepped to the edge of the road to let them pass. Instead, the vehicle stopped, the driver door opened, and the familiar scents of cherry tobacco and green apple teased my nose.
Hand on my hip, I stuck out my thumb. “Which way you headed, stranger?”
“North.” His back shielded me from the brightest light. “Which way are you headed?”
“North sounds good.” I played along. “Can I hitch a ride? I can pay.”
“Hmm.” He prowled closer. “What did you have in mind?”
A whirring noise interrupted us, and I squinted to get a peek at Clay in the backseat.
“Roleplaying is nice and all,” he said, “but not in the middle of the road in the middle of the night.”
Midnight was hours ago, but I was still wired from the run-in with the agents.
Asa ducked his head, and his shoulders shook with silent laughter.
A flush heated me from head to toe. “Well, that was fun while it lasted.”
“It’s cute,” Clay continued. “Adorable, really.” He kept digging the hole deeper. “But I’m hungry.”
“Fine.” I raised my hands in surrender. “Let’s go home.”
Again, that word—home—rang in my ears, a presumption I couldn’t afford to make on their behalf.
Asa walked me to the front passenger side door, opened it for me, and stole a kiss before he left.
The sentimentalist in me swore my lips tingled from that brief contact, but that was silly, wasn’t it?
“Glad to be home.” Clay hooked his arm around me—and my seat—and kissed my cheek. “Tell me you have cookies.”
The emphasis on that word calmed my earlier jitters. I was overthinking things, reading into them. I was, maybe, I don’t know, projecting my fears onto Asa and holding him accountable for what he wasn’t even thinking. Something like that. I had to give Asa room to make his own mistakes, not invent them for him.
“I have more of those pumpkin spice ice cream sandwiches left over from last month.”
“You don’t love me anymore.” He sighed in my ear. “I can tell.”
“I’ve been kind of busy, Clay.”
“If you loved me, you would make time for me.” He withdrew. “This is how it always starts.”
“How what always starts?”
“You fall in love, and I’m forgotten.”
