Page 11 of Adored by the Grumpy Ghost (Mapletown Monster Mates #1)
Natalie
I didn’t cry myself to sleep last night, which means I didn’t wake up with crusty goo sealing my eyelids shut this morning.
That alone feels like a victory. It’s a new day.
I have a job, finally. Early-twenties Natalie would’ve sighed, disappointed, and thought, it’s just a bartending job.
Aim higher. Remember those career goals you had? Revive them. It’s not too late.
But the forty-one-year-old Natalie feels nothing but relief.
Sure, I could start looking up the closest nursing schools and seeing if the credits I got a million years ago before I dropped out would still transfer.
I could apply for education grants and loans and see how many hours I could work at the bar while also going to school. That was the original plan, after all.
I’m not twenty-six anymore, though, and I’m not sure it’s still the life I want.
Loss ages you, mentally and physically, and it puts everything into perspective.
For the first time in a year, I feel emotionally stable enough to leave the house and have a full-time job, and I’m excited to start my first shift tonight.
That’s the only plan I currently have, and that’s okay.
I no longer feel the pressure to achieve as much as possible in the shortest amount of time. Quiet, simple, and fulfilling––this is how I want my days to feel, and if I can achieve all three on a bartender’s wage, then that’s enough.
After I shower and brush my teeth, I eat the PB and J Winston made me at the counter in the kitchen, then decide to go for a leisurely stroll around the property.
There are acres of land I have yet to explore, mostly because I’m not a huge fan of nature in general, but the weather is starting to cool down.
Not by much, but today is a high of eighty-three, which is five degrees cooler than yesterday, so I’m taking it as a good sign.
The sky is a mix of fluffy, cheerful clouds and sun, and there’s enough of a breeze that my hairline isn’t instantly damp with sweat when I step outside.
From the front steps, I take a right and follow a narrow dirt path into the woods for about twenty minutes.
It’s the kind of path that was never intentionally cleared but rather tamped down by decades of feet.
There are occasional roots that pop out of the ground and tree branches I need to duck beneath, but otherwise it’s a curving, flat path that allows me to move at a slow pace and listen to the wide array of birds chirping in the trees above.
I notice a wooden fence to my left several feet away that encases the Caraway land, and I let it lead me once the dense trees open to reveal patches of wildflowers. Here is where I stop to watch the tall flowers dance in the wind.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see movement, and I suck in a breath before realizing it’s a deer. It scampers deeper into the woods the second I meet its gaze.
Seeing wildlife out here reminds me of everything Dominic said, about monsters living in this town, and despite seeing Vlad’s fangs as he drank actual blood from a glass, and Dominic showing me just how green his skin is beneath the bright lights of the kitchen, part of me still can’t believe it. I mean, shouldn’t I be terrified?
Pulling out my phone, I send a text to Lindsay, letting her know about the job at the bar. She must be between conference calls, because she replies within seconds with “CONGRATS” in all caps and about a thousand applause emojis.
I’m not sure what to tell her about the monsters in town, and until she comes up here and asks me to go barhopping with her, I don’t see much of a need.
They aren’t my secrets to reveal, and I want Winston to be able to trust me.
I want the rest of the town to trust me, too.
It feels like this is a place where I could settle, at least for a while.
I don’t want petty gossip to mess that up.
The path continues around the edge of the wildflowers and ducks back into the woods, but I spot a bench swing next to the garden in the backyard that looks extremely cozy, so I make my way over there instead.
“Holy shit,” I mutter quietly as I walk through the rows of strawberries, tomato and pepper plants, entire bushes of cilantro, mint, and basil, and a dozen or so cucumber plants wrapped through tall trellises.
There are a few rows of what look to be root plants, and an entire section separated by a wide, landscaped path for flowers.
Is this Winston’s doing? The garden is not only massive, but also extremely well cared for.
There are hardly any weeds. I don’t even see a yellowed leaf that needs to be plucked or rotting vegetables that need to be removed.
He must prefer to do his gardening at night, since he doesn’t sleep, because I’ve never seen him out here during the day.
Granted, I’m not out here much, either, but since learning about his existence, it seems like he’s always inside when I am. Always nearby. Always hovering.
Why does the thought of him floating near me cause my stomach to flip upside down?
