Page 48 of Craving Carla

Carla

Ican’t stop giggling as I dip another french fry into the small pool of ketchup on my plate. The salty, crispy texture paired with the tangy sweetness is a simple pleasure I rarely get to enjoy. Across from me, Ackley’s animated as he tells me another story about his pet tarantulas getting loose in the employee apartments.

“So there I was, right, crawling under the stove in the communal kitchen,” he says, adjusting his glasses with one finger. “And Chef Robert is screaming—like full-on horror movie screaming—because Delilah, my Chilean rose hair, is just chilling on the counter next to the spice rack.”

I laugh, picturing the scene. “What did you do?”

“What could I do? I grabbed a step stool, climbed up, and reached for her. But then Robert takes a swing at me with a wooden spoon!” Ackley’s eyes widen behind his glasses. “I’m dodging spoon attacks while trying not to startle Delilah, and the whole time, Robert is threatening to quit if management doesn’t evict me.”

“Let me guess—you’re still there, and so is Robert,” I say, popping another fry into my mouth.

“Yep. But now he checks all his cabinets with a broom handle before opening them.” Ackley chuckles, shaking his head. “If he’s that scared of a rose hair, imagine if he met your children.”

A warmth spreads through me at the mention of my children. It’s refreshing to talk to someone who doesn’t shudder at the mere thought of them.

“People fear what they don’t understand,” I say with a sigh. “Arachnids are so misunderstood because of how they look. They’re not just scary monsters—they’re essential to our ecosystem.”

Ackley nods eagerly. “Exactly! They control pest populations, prevent disease spread, help decompose organic material. Without spiders, we’d be overrun with mosquitoes and flies carrying all sorts of diseases.”

“And their silk,” I add, warming to the subject. “Stronger than steel by weight, yet completely biodegradable. The medical applications alone could revolutionize wound care.”

“Their venom compounds have potential for treating everything from chronic pain to certain cancers,” Ackley continues. “But people see eight legs and panic.”

I reach for my soda, but Ackley’s hand catches my wrist. His fingers smooth over the back of my hand in a gesture that’s clearly meant to be intimate. My giggle slows, then stops entirely as an uncomfortable feeling settles in my stomach.

Amari’s face flashes in my mind—his golden eyes, that infuriating smirk, the way he looked at me when he brought all those roses to my porch. It feels wrong to even look at Ackley that way. In fact, I’ve never felt for Ackley what I feel for Amari.

I pull my hand back and tuck both hands under the table, into my lap. “I’m sorry, I’m not ready for that right now.”

Ackley’s expression shifts, something dark passing behind his eyes. He sits back against the booth, his gaze hardening as he stares at me.

“We have a lot in common, Carla. More than you know,” he says, a dark edge creeping into his tone. “Both of us are shunned from the world. You for being a Blackwood witch and Mother of Spiders, me for my love for arachnids and being a Black man in this harsh world. I know you don’t have the fated scent, so there’s nothing holding you.”

I narrow my eyes, unsure where he’s going with this. For the first time since we arrived, I look around the diner. It’s oddly empty—just the two of us, the waitress, and whoever’s in the kitchen. No one has come in even for a carryout order. It’s a small place on the outskirts of town, but still... it shouldn’t be this deserted on a Friday night.

My gaze drifts to the walls, taking in the faded paintings of landscapes, the vintage advertisements, the old jukebox in the corner that keeps skipping on the same song. Something’s not right. The pieces fall into place slowly—this was all set up so he could be alone with me.

But how? Ackley doesn’t have that kind of money. He’s a broke college student who bartends for extra cash.

My eyes catch on the door, where the “OPEN” sign faces the wrong way, showing “CLOSED” to the outside world. I look back at him, my brow furrowing. He just grins, the expression no longer friendly.

“What’s going on, Ackley?” I ask, my heart sinking as I realize everyone warned me—Damon, Amari, my children. And I didn’t listen.

I didn’t listen. I let my desperation to be held, to be wanted, overshadow my clarity. And look at me now, trapped, possibly putting my children in more danger because of my stupidity.

“I think if you gave me a chance, we could rule the world together,” he says with a grin that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“What are you doing, Ackley?” I question, my gaze shifting around, looking for a possible exit. I don’t want my children to try to come rescue me. The last time they did that; I lost two of them. I can’t handle that again. I close my eyes and groan.

“I’m studying to be an arachnologist,” Ackley says, his voice shifting to something that sounds rehearsed. “This amazing company has offered me a stipend that could give me a lab and fund my research for the next ten years. I’d finally be able to get a woman and provide for her, while doing what I love.”

“I think the date is over now,” I say firmly. “I want to go home.”

“Why can’t you be that woman?” Ackley asks, leaning forward. “I’ve always thought you were beautiful.”

“You went through all of this with an ulterior motive,” I say, the realization burning like acid in my throat. “You set me up.”

Ackley shakes his head; his expression wounded in a way that looks practiced. “I’m trying to help you. Your own people don’t want to be bothered with you, always treating you like a burden. But I can change that. You can come with me, and I’ll take care of you and your children. I love all arachnids.”