Page 46 of Ghost Business (Boneyard Key #2)

Sophie nodded. “It looks worse than it is.” Which was good, honestly, because on the surface it looked awful.

A thin layer of receding water covered the street, and there was debris everywhere: sand, branches, palm fronds, and Spanish moss everywhere you looked.

A live oak in front of the Chamber of Commerce leaned on its side, its roots exposed from where they came out of the ground, the top of the tree resting on the roof of the building.

A few shingles had been knocked off and were scattered on the lawn, but otherwise the roof looked intact.

Sophie was right; the streets were a mess, but the actual damage seemed minimal.

“You know how the town was destroyed? The original one?” Sophie nodded out toward the water, where Cemetery Island was way off in the distance.

“There have been lots of hurricanes since then, but nothing that’s hit has ever kept Boneyard Key down for long.

” She hugged his arm as they started walking again.

“My personal theory is that this town is protected. Like, the Great Storm was bad enough that the people of Boneyard Key don’t need to go through it again. ”

The Tristan of a few months ago would laugh at the notion. But now…well, it was as good a theory as any.

Downtown, Hallowed Grounds was bustling. While the front door was propped open, all the action seemed to be happening on the sidewalk out front. A propane-powered flattop griddle was going, manned by Ramon, and as they got closer, the smell of scrambled eggs and bacon made Tristan’s stomach growl.

“Me too.” Sophie grinned up at him, placing a hand on her stomach. “I kinda forgot about breakfast.”

“Well, we were busy.” Tristan’s mind flashed back to exactly what they were busy doing, early in the morning in Sophie’s rumpled bedsheets.

The way his fingers had slid so easily inside her, the way her moans turned breathy as he touched her just the right way.

The way she kissed him right after she came, lazy and open and unabashedly satisfied.

He loved the way he could put that look on her face.

But he should stop thinking about that right now, because putting that look on her face right there in the middle of slightly flooded Beachside Drive wasn’t on the agenda. He took another swig of water and told his body to calm the hell down.

“Ramon’s breakfast burritos are a hurricane tradition, you’ll see.” She tugged on his arm, and what could Tristan do but follow?

“Hey!” Ramon called out in greeting as they approached the griddle.

“I’ve got food here if you’re hungry—” He stirred a massive batch of hash browns with a spatula and nodded toward a huge plastic platter filled with aluminum-foil-wrapped packages.

“The ones wrapped in red don’t have bacon, in case you’re vegetarian. ”

Sophie held up the tangle of cords she’d brought from her place, and Ramon lit up. “Ah, perfect! Charging station is right there.”

The charging station was a large power bank sitting on one of the outdoor café tables, hooked up to a small generator that buzzed away on the sidewalk. There were five cords plugged in, each with a phone already connected.

Sophie checked her phone. “I’m good for a bit, but I brought my cord if anyone needs it.

” She plugged in her cord, and Tristan followed suit with his cord, but he connected his phone.

The battery had drained some during the post-hurricane group text, and he had a feeling he was going to need a full charge until all of this was dealt with.

Next they hit up the food. Sophie grabbed a burrito for each of them while Tristan got them each a fresh bottle of water from the cooler next to the griddle.

“Shouldn’t we get to work first?” Tristan looked around uncertainly. “I feel like I should earn this.”

But Ramon waved off his concern. “Nah. Gotta fuel up. Eat first, then work. If you’re into power tools, they need help chainsawing some tree limbs over on Palmetto. Some other people are starting to get organized at the Chamber of Commerce. Cassie’s up at her place; they had some limbs down too.”

Sophie nodded, but it was obvious she was only half listening. Her attention was focused on the package she was unwrapping. She practically tore the foil away in her haste to take a bite. Her eyes closed in bliss as she chewed.

“Ramon,” she said, her mouth still mostly full, “I swear these are the best part of hurricane season. Why doesn’t Nick let you serve these at the café?”

He barked out a laugh. “Because I don’t want to get up that early every day, you kidding me? Let Nick do his little pastries in the morning. These are for special occasions.”

It was a breakfast burrito, Tristan thought as he unwrapped his. Why was Sophie treating it like a religious experience?

Then he took a bite.

Tristan was familiar with the saying “hunger is the best sauce.” He knew now that the saying should really be “twenty-four hours of hurricane snacks is the best sauce.” The eggs were fluffy and hot, with just the right amount of cheese melted into them to play off the crisp saltiness of the bacon.

The shredded potatoes were perfectly seasoned and added amazing texture.

