Page 54 of Ghost Business (Boneyard Key #2)

Six Months Later

The moon was huge tonight, hanging low in the sky. Cemetery Island practically glowed in its light as Sophie detailed its tragic history.

“You can really kayak out there?” one of the tourists asked as Sophie led the tour group off the fishing pier and back to the street.

“Oh, absolutely! The bait shack opens pretty early in the morning, and you can rent a kayak and check it out for yourself.” She gestured toward Jimmy’s, the ramshackle building dark and locked up tight.

While Sophie led the tour south on Beachside, she deliberately kept her pace slow, and not just because she had a few senior citizens on tonight’s tour. Tristan was out there too, his tour a few minutes and about a half block ahead of hers, and she didn’t want to run into him.

Not until it was time.

“This is one of our most famous landmarks.” Sophie slowed her steps and gestured to the Starter Home. “I admit that I have no idea if…it’s…haunted…” Her voice trailed off as she realized that she had heard something unexpected.

Tristan.

She turned around and there he was. In full ghost tour guide gear, with his frock coat and cravat, his top hat and lantern, his tour group trailing behind him.

She frowned. He was supposed to be further down the street, and she was supposed to catch up to him in front of Cassie’s house.

That was how they’d rehearsed it. That was how they’d been doing it for months now.

Why was he switching it up?

Then she caught his words, carried on the cool breeze coming off the Gulf of Mexico. “Now, I’ll tell you more about the Beach Bum later in the tour, but sources say that this was actually his house at one point. In fact—”

“ What? ” The word burst from her mouth before she could check it. “What are you talking about? That’s not true and you know it.”

Some of the people in Tristan’s tour turned to look at her, mouths sagging open. Tristan, standing directly under a streetlight, coughed once to hide his smile.

“Of course,” he said, tipping his hat in her direction, “there are some who have differing opinions. Now, if you’ll follow me,” he continued, stepping out of his spotlight and back onto the sidewalk, gathering his tour group like chickens, “we’re coming up to one of my favorite spots. Legend says there was a pirate that…”

Sophie rolled her eyes, pasted a smile on her face, and turned back to her group. “Ignore him,” she said. “I know I do. Now, as I was saying, there’s no real proof that the Starter Home is haunted. It’s just a reminder of Boneyard Key’s past.”

“So who’s the Beach Bum?”

Sophie bit back a sigh at the question. She was going to kill Tristan later. “The Beach Bum is a story for a little later in the tour, and I promise it’s worth it. Now if you’ll follow me…”

Tristan’s detour, here at the Starter Home, had thrown Sophie off her rhythm.

She walked faster, because she was already late.

The point was to get to Cassie’s house in time to catch the end of Tristan’s pirate story.

The point was to confront him there , not back at the Starter Home.

Why hadn’t he told her he was changing things up?

But no, she was right on time. It didn’t take long for her and her charges to catch up to Tristan, who was winding up his pirate/lover tale. This was more like it. She knew her part, and she was ready.

“Her name was Arabella, and she lived in this very house. Reed the Ruthless and Arabella would meet in secret, under the light of the full moon, and they would—”

“Oh, they would not! ” Sophie folded her arms on her chest and glared at Tristan. It was so hard to glare at him; life with Tristan was more smiles these days. She bit hard on the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing at his faux innocent expression.

“You have a real problem with me tonight, do you?” Tristan gave an exaggerated tsk , then turned back to his group as though she wasn’t even there.

“I have a problem with you every night!” she called out, and some of her group laughed. Some of Tristan’s did too.

“Mock if you must,” he said. “But my stories are better.”

“No, they’re not,” she shot back. “Mine are better. Because they’re true .”

He waved a bored hand. “Details, details.”

“It’s not details! It’s people’s lives we’re talking about! The spirits of Boneyard Key are people’s ancestors, loved ones. We owe it to them to tell the truth.”

Tristan nodded as he broke character. “And that’s what makes the tours here at Ghouls Night Out so special,” he said, turning to address both tour groups now.

