His eyes finally drifted toward mine. “Last night,” he said slowly, “when we were doing the scene... I was supposed to be thinking about Mina...” His voice trailed off, his lips clamping shut, as if he couldn’t bring himself to say the rest.

A traitorous, yearning little voice in my head finished his sentence for him.

But instead, I was thinking about you.

“You really don’t need to apologize—”

“I do, Jen.” Devlin’s voice was firm. “We’re supposed to be keeping this professional—or as professional as possible, given the circumstances and that meddling ghost—and it wasn’t fair of me to stray outside of.

.. er... outside of the parameters of the scene,” he finished, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry—”

“Meat Loaf!” I squeaked, cutting him off.

Devlin stilled, his face furrowing in confusion. “What?”

“I was just checking if the safe word still worked—y’know, the one I didn’t use last night because I wasn’t uncomfortable—and I would now like to formally Meat Loaf this conversation.”

Devlin’s lips tugged at the corners, amusement flickering through his lingering guilt. “That’s... not really how safe words work, Jen.”

“Devlin, you didn’t make me feel uncomfortable,” I reaffirmed, watching as his features softened with relief.

“In fact,” I continued, my pulse picking up, “I was thinking about it last night, and... as we move on to the next scenes, I don’t think it would be very fair to either of us if we were to, um, find you a date but still continue working on the book like this. ”

His expression shifted. “Ah. You do want me to leave?”

“Actually...” I inhaled sharply, forcing down the rising urge to babble. “I was going to ask... what your thoughts were on dating... me ?”

Devlin’s mouth opened, then snapped shut as he tried and failed to find the words to say.

Oh no... here it comes... the verbal vomit...

“I totally understand if you say no. I mean, I know I’m not exactly a catch, and who wants to go out with a convicted criminal, anyway?

Actually, now that I’ve said it out loud, it’s a ridiculous idea.

You could do so much better than me”—I shoved my chair back, the deafening squeak slicing through the air—“because, like, not dating, we can keep things professional, like you said. And, you know, we’d just stick to the script.

Whereas dating, well, things happen, we’d go off script”—I took a step back, pressing myself into the doorframe, my body poised to bolt—“which isn’t, like, a bad thing because I’d still be drawing from experience.

I just thought, y’know, it might be an idea.

But I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night, and—” I glanced wildly around, grasping at any excuse.

“Is that the time? I really need to go and do some writing—”

“I’d love to date you,” Devlin said, the look on his face one of disbelieving relief.

My own relief crashed over me in waves as Devlin rose to his feet and closed the space between us.

He lifted his arm, casually resting it against the opposite side of the doorframe, his broad shoulders caging me in, his hair just barely brushing the top of the frame.

His eyes darkened, locking onto mine with a slow, deliberate intensity that sent my pulse hammering so hard I was certain I was just a few thumps away from my heart exploding altogether.

“You could have stopped my babbling at any point,” I said, desperate to focus on anything other than how close he was.

“I like the way you babble,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble.

Before I could respond, his hand was on me—his fingers cupping my jaw, his thumb tracing the curve of my lower lip in a way that had my knees quivering beneath me. He tilted my face up, his gaze flicking between my eyes and my lips, giving me a chance to pull away.

A chance to Meat Loaf my way out of his touch.

As if that’s going to happen.

I leaned in, my body making the decision for me, my eyes fluttering shut just as his lips met mine. Our first kiss— my first ever kiss —was perfect.

Devlin kissed me with a slow, aching tenderness, his lips soft and coaxing, each movement a deliberate invitation rather than a demand.

His warmth melted into me, sending a slow, delicious shiver rolling down my spine.

But just as he began to pull away, his teeth dragged over my bottom lip, a teasing, possessive graze that sent a pulse of heat straight through me.

A silent promise that next time there would be nothing gentle about it.

“Why don’t you go finish your writing,” he murmured, shifting his weight, completely unbothered by the very obvious outline of the erection tenting his sweatpants, “while I make the arrangements for our first date tonight.”

***

As it turns out, writer’s block is easily cured by the promise of someone going down on you later that evening.

In just two hours, I had completely rewritten the last scene and finished editing up to the next one—something that would have taken me a full day under normal circumstances.

While I waited for Devlin to return from his trip into town to arrange our date, I managed to take a long, much-needed bath, style my hair, attempt to do my makeup—only to realize makeup does, in fact, have an expiration date for a reason—wash my face again, before putting on a full fashion show for a very excited BooDini.

By the time Devlin walked through the door, I was waiting for him on the couch, wearing the only dress I owned—a grungy green-and-burgundy oversized shirt dress—paired with an old set of Doc Martens I had borrowed from my friend Lex and never returned.

It wasn’t quite as sensual as I had originally envisioned, but it was the furthest thing from my trusty old hoodie.

Devlin stepped inside and did a double take, his amber eyes sweeping over me, his lips curling into a grin.

“You look stunning,” he said, his voice warm and appreciative.

I was spared from a torrent of flustered babbling when an excited BooDini came fluttering down the stairs to greet Devlin.

