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A fresh start, a real change—that’s why we’re here. I left the old Remi in New Orleans; her soul lies abandoned in the smiling couple’s selfies on Gideon’s porch.
Now I’m here in this tiny diorama of a town, quaint as gingerbread, dark as a fairytale.
Jude looks around with interest as we drive into Grimstone. He hasn’t been here since he was small.
It’s a gorgeous autumn day, the bright drifts of leaves making Main Street look particularly picturesque. The buildings are old-fashioned and mostly neat, though some of the newer shops and restaurants sit next to stranger, shabbier establishments. A tattoo parlor and a dodgy-looking tarot shop bracket the opulent Monarch hotel. Its gold-scrolled facade brings Dane to mind—as a throb located right around my left tit.
I have the oddest urge to peek inside and see what his brother looks like. But I doubt anyone with the last name Covett would work the front desk—the brother’s probably holed up in some back office making the maids’ lives miserable.
I park in front of Emma’s Diner instead, which sports a pretty turquoise awning andBest Pancakes in 100 Miles!written across the window in gold script. The tables are packed, lending solid support to that boast.
Jude and I squeeze into the last available two-top right next to the window. The waitresses are hustling. The girl who comes to our table has a mischievous face, bright orange hair in two buns, and an adorable gap in her teeth.
“Hiya!” she says. “What can I get you to drink?”
“Black coffee,” says Jude.
I ask, “Do you make lattes?”
“Absolutely. In fact, I’m the only one who can make that hunk of junk work.” She points her pen at a contraption with so many brass knobs and tubes that, at first, I think it’s a church organ and not an espresso machine.
“Latte it is,” I say, smiling.
“You got it.” She doesn’t bother to write that down on her pad.
I watch her fire up the espresso machine, with as much steam and chugging as a locomotive. Next to the machine sits a noticeboard papered with local jobs, advertisements, and a “missing” poster for a friendly-looking dog.
“You can leave me here in town,” Jude says. “I want to explore a bit.”
“You’ll call me later when you want a ride home?”
“Yeah, or hitch partway back.”
“No way, that’s super sketchy.”
“I’m not the type that gets kidnapped,” Jude says. “On account of the penis.”
“That doesn’t keep you safe.”
“My goal in life is not to be safe.”
“Well, my goalisto keep you alive, unfortunately. So call me for a ride, I mean it.”
Jude shrugs irritably. He’s getting tired of my coddling. I know I should stop, but if anything, I feel more protective than the average parent—if only because I know how easily you can lose the ones you love. Jude is all I have. And I’m all he’s got, even if I’m annoying the hell out of him.
Our waitress returns with the most beautiful latte I’ve ever beheld. She’s made a little scene in swirls of brown and cream—a pumpkin, bat, and milk foam ghost. I finally understand the urge to post a picture of my food because this is too pretty to drink without ceremony.
“You’re an artist!”
“Only with food,” she laughs. “You two in town for the weekend?”
“Longer than that. We’re renovating the Blackleaf house.”
She gasps. “No shit—my cousin’s coming over this afternoon! Tom—he’s an electrician.”
“Oh!” I laugh with her. “I’ve never been more excited to see somebody. We’re dying for hot showers.”
“I’m Emma.” She sticks out her hand.