“Here in Boneyard Key we offer a unique experience. Different stories from different tour guides. So if you’ve had a good time here tonight, and want to know more about Boneyard Key, consider taking the tour all over again tomorrow night, with the other guide.

We guarantee a different experience each time.

” He tipped his hat at Sophie and her group, then turned back to his.

“Anyway, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted. Arabella and her pirate…”

His voice trailed off as he led the group down the street, and Sophie heaved a great sigh. Thank goodness that was over. She was a terrible actress, but somehow playing opposite Tristan made it easy. Made it fun.

She turned back to her group, her normal, friendly smile back on her face. “So! We are standing in front of the Sarah Hawkins house, and I’d love to tell you a little bit about her. I promise it has nothing to do with pirates.”

After the tour, she found Tristan at the coffee cart.

“That kicked ass!” His kiss tasted like the mocha latte in his hand.

Sophie nodded. “I think people come as much for our fight as they do for our ghost stories.” That was the thing about viral moments; people wanted them recreated.

Now that they knew Boneyard Key was big enough for two ghost tours, it hadn’t taken long for Sophie and Tristan to figure out how to capitalize on their video from last spring, which was still making the rounds.

They gave their separate tours, with an added moment of “accidentally” running into each other.

It was great cross-advertising for both tours; let the audience hear just enough of the other tour guide’s story to be intrigued enough to go on the tour a second time.

Her tour being under the Ghouls Night Out umbrella wasn’t a big deal in the end.

She still had her stories, told the way she wanted to tell them, honoring the residents of Boneyard Key, past and present.

She also had a strong minority ownership in the company.

And she was sleeping with the owner. No, Sophie didn’t have a single thing to complain about these days.

It was a warm spring night, and the moon was high in the sky. No reason to hurry home. By unspoken agreement, their steps turned toward the beach, Tristan’s arm slung around her shoulders.

“What was that you were saying about the Beach Bum and the Starter Home? Theo and I have almost locked down the text of the book, and we haven’t found anything that says they’re linked. Was that a new story you made up?”

Tristan shrugged, the movement of his shoulder nudging against her glasses.

“The Beach Bum and I hang out sometimes,” he said. “He lets me know things.” He glanced down at her, straightening her glasses. “Maybe I can help you figure it out. Your stories about our home should be as accurate as possible.”

Our home . Sophie loved the way that sounded. And from the look on his face, so did he.

They paused at the picnic tables, watching the moonlight glint off the water.

Sounds of the steel drum band at The Haunt echoed in the distance, but at this moment, they had the beach all to themselves.

Something about it made Sophie bold. Or maybe it was just Tristan—nothing seemed risky when she was with him.

“Did I ever tell you about a dream I had?”

“Well, there was that one last week, where a fish was playing the piano. That one?”

“No, this one was a while back, before you and I were…you and I.” Her heart pounded in her throat, but she forged ahead before her nerve left her completely. “We were here, on the beach.”

“I like the way this is heading.” He dropped his top hat and frock coat to the picnic table before sitting on the bench. “Tell me more.” He tugged on her hands, pulling her between his knees.

“Well, you’re in the water…” He nodded eagerly, and Sophie’s cheeks were on fire. Was she really telling him this? “You’re not wearing so many clothes.”

Tristan’s eyebrows shot up as a wicked grin took over his face. “Oooh. Is this a naked dream?” His hands slid around her waist, hooking his fingers in the belt loops of her jeans. “Because I approve.”

Sophie nodded. “You were…”

“Wait a second.” He squinted up at her. “You’re telling me you had a naked dream about me before we were together?”

Oh, he was going to love this. “You remember the first time we kissed?”

“You mean when you kissed me?” He loved to remind her of that anytime he could.

“Yeah, yeah.” Sophie tried to be annoyed, but he was too close, and she loved him too much. “Well, this was the night before that.”

He sucked in a scandalized breath. “Sophie Horvath,” he said with mock outrage. “You had a naked dream about me when we weren’t even together? How accurate was it?”

“What?”