Devlin leaned in, whispering something conspiratorially to BooDini, who nodded enthusiastically, then clutched its hands to its chest before rocketing back up the stairs, disappearing into its attic hiding place.

“I’m ready when you are,” I said, doing my best to sound casual, as if this wasn’t my first-ever date.

Devlin’s gaze flicked to the clock on the mantle. “It needs to be completely dark for the full effect, and the sun won’t set for another forty minutes.”

“Okay,” I said, shifting on my feet. “So, what do you want to do in the meantime?”

“Actually,” he said, his voice carrying an odd note, something I couldn’t quite place, “I was thinking about dropping in on the Cadmuses.” I frowned slightly, searching his expression. “To thank Mr. Cadmus for his advice the other night,” he added.

I bit the inside of my cheek, hesitation flickering through me. “Okay,” I said after a beat. “Let me grab my coat, and I’ll come with you.”

“You don’t have to, Jen,” Devlin said, watching me carefully. “Not if it would make you uncomfortable.”

“They’re my neighbors, Devlin,” I said. “I’ll have to face them sooner or later.”

***

Five minutes later, we stood in front of the Cadmuses’ house—though it was nothing like I remembered.

The once-vibrant garden, overflowing with flowers so lush it had looked like something plucked from a postcard, was now withered and lifeless.

The colors were gone, swallowed by tangles of long grass and thick clumps of weeds.

The rotting porch sagged under the weight of autumnal decay, teetering piles of moldering leaves stacked in each corner.

A broken love swing hung to one side, its chains entwined with ivy, nature slowly consuming what was left.

The only indication that someone still lived here was a single plastic chair, untouched by the leaf litter, positioned as if it saw regular use. The windows were streaked with grime, their interiors covered with old, yellowed newspapers, sealing the house away from prying eyes.

The place was falling apart, and I dreaded seeing what state the inside was in.

Devlin took my hand, guiding me up the porch steps, his grip steady and reassuring. He tested each plank carefully, making sure it could hold our weight before allowing me to step forward. At the top, he cast me a final glance, a silent offer to turn back if I wanted to.

I squeezed Devlin’s hand. Go ahead.

He knocked on the door, the sound dull and hollow, muffled slightly by the soft rot eating away at the wood.

A deafening shriek rang out from inside. I jumped, my heart lurching into my throat as dark figures moved behind the papered windows.

Shadows pooled defensively around Devlin, but they dropped away the moment a familiar voice called out, “Just a moment!” The voice was much softer as it said, “It’s alright, dear. It’s just someone at the door. You just try and get some rest, and I’ll be back in a moment with your medication.”

The clack-clack of a cane echoed from beyond the door, slow and deliberate, followed by the faint slide of a chain locking into place. The door cracked open, just enough for Mr. Cadmus’s glassy eye to peer out, his expression suspicious as he took in Devlin’s towering form.

“Sorry to bother you, Mr. Cadmus,” Devlin said. “I don’t know if you remember me from the other evening?”

Mr. Cadmus narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing Devlin for a long, drawn-out moment before exhaling sharply.

“Oh, yes,” he muttered. “The incubus staying at the Myerses’ old house.

” His fingers tightened on the door, hesitation flickering across his expression.

“Listen, son,” he said, his voice gruff, “now’s not really a good time. ”

“Of course,” Devlin said smoothly. “I just wanted to say thank you for your advice on the ghost. I don’t think I would have lasted this long without your help... and Jen’s."

Mr. Cadmus’s brow furrowed, confusion clouding his face. Devlin took a small step aside, and the moment Mr. Cadmus’s gaze landed on me, his glassy eyes widened.

For a heartbeat, I thought maybe—just maybe—things were going to be okay.

Then the door slammed shut.

I stumbled back, instinct kicking in, but Devlin’s hand caught mine, his grip firm, grounding me in place.

“Just wait,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

A long pause stretched between us, then the rattle of a chain sliding free sounded from the other side. The wood creaked, slow and hesitant, before the door swung open once more. Mr. Cadmus stood there, eyes wide, his face drained of color, as if he’d just seen a ghost.

I must have been mirroring his expression, because the man standing before me was nothing like the one I remembered.

I mean, of course it was him, but the Mr. Cadmus I knew had been plump, full from the three apple pies his wife baked for him every week.

He had always worn tweed, his meticulously sculpted mustache perfectly twisted, his jolly nature as much a part of him as the scent of cinnamon and apples that clung to his clothes.

The man before me was half the weight he once was, his soiled, threadbare clothing hanging off him like they belonged to someone else entirely.

The mustache was long gone, replaced by a wild, unkempt beard. His eyes, once sharp and full of mirth, now sat deep in wrinkled sockets, clouded with cataracts—and yet, there was just enough sight left in them to recognize me.

His voice, however, was the same. “Jennifer?” he breathed, his tone laced with disbelief and something dangerously close to hope. “Jennifer Myers.” A slow, shaky smile crept onto his face as he let out a breathless chuckle. “As I live and breathe!”