Page 8 of Ghost Business (Boneyard Key #2)

By the time they got to the sidewalk outside the café, Sophie felt wrung out.

Leading groups on a walking tour of the Boneyard Key historic district was tricky all on its own; the phrase really should be “herding tourists” instead of “herding cats.” Sophie’s job was historian and storyteller at the same time, sharing stories of the spirits who lingered here in her hometown, doing her best to keep the stories compelling enough so no one was reaching for their phone…

it was a lot. Her brain felt like mushy, overcooked pasta at the end of nights like this.

But she always kept a smile on her face, always answered every question as though it had never been asked before. (It usually had.)

Once back at Hallowed Grounds, it never took long for the group to filter out, tempted by the drink coupons to The Haunt that Sophie handed out at the end of every tour.

Tourists went nuts over a good BOGO. A few people lingered, going inside for a last cup of coffee.

Nick could probably handle them on his own, but they were Sophie’s customers, and she felt responsible for them.

It seemed only right to wait till they were gone and Nick could close up.

Sometimes he slipped her the leftover banana bread that hadn’t sold that day.

Behind the counter, Nick caught Sophie’s eye where she lingered in the doorway, raising a hand in acknowledgment. She nodded back and turned to wait out on the sidewalk.

And almost smacked right into Tristan, who was directly behind her.

“Oh!” She put up defensive hands that accidentally landed right on his chest.

“Sorry!” His hands came up to catch around her upper arms, as though helping her collide against him. For an extended, awkward moment, they froze together in the doorway, neither one giving ground or attempting to gain it.

Those light-colored eyes of his? They were green.

Pale, icy green, just a shade lighter than the sage-colored T-shirt he wore.

Though calling a garment this soft a T-shirt was probably a crime.

The fabric was velvety against her palm but sturdy.

Nothing like what they sold down the street; no one was screen printing rude slogans and ghosts on fabric like this.

Tristan cleared his throat, and it was like regaining consciousness. How long had Sophie been standing there, petting Tristan’s soft green shirt (and the solid chest underneath it, oh, no) and staring up into his clear green eyes? Way too long to be socially acceptable, that was for sure.

“Sorry.” She stepped back, dropping her traitorous hands to brush them against her jeans, trying to scrub away the soft yet firm feel of the man in front of her.

“No problem.” His voice was low, gravelly, and that smile he gave out so freely now seemed just for her.

He didn’t step back; in fact he stepped forward, gaining that little bit of ground Sophie had given up.

She caught her breath. She’d been talking all evening, and her voice probably had some gravel in it too, but if Tristan wanted to chat further she’d suck it up.

“So…” He cleared his throat and glanced up and down the street, as though worried they’d be overheard.

Sophie’s heart sped up; she wasn’t imagining things after all.

This whole time, this whole tour, he’d been watching her, and not just because she was the tour guide. There was a spark here. He felt it too.

He cleared his throat again. “So, you do this tour every Friday night?”

Sophie’s heart plummeted. Ah. Small talk. She nodded and tried to keep the disappointment out of her voice. “Every Friday night,” she confirmed. “Saturday nights too, this time of year. There’s more people here from out of town, which means more demand.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Makes sense. Yeah, I can see that. And those stories? How did you come up with them?”

“Come up with them?” Sophie felt her brow furrow. “You think I’m making them up?” The idea of it made her feel defensive, considering the work she did to keep her stories accurate.

Tristan’s laugh was breathy, uncertain. “I mean, they’re ghost stories ,” he said. “Stories that have ghosts in them. Obviously they’re made-up.”

Annoyance prickled the back of Sophie’s neck as she reminded herself that it was natural for newcomers to Boneyard Key to be skeptical. Cassie had once been doubtful about the existence of ghosts, and now she lived with one. Tristan wasn’t being a jerk. He was just new around here.

Speaking of which…“I thought you were only here for the weekend. I didn’t realize you were sticking around.” Did she sound too obvious? She probably sounded too obvious.

“Oh.” He looked uncomfortable, his eyes shifting to the side. “No. Yeah. I mean, I’m definitely sticking around. For a little bit, at least.”

Well, that was great news. Try not to act too eager , Sophie told herself, and then she immediately didn’t listen to her own advice.

“Good! It’s a great little town, you’ll love it here.