But this being the first home-cooked meal he’d had since even before the power went out made it taste even better.

Sophie caught his eye, and he could tell that she knew what he was thinking. “Amazing, right?”

Tristan nodded, too overcome to even speak. All he could do was bite, chew, swallow, repeat. The best breakfast of his life, here on the sidewalk of a town with no electricity, looking out on the debris-strewn streets.

Then it was time to get to work. This kind of thing was new to him—a day filled with manual labor, getting a small town back in order after a disaster.

His family was more the “hire someone to do that” type.

But he threw himself into it, agreeing to anything and everything needed of him.

The Florida sun grew higher in the sky and hotter on his skin as he worked, taking down the plywood that had boarded up windows, dragging tree limbs to the edge of the street to be picked up by debris crews later, raking stray palm fronds and Spanish moss and shingles into contractor bags.

The more he worked, the more he realized he wanted to work. This didn’t feel like charity or obligation. It felt like community.

As he took a water break, late in the afternoon, Nick clapped him on the shoulder.

“Come on,” he said. “Cold spot time.”

“What?” Tristan dragged his wrist across his forehead and adjusted his borrowed work gloves.

He noticed Vince, the aging rocker from steel-drum karaoke night, nodding in confirmation behind Nick.

“You’ve got power at the bar?” Because damn, a cold beer really sounded good right now. A cold anything, really.

“Nah, man.” Vince shook his head. “Just as dark there as everywhere else. We’re not talking about that. We’re talking about the cold spot.”

“But that’s…” The conversation was getting circular fast, so Tristan gave up, following them up the street, past Cassie’s house, then past the fishing pier.

He glanced over his shoulder, feeling almost guilty.

He’d lost track of Sophie while they’d been working, and he should have grabbed her if they were going for a drink.

But, marching up the street and flanked by two locals, this also felt like some kind of initiation. Maybe he wasn’t allowed a plus-one.

Tristan hadn’t made it to The Cold Spot yet, despite Vince’s invitation back when Tristan had sung show tunes at The Haunt.

But he knew it was this squat, gray building whose silhouette indicated it had been a service station in another lifetime.

There was no sign out front, just a red neon sign—dark for now, of course—that said Open.

It looked the opposite of inviting. Maybe it was an elaborate tax shelter?

He could imagine more than one washed-up rocker retiring to Florida under those kinds of pretenses.

There was a trickle of people heading in their direction. All had relieved smiles on their faces, nodding toward Vince. “Thanks, man,” one of them said.

“Hey, anytime! You don’t have to thank me,” Vince answered. “I’m just the caretaker.”

Tristan’s steps faltered as they rounded the back of the building.

Up until now he’d been too tired to question anything and had just been following along blindly.

But now, as they came upon an open field with a rusted-out car and a welded-shut service bay door, he realized that they could be luring him back there to kill him. Damn. Oh well, he’d had a good run.

Nick strode ahead of the other two, finally stopping at what seemed to be a random spot, and his expression changed immediately. His eyes closed in bliss, his head falling back on his neck as he took some good, deep breaths.

Tristan couldn’t even begin to fathom what he was seeing.

After a few moments Vince called out. “Okay, that’s enough! It’s the new guy’s turn.”

Nick nodded, rolling his shoulders as he stepped away, back toward Tristan and Vince. Vince nudged Tristan forward. “Your turn.”

“My turn for what?” He fell forward a couple steps before turning to the two men. They motioned him back and Tristan complied, taking two steps backwards and…

…suddenly he was freezing cold.

It felt like the sun had gone out, the ambient temperature plummeting around him.

The sweat on his skin evaporated instantaneously, and he shivered.

It was like walking into an overly air-conditioned movie theatre from the noonday sun.

It was blissful relief, and almost too much at the same time.

Tristan heaved a huge sigh of relief before it hit him.

This shouldn’t be real. It was an honest-to-God cold spot. As in, a haunted place.

He shivered again, but this time not from the cold. Whose grave were they walking over here?

“I don’t get it,” he said, once Vince had had his turn cooling off and they were heading back downtown. “Sophie doesn’t mention it on her tour. People would lose their minds if you took them there.”

“That’s why we don’t take them there,” Vince said. “Tourists would only ruin it.”

“We like to keep it a locals-only secret,” Nick said.

Tristan’s heart leapt. “I’m a local?”

“You busted your ass today,” Nick said. “I’d say you earned it.”

Tristan had never felt so validated in his life.