Page 3 of Ghosted (The Ravenwood #1)

THREE

“Well, that could have gone better,” Wren says, barely suppressing her snicker behind her glass of red wine.

I scowl at her over the top of my own glass, then swipe the last bit of sharp cheddar off the charcuterie board between us before she can grab it. She gives me the finger as I chew, not caring at all that we’re in a semi-fancy wine bar.

I can’t even be upset at her because she’s right.

Meeting with Leonard’s son had been a disaster.

First, his wife, Holly, almost closed the door on us because she took one look at Wren and me and thought we were satanists or something.

I should mention she was clutching her large, diamond-studded cross necklace as she proclaimed that, “This is a house that follows the church, not… whatever you’re selling. ”

Sigh.

Eventually, once I showed his wife the letter, we got Abraham outside.

Thankfully, she recognized Leonard’s handwriting.

The entire—and I mean the entire—time, Leonard would not shut up.

And listen, I get it; he wanted to talk to his son in some way.

But judging from Holy Holly glaring daggers at us through the window, I didn’t think facilitating a conversation between the dead and the living would have gone over well.

The only good thing that came out of today is that Leonard is gone.

He got his wish, thankfully, because Abraham didn’t sell the house and instead has rented it out to a cousin.

When we left, he was right behind us carrying a shovel over his broad shoulder, intent on seeing if he’d be thousands richer by the end of the day.

Judging by the fact that Leonard is no longer in my ear, yammering about his son’s poor choice of lawnmowers, Abraham must have found his gold.

I drain the last sip of my wine and ask, “So, how’s it going in the land of MatchStik, home of the finest assholes dating apps have to offer?

” Now it’s her turn to scowl. She and I both have struck out more times than worth mentioning in terms of dating.

The only difference is that she hasn’t given up yet.

I did after the last guy I briefly dated wanted me to get in contact with his dead ex-girlfriend. Talk about a mood killer.

“You’re only asking to distract me from bullying you about today,” she says, miming the way my eyes had bounced back and forth between Leonard and Abraham. I’m sure my eyes zinging back and forth from Holly’s husband to a seemingly empty spot next to him didn’t help our case.

“That’s true, but I'm also curious how your last date went. What was his name again? Devon?” I ask.

“Damien,” she hisses like the feral cat she is.

“So, I’m guessing things didn’t go great,” I sing-song.

“Hold. I need another glass of wine before I tell you this,” she states, standing and swiping both of our glasses off the high-top table. She stalks to the mirrored bar, sliding her petite form between two couples.

I take a second to sweep my gaze over the interior of Barrel and Vine, making sure no wine enthusiast spirits are about to accost me while I’m alone.

I’ve always been terrified of someone seeing me talk to a person who isn’t there.

Truly, I was so thankful that Bluetooth headphones were invented.

All you have to do is put an earbud in your ear, and most people will assume you’re on the phone.

No wonder so many people with the Gift were hung back in the day.

Not many convenient excuses for talking to yourself in the 1690s.

Wren comes back with two very full glasses of merlot and a scowl for the crowd. “What are all these people doing here on a Wednesday?” I don’t mention that we’re here on a Wednesday, because arguing with Wren is futile.

“Thank you for the wine,” I say, taking my glass out of her hand.

“Thank yourself. You bought it.” She slides my credit card across the table to me and sits down.

I don’t even want to know how she got my card.

I work to clamp my mouth shut against the retort that I’ve paid for dinner the last three times we’ve gone out, and she promised to pay this time.

After all, I want to know about Damien, and she won’t tell me if I force the subject.

I shove my credit card in my bra to prevent her sticky fingers from finding it again and ask, “What happened with Damien?”

She chews on a leftover basil cracker, takes a sip of wine, and reaches for a piece of cheese when I yank the whole charcuterie board towards me and glare at her.

She sighs and sits back against her chair.

“Okay. Fine.” She takes a moment to glower at me, and I am, once again, thankful that her Gift doesn’t extend to actual magic because I’m sure I’d have been incinerated on the spot a million times over by now.

“The date was going fine at first. He was nice, he paid for my drinks, and when we got back to my apartment, he didn’t push me into anything.

We watched a movie, and just when things started to get interesting… ” she trails off.

I squint at her, waiting for her to continue. When she still doesn’t say anything, the older sister in me opens her eyes like an ancient beast. “What did he do?” I ask, already planning the ways I can track him down and relieve him of his favorite appendage.

Her eyes widen, and she says quickly, “No, Rae. Seriously, nothing like that. It’s just… He started crying.”

I shake my head in confusion. My sister can be mean, but not usually mean to the point of causing tears. “Crying?”

“Crying,” she confirms with a curt nod. “I literally had my ankles up by my ears, and his tears started splattering on my chest.” I clap my hand over my mouth to conceal the giggle bubbling out of my mouth.