I mean, if you love small towns. Do you?

Like small towns?” Oh God, she was babbling like a dork.

The post-tour tiredness had finally caught up to her, fogging up her brain.

But maybe Tristan liked dorks, because his smile, his attention, focused solely on her again.

Whatever tension he was holding in his shoulders eased a fraction.

“I do.” His voice was softer, as though their conversation was private and not right at the front door of a public establishment.

“I think small towns are pretty great. And I agree. This one is something special.” There was a gentle smile in his eyes, and maybe that last sentence was directed at her, and not Boneyard Key in general.

“Good.” She hoped her eyes were smiling back, because she really liked this guy.

The door behind Sophie opened, the bell chiming loud enough to break whatever spell had been forming around the two of them.

Sophie fell back a step out of instinct, and so did Tristan, opening a path for the middle-aged couple walking out of Hallowed Grounds, to-go cups in hand.

They all nodded good night in a bobbing syncopation, and an awkward silence settled between Sophie and Tristan.

Ugh. No. She wanted to keep talking, explore the smile that had been in his eyes. Stupid tourists, spoiling the mood.

She took a deep breath. Took a chance. “Would you like to—”

But he started speaking at the same time. “I should probably get—” Both trailed off, and Tristan made an after you gesture.

“I was just going to say…” Sophie spoke quickly before her courage failed her completely.

“I didn’t get a chance to eat before the tour tonight, and I’m starving.

We could maybe go to The Haunt? Get some more of those oysters you like?

” Her hopes soared. She didn’t ask guys out very often, but there was something about Tristan that made her confident. Made her sure he wouldn’t say no.

He huffed out a laugh, but this time the smile didn’t reach his eyes. Instead he fell back another step. “I’d love to, but…another time, maybe. I have some…stuff I have to do tonight.”

“Stuff,” she repeated back. The word landed between them with a thud as her hopes crashed back down to earth.

“Yeah.” He didn’t meet her eyes, glancing up and down the street instead. He was doing that a lot. “In fact, I really should go, so if you’ll excuse me.”

“Right. Yeah. Of course.”

“Sorry.” The word was said gently, but it still stung like a paper cut. “Maybe I’ll see you…” But he didn’t finish the sentence. He glanced over her head, toward the door to Hallowed Grounds, before shooting her a tight smile as he set off down the sidewalk.

Well. That had been a little bit of a catastrophe. Sophie watched him go before turning and pushing open the door to the café. Inside, Nick was counting out the cash drawer, clearly closing up now that all the tourists had finally left.

“I thought that last couple was never gonna leave.” Nick was as customer service oriented as ever. “All they wanted to do was chat. Did you know they’re here on their honeymoon?”

“No, I didn’t.” Sophie bit on the inside of her cheek.

“Speaking of romance, I was wondering how long you two were gonna make eyes at each other in front of my door. I’m trying to run a business here, you know.”

“What?” Sophie whirled from the bulletin board. “I wasn’t…We weren’t…There were no eyes being made.” But her cheeks flamed; there were plenty of eyes being made, and she knew it. Too bad that was as far as it went.

Nick waved a dismissive hand. “You want some banana bread to take home? I’ve got a little extra.”

“I’d love that, thanks.” As Nick disappeared into the kitchen area, Sophie’s attention fell on the bulletin board near the door.

Boneyard Key didn’t have a local paper, and the board here at Hallowed Grounds was the closest they got.

All job postings, lost dog pleas, and boats for sale went up on Nick’s corkboard.

It stood out, like the neon coffee cup in Nick’s front window. Like Tristan leaning against a lamppost on Beachside Drive. A bright, shiny white business card pinned smack-dab in the middle of the board.

Ghouls Night Out

Ghost Tours

There was a website listed, along with a phone number. It wasn’t a local area code.

And a name.

Tristan.

Martin.

Sophie pushed her glasses up her nose and stared at the card, trying to bore a hole in it with her mind. She barely heard Nick’s footsteps coming back into the dining area from the kitchen.

“Here you go.” A paper bag rustled behind her, but Sophie didn’t turn around. She reached for the card, carefully unpinning it, while he headed back behind the counter. “You want a coffee or anything before I close down?”

“No.” She walked to the counter where Nick was cleaning up and slapped it down. “What the hell is this?”