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“Yeah, very.” She felt her cheeks heat in embarrassment. She wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand to hide her blush. “Thank you.”
“So here, strangers and people you just met usually call you by terms of endearment. Nothing to be upset by. Man, woman, it doesn't matter. Everyone is ‘baby.’ Same with ‘darling.’ Some people use it for friends and family more than strangers, but it can be used casually too.”
“And ‘cher’?”
“Ah, now ‘cher’is different.Cheris your love, your partner, your something special.”
“Like a beau or girlfriend?”
“I guess so. I’ve had no one stick around long enough for me to give them the honor.”
“I’m sure it’ll happen someday, Knight. Give it time.”
“You so sure?”
“Why not? You have a steady job, easy to talk to— though you may want to work on your first impressions.”
He laughed behind his drink. “Point taken. But our first meeting was memorable. You have to give it that.”
“Memorable is a double-edged sword.” She leaned toward him, her finger curled in a “closer” gesture. “Your manners can use some brushing up.”
“Do they? I feel like I’m a Southern gentleman through and through.” He smirked at her, his attention dropping to her lips and then back to her eyes.
Something in Anastacia’s mind went on alert. There was no reason to get too close to someone knowing when they found out about her gift, they would run. It was better to keep a distance. Especially with someone she worked with.
She leaned back to center in her seat. “Outside of that, you're handsome. You must have some ladies waiting on you.”
“That certain, huh?” He held eye contact with her.
There went the pesky heart rate again. She chuckled nervously and devoured a couple more spoonfuls to stop herself from talking.
Damn, was he making it difficult to keep a distance.
Melsqueezedthroughspiritand living people as he absorbed the environment of the place, from the local artwork to the hand-painted signs at the doorway describing their house specials. The music jumped from classic to more modern jazz, pumping over the speakers and adding another layer to the noise. He wondered if he would have done something similar in his and Jay’s bar. Despite the crowd in the restaurant, the flow was easier to find now he was in it. He wondered if all nights were packed like this one or if it was because of the Saints game on the large TV hanging above the bar.
There was a mural of a ghost jazz band floating down the bayou along the back wall that he knew for sure Anastacia would have to see. Maybe she wouldn’t enjoy it, per se, but it might amuse her at least. Plus, he had to check if the other spirits disturbed her. He turned toward the bar, standing on one table to scan over the sea of people and spirits to find her.
She and Knight were still at the bar, gulping down what looked like gumbo by the spoonful. Jealousy flared in his chest as he wished his taste buds still worked. Staring at a few of the other spirits in the bar area, he noticed they were drinking out of the cups the living left behind. He wondered if his taste buds would work again before he passed over completely. Maybe there was a chance.
Anastacia’s laugh rose above the bar din. Before he could even think about it, his head whipped around as his gaze zeroed in on her face. Not only was she giggling, she was full-out smiling with dimples and all. She looked cute with her dimples. Knight laughed with her, picking up a piece of his gumbo and holding it in front of her face. She shook her head until he said something. She took the morsel into her mouth and nodded like she was finally agreeing with him.
“And she thought White Knight wasn’t a good name for him," Mel chuckled at the scene and shook his head. He was happy for her to be interacting with someone living for a change and getting out of her shell. She was finally living after God knew how long. He was glad, really.
So why did his fist clench whenever the detective leaned a little too close? The ache in his chest when her eyes softened in a smile over her drink made Mel wonder if his happiness for her had limits. Maybe White Knight was that boundary.
The familiar burn of longing swept over him. Her laugh was intoxicating and he wanted to be the one to coax it from her. The light above him flickered and buzzed as if too much voltage went through it.
“Whoa there, dead man," he muttered to himself, getting down off the table before he caused damage. “Get a hold of yourself, bud. Think of the agreement. The deal. That's all it is. A deal.”
“It looks like you need a drink, my friend,” an unfamiliar voice called from the wall.
Mel turned to a couple of men who sipped at some drinks left at an empty table. He noted the injuries along their right sides, knowing enough about motorcycles that he could surmise what killed the men. With no black ooze in sight, Mel joined the two spirits. “You’ll have to show me how.”
“It all depends on you. It took me a good week after I bit it to get my taste buds in working order. It took Ralphy here two months.” The spirit hit his friend in the chest.
“Would have been faster if I had the emotional range you do, Viper.”
“Emotional range? What, I got to be crying into my drink before I get to taste it?” Mel stared at a half-finished daiquiri on the table that neither of the other two had touched.