Her scowl twitches into a smile for a nanosecond before she continues, “Obviously, I asked him what was wrong, and— while still inside me— he proceeds to tell me that this is the first time he’s been with anyone since his girlfriend broke up with him a few months ago. ”

“Oh. My. God.” I cover my mouth with my hand.

“Yeah.”

After a beat, I can’t help but ask behind my hand, “Did you guys keep going? ”

“No! Are you insane? I politely asked him to get off me and leave. He agreed, still sobbing, and got all his stuff together. Before he left, he kept apologizing and saying that he had a great time, but maybe it was too soon for him to move on. I had to physically lead him out of my apartment.” She drains the rest of her glass and sets it down with a loud clink.

I suck my lips in a futile attempt to prevent my smile. Wren isn’t fooled, though, judging from the thunderous look on her face. “So glad you find my misery amusing,” she spits.

I raise my hands in surrender. “I’m sorry, but you know if the roles were reversed, you’d be cackling loud enough to get us kicked out of here.”

She tilts her head to the side, making her hair fall over her shoulder. “Okay, true. Still, how humiliating. I love the idea of making men cry, but in such a compromising position?” She grimaces as though the mere memory left a foul taste in her mouth.

As much as I want to laugh because this is the type of shit that only happens to us, I feel for Wren.

She may put up a front of being a prickly little cactus, but her heart is marshmallow soft.

She just wants to find someone who likes her brand of weird, and apparently, someone who doesn’t cry during sex. God, the bar is truly in hell.

She brushes off these failed dates, but I know they bother her. She’s always been a romantic at heart, even if she does hide it behind a heavy armor of standoffishness and scowling.

“What can I do to cheer you up?” I ask.

When her mouth curves in a chilling impression of Jim Carrey’s Grinch smile , I immediately regret asking. “Well, you could revive your dating profile again. Maybe finding you a date would help get my mind off it.”

“What, so I can have my own sobbing sex story? No, thank you.” I shake my head emphatically.

“Come on, Rae. It’s been almost a year since you went on a date. You’re approaching spinsterhood.”

“Hey!” I exclaim. “I thought it was cool to be a spinster. Imagine all the cats I could have. Besides, I’m only twenty-nine,” I sniff.

“You’re allergic to cats,” Wren replies with exasperation. “And your thirtieth birthday is only a few months away.”

“Kill joy.”

“Hag.”

I glare at her for a minute and then sigh. “Fine.” Her moody expression immediately transforms into something girlish and twinkling.

She extends her hand, fingers armed with deadly stiletto nails.

I tap my own long ruby nail on the table a few times before relinquishing my phone.

Despite how much we bicker, I trust her with my life.

While we love to laugh at each other, neither of us would ever do something truly hurtful.

We’ve always been inseparable; our mom jokes that we’re twins at heart.

“You don’t even have the app downloaded on your phone?” Wren asks, shaking her head in disapproval. After a few minutes, she says, “Oh, good. It saved all your data. Let’s just take a new profile photo, because your last one is from when you chopped your hair off.”

“Right now? No, Leonard woke me up at an ungodly hour. I probably look like the Grudge.” I hold a hand up to shield my face, and I swear she growls.

“You’re being dumb. You always look hot. Now shut up and let me take the picture.” She proceeds to manhandle me into position, even going so far as to dab my lips with her blood-red lip gloss. “Now smile like I said something funny, but not too hilarious.”

“Oh, so smile like I do any time you attempt humor?” I ask. At her pout, I can’t help but laugh, and that’s when she snaps the picture.

She checks it over and nods her approval. “Damn, I’m good. I should charge for this.”

“You already did by making me pay for dinner,” I respond flatly, making “gimme” hands at my phone.

I have to admit, it is a really good picture of me.

The way she positioned my arms made my boobs look extra perky, and the way I’m looking over my shoulder accentuates my cheekbones and heart shaped face.

And, wow. That lip gloss makes my teeth look white.

I make a mental note to ask her what it is and/or steal it from her later.

Most importantly, I look happy. The warm glow of the low lighting makes my blue eyes softer.

I don’t look like a freak of nature at all.

The time at the top of my phone makes me groan. “Hey, I have to get home to do the potion pulls right now. I’m running a sale, and I’m expecting a lot of people to be watching.”

“How convenient,” Wren replies.

“Well, if I want to pay my rent, I have to make some money,” I say defensively.

“Aunt Clarissa doesn’t charge you rent,” she retorts.

“Ah, but you’re the one running up my credit card bill. Come on, do you want to watch?” I ask, standing and gathering my coat.

“Nah, I’d better get home. I have to be at Brewed early tomorrow,” Wren says, stifling a yawn. She stands with me and grabs her black, vegan-leather purse off the table.

“See you tomorrow. I’ll stop in for a coffee,” I say, leaning in to kiss her on the cheek, which she grudgingly accepts.

“Okay, I'd better see that you’ve at least looked at a few guys,” she says with a surprisingly scary glare. I roll my eyes and nod. She smiles toothily, then leads me through the bar and into the misty night.