Page 29 of Ghost Business (Boneyard Key #2)

Nineteen

Sophie hated that she didn’t want to go home.

Her home was her sanctuary, her safe space. She worked there, she slept there. It was the one place in the world that she knew was hers.

But as she left Boneyard Books and started heading south on Beachside, she realized she didn’t want to go home. Because Tristan was there.

Well, not there . It wasn’t like he was waiting for her in her living room, lurking over by Aunt Alice’s vinyl record collection. But he was right next door, and the threat of running into him was constant. Sophie didn’t like what it was doing to her blood pressure.

So instead of going straight home, she headed for the break in the seawall, not far from The Haunt.

The coffee and ice cream carts were closed up for the night—Wednesday evenings were the absolute low point when it came to tourists—and she followed the sidewalk as it became more and more covered in sand that crunched under her flip-flops before finally giving way to the beach.

This secluded little picnic area boasted one streetlight that hadn’t winked on yet, two picnic tables, and a killer view of the sunset. Tonight it featured one more thing.

Tristan.

The sky wasn’t dark yet, so she could see him just fine.

His back was to her as he sat in the middle of one of the picnic tables, his feet resting on the bench seat below.

Shirtsleeves pushed up, elbows resting on his knees, he stared off at the water, in the direction of the sunset that it wasn’t quite time for.

The light breeze ruffled his blond hair, and he was the picture of a pensive thinker.

He was the last person in the world she wanted to see.

“Oh.” The exclamation fell out of her mouth before she could check it, as sharp and as sudden as her feet skidding to a stop on the sandy path. She wanted to turn on her heel and flee back up the path toward Beachside before he noticed her, but it was too late for that.

Tristan turned, his torso twisting in her direction, and Sophie caught her breath at the look on his face.

Usually, his default expression was of amused nonchalance.

Like the world was his oyster and he had his shucking knife at the ready.

But tonight, something had rattled him, and his usual confidence had drained away.

Before Sophie could say anything, the moment shifted, and a small smile came to his lips.

“You here for the sunset?” He nodded out toward the water. “The show’s about to start.”

Sophie shook her head. “I was trying to avoid you.” The sentence had sounded fine in her head, but when she said it out loud, she wanted to wince.

“Whoops.” His face fell, and his shoulders slumped a fraction as he turned back to the water. “Sorry about that.”

Sophie shouldn’t feel bad. She could hear Cassie’s voice in her head: Fuck this guy’s feelings .

She could see Libby nodding along emphatically.

Sophie didn’t owe Tristan a darn thing. But something propelled her forward to join him at the picnic table.

He turned to her in surprise when she climbed onto the table beside him.

“You want me to go?” He made to climb down, but she shook her head.

“May as well stay,” she said. “Show’s about to start, right?”

And what a show. There was nothing like a sunset on the beach. The water stretched out to the horizon, and beyond into infinity, reflecting all the colors of the setting sun above it: wild oranges and purples.

“I met Sarah Hawkins tonight,” Tristan said, his eyes scanning the sky.

Sophie nodded. “I heard you might.”

“That was…She was…” He shook his head hard, and Sophie understood. She’d lived here almost her whole life, and she’d seen a lot of things. But Sarah and her refrigerator magnets were next-level.

Tristan wasn’t done. Something big had happened to him tonight, and he was still processing. “On your tour, you talk about the Beach Bum, right?” She nodded out of courtesy, but he was still talking. “Is he here right now? Is he real too?”

“Oh, he’s real.” Sophie looked around, as though the Beach Bum was someone she could spot in a crowd. “I don’t know if he’s here, though,” she said. “I’ve never actually seen him. Nick has.”

He nodded slowly, taking in this new information. “I told Sarah I was sorry for making shit up about her house.” A small laugh escaped him as an exhale. “I’d never apologized to a ghost before.”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything.

” She shouldn’t be smiling around him, and she sure as hell shouldn’t be joking with him.

But she couldn’t help it; it was as involuntary—and as necessary—as breathing.

“I used to tell her story wrong too,” she finally said, a small confession in the almost dark.

“Then once I found out, it meant a lot to me to get it right. For her. You know that’s why Cassie leaves her windows open on ghost tour nights, right? So Sarah can hear her story.”

“I didn’t know that.” He fell silent while they both turned their focus back to the sunset.