“How accurate was it?” he repeated. “I mean, you’ve seen me naked since then.” Sophie made a pleased noise in agreement. “How did subconscious Sophie do at peeling back all my layers?” He waggled his eyebrows, and she huffed out a laugh.

“I don’t know,” she said, her voice teasing. “You’re not naked in the water, are you?”

She was teasing, but Tristan nodded. “Good point.” In one quick movement, he set her aside and surged to his feet, working on the buttons of his vest. He had it off in a flash, and before Sophie knew what was happening, he’d started unbuttoning his shirt.

“What are you doing?” Her voice was high and well on its way to shrill.

“Getting naked in the water,” he said, as though it should be obvious. “For the sake of comparison.” His dress shirt landed on top of his frock coat and vest, his undershirt following almost immediately. He toed off his shoes, hopping on each foot as he took off his socks.

“Okay, you weren’t completely naked.” Sophie hated being a stickler, but Tristan had already unbuttoned his pants; she was running out of time.

He cocked his head, holding his loosened pants around his hips. “Now you tell me?”

Sophie could feel laughter build in her chest, as involuntary as a hiccup. “You were wearing these board shorts. With pink flamingos on them.”

Tristan considered that. “Hmmm. Well. I don’t have board shorts with pink flamingos, but I can get some.”

“You can get some?” she repeated with an incredulous laugh.

“I told you,” he said. “You tell me what you want, and I will make it happen. But until then…” His pants fell to the sand, leaving him in his boxers. “Little blue puppy dogs will have to do.”

Laughter burst from Sophie’s chest, but died quickly as Tristan stepped toward her, reaching for her waistband. “What are you doing?”

“You think I’m the only one going in that water?” His nimble fingers made quick work of the button on her jeans and tugged the zipper down just as fast.

“Are you kidding me?” Sophie squealed and tried—not very hard—to get away.

“Were you in the water with me in the dream?” His hands, warm and strong, slid inside of her jeans, working them down around her hips.

“Well, yes, but…” While she protested, she also kicked off her sneakers while helping him shimmy her out of her jeans, and they joined his pants in the sand.

“Accuracy,” he reminded her. “Come on.” He tugged on her hand, leading her toward the water. “You can leave your hoodie on.”

But she pulled it off too—in for a penny and all that—and started to follow him into the surf when she realized a crucial part was missing.

“Wait!” She pulled her hand free and darted toward the picnic tables. Tristan’s shout of protest was cut off when she scooped up the top hat and rejoined him at the edge of the water. The tide came in, foam sizzling around their ankles.

“Hey, be careful with that. It’s an antique.” Tristan caught her hands when she perched the top hat on his head. Together, they settled the hat securely, and she tugged the brim down a little lower over his eyes before letting go.

“There,” she said. “Accuracy.”

“So you’re telling me…” He tugged her close. “In this dream you had, I was wearing board shorts and a top hat, and nothing else?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Sophie said. “Do your dreams make a whole lot of sense?”

“What else were we doing in this dream?” His palms were warm as they slid across the already cold skin of her waist. When standing ankle-deep in the Gulf wearing only her underwear, suddenly the warm spring night had become a lot cooler.

Skinny-dipping in the ocean would be a lot more fun in July. Something to remember.

“Pretty much this.” She skimmed her hands down his chest, enjoying the way his muscles tightened beneath her touch. “Maybe a little of this.” Her fingertips flirted with the elastic of his waistband, dipping lower until he let out a gasp.

“God, your hands are cold.” But he made no move to get away. Instead his hands began their own exploration, sliding down the back of her underwear to cup her rear. “So was it like this?”

“Pretty much.” But that was a lie. In the dream his eyes kept shifting from blue to green.

Now, she couldn’t tell what color his eyes were; despite the moonlight, it was too dark, plus the brim of his hat threw shadows across his face.

The water was freezing around their calves, and even though he was doing this for her, she couldn’t wait to warm up back at home.

But then he bent to kiss her. Deeply, in a kiss that went on and on, like the water of the Gulf stretching out toward the horizon. And Sophie knew that real life was better than any dream could possibly be.