I sweep the hair off my neck as a soft breeze comes through, sighing contentedly at how quickly it dries the beads of sweat running down my back.
The bench swing creaks as the wind rattles through the chains, and I plop down, pushing back and pumping my legs to get it moving.
The act takes me right back to childhood, when I’d stay on the swings at the park for hours, seeing how high I could climb before the swing did a full loop over the bar.
I lean my head back and close my eyes, and memories of Mom fill my mind. This is the kind of peaceful place she’d want her ashes to be spread, I think. Maybe when the leaves start to change.
At some point, the gentle movement of the swing paired with the calm breeze has me dozing off, and what awakens me is the angry screech of a woman whose voice sounds dangerously close.
Leaping off the swing, I turn toward the voice and see a woman marching toward me from the direction of the shed, with dirty gardening shears in her hands, the blades pointed out.
It would terrify me if the rest of her outfit didn’t seem so out of place.
The straw hat and gardening gloves clearly indicate her purpose here, but she’s also wearing a cream-colored sleeveless silk blouse, high-waisted navy-blue pants that zip up the sides and taper at the ankle, and matching navy-blue ballet flats.
Her brown-black hair is also swept off her face in an old-fashioned style that looks like it was set by big rollers.
Her red lipstick is perfectly applied, without a speck on her teeth.
Did she just come from a vintage fashion photoshoot and forget to change?
Why does this gorgeous stranger look like she wants to chop me into a hundred pieces?
“You shouldn’t be here!” she shouts, snapping the shears closed before opening them again. “How dare you come to our home looking for him!”
“What? L-Looking for whom?” I stammer as I hold up my hands in surrender. “Winston?” Is this Winston’s late wife? Is she a ghost too? I think he would’ve told me that. And I’m certain Lindsay would’ve told me if she’d hired a gardener, especially if that gardener was a total babe.
The gardener’s blue eyes are filled with rage, and her hands are shaking as she gets closer. “Don’t play coy with me, you trollop!”
I stumble backwards, unable to see where I’m going, but hoping to god, I don’t accidentally stomp on one of her plants.
All I know is that the house is somewhere behind me, and I need to get there as soon as possible.
“I’m sorry, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I explain, hoping she’ll realize she’s got the wrong girl.
“My name is Natalie. I’m a temporary guest.”
“My Thomas will be home any day now, and once he’s back, he’s mine . All mine. I won’t let you get in the way of our love, do you hear me?”
“Thomas?”
What the hell is she talking about? Who is Thomas?
She’s getting closer now, and those shears look sharp enough to cut through bone. Who does she think I am?
There’s noise coming from behind me, but I can’t tell what it is, and I refuse to take my eyes off the threat in front of me.
“I swear to you, I don’t know anyone named Thomas.”
“You lie!” she shouts, snapping the blades closed mere inches from the tip of my nose. I stumble backwards and fall flat on my ass.
A flash of light gray fills my vision, blocking my view of the shear-wielding pageant queen.
“Ethel, enough!” Winston bellows.
The gray has receded entirely from his features and limbs, and he’s fully corporeal. It’s not just his hand this time. It’s all of him. I’ve never seen him like this before.
He’s…holy shit. The man is stunning.
Like I suspected, he’s tall. Definitely over six feet.
His shoulders are broad, and his arms are thick with layers of muscle.
My gaze follows the ripple of his back muscles to his trim waist, and down to his adorably tiny but tight ass.
It looks like I could fit the whole thing in one hand.
Like two firm plums, just begging to be squeezed.
He’s wearing a billowy white shirt tucked into light brown tweed pants. The pants are tucked into black lace-up leather boots that look worn-in enough to be buttery soft. But the best part of his outfit, by far, are the suspenders.
I’ve only ever seen suspenders worn in a jokey, obnoxious kind of way, so I never found them attractive. However, the more I look at them crossing in the middle of his back and hugging his shoulders, the more I want to straddle him and hold on to those suspenders for dear life as I ride his dick.
Shit, what is wrong with me? Maybe I can chalk it up to the adrenaline of being almost attacked by the hot gardener.
“She’s not here for Thomas, okay?” Winston explains to this Ethel person. “She’s with me. This is Natalie. She’s…” I hear him swallow, “my wife.”