“Sarah means a lot to me,” Sophie said. “So does the Beach Bum. They all mean a lot to me.”

“I get that now.” The sky around them grew darker until finally the streetlight blinked on behind them and the water swallowed up what was left of the sun.

In the glow of the streetlight she could see Tristan out of the corner of her eye, nodding thoughtfully.

“I never thought of ghosts as real people. All the time I’ve been doing this tour, in all the places I’ve been doing it, they’ve always just been stories to me.

But they’re more than stories around here, aren’t they? ”

He didn’t need confirmation, but Sophie nodded anyway.

“My family isn’t one of the Founding Fifteen.

My parents divorced when I was little. Mom left, and Dad and I moved in with his aunt Alice, here in Boneyard Key, when I was five.

Then my dad left too. Last I heard he’s somewhere up in Tennessee, with a new family. ”

Tristan sucked in a breath. “Jesus. That’s—”

“Yeah.” Sophie cut him off; she wasn’t telling him all this for sympathy.

“Aunt Alice raised me. But this town did too. I love this place, and I feel connected to it, as much as the Founding Fifteen families do. At the same time, I’m still not one of them, you know?

” Her sigh felt like it came from her toes and gusted out into the night, mixing with the sea breeze.

“Doing this tour, telling their stories. It’s a way to honor this town.

Honor the people who were here before us.

” She glanced over at Tristan, whose head had bowed while she talked.

It almost felt like kicking him when he was down, but she finished her thought. “So no, here they’re not just stories.”

One more slow nod. “I get that now,” he said again. He looked up then, almost surprised that night had fallen while they’d been talking. He hopped off the picnic table and extended a hand. “Can I walk you home?”

People were asking her that a lot lately.

Sophie’s lips quirked up as she shook her head.

“I’m okay.” But she slid off the edge of the table to the sand to join him, pointedly not taking his hand.

She still didn’t take his hand as they fell into step together, following the path back up to the street.

He wasn’t walking her home. They just happened to be walking in the same direction.

Silence fell between them again, but this time it wasn’t as easy as when they were watching the sunset. Sophie was aware of the sound of her flip-flops as they slapped the pavement, and the swish of her sundress around her calves. Tristan cleared his throat twice before finally speaking.

“Are you ready for hurricane season?”

“What?” She almost stumbled on an uneven part of the sidewalk as her attention went fully to him. “There’s a hurricane?” She hadn’t been glued to the internet today, but if there was a storm on the way she should have known, right? Libby would have texted her a time or twenty.

“No,” he said, “not right now. Just like…” He waved a vague hand. “In general. It’s hurricane season now, right? I saw these articles. Checklists. Stuff you’re supposed to get.”

“Ahhh.” Newbies were so cute. “A gallon of water per person per day, a hand-crank radio, that kind of thing?” Once again, she couldn’t help the smile that came to her face in response to his earnest nod.

“My supplies are more like red wine and chocolate-fudge Pop-Tarts.” Her smile widened at his furrowed brow.

“Don’t have to refrigerate them. Anyway, call me when there’s at least a Category 2 storm on the way. Then I’ll worry about the rest.”

One side of his mouth curved up. “Okay, but don’t come asking to share my canned ravioli because you didn’t plan ahead.”

“Deal.” Sophie hated canned ravioli anyway.

Tristan chuckled under his breath. “I think Eric is worried about me. He’s convinced that I’m gonna get swept away in a storm. He’ll probably be surprised if I survive the summer.”

“Maybe you should evacuate now. Make him feel better.” Unlike the last time she wished out loud he’d go away, this time her suggestion had no heat behind it. Weird. “Who’s Eric?”

He glanced over with a surprised expression. “I haven’t mentioned him before?”

Sophie shook her head. “We’re not friends, remember?”

“Oh, right.” He nodded solemnly, but his eyes danced under the streetlights.

Sophie loved putting that expression on his face.

No, she hated it. Being around him was getting confusing.

“Anyway, Eric’s my best friend. Business partner.

” He paused. “He’s also my ex, but we don’t focus on that too much. ”

Now Sophie did stumble, over a nonexistent crack in the sidewalk. His ex? Oh, God. Her brain reordered the past few days of memories. The way she’d jumped on him. Kissed him. Oh, no .