Page 6 of Ghosted (The Ravenwood #1)

SIX

“Be honest, does this beanie make my head look too round?” Dean asks me, squinting at himself in the too-low and too-small mirror hung on the wall.

I assess his reflection and say, “I mean, maybe a little.” I grab him by the shoulders and turn him to face me. He smiles down at me, and I have to squint to keep the answering grin off my face. “Yup, definitely round. Were you a c-section baby?”

His head cocks to the side as he asks incredulously, “How did you know that?”

Rather than answer, I just tap my temple and wink at him. He shakes his head at me and pulls the beanie off his head to deposit it safely back on the display.

“Oh, well. There’s a reason I don’t wear those things, even when it feels like my ears are freezing off,” he states, grabbing my hand with his own and leading me toward a different section of the store.

Considering it’s been what feels like a century since I’ve had casual physical contact with anyone outside of family, this should feel foreign to me.

But it doesn’t; I can’t help but bite my lip at how easy it feels to hold his hand.

We walk around the small apparel store hand-in-hand for another few minutes, and then I lead him out the front door.

“Come on, let’s go get some hot chocolate.

I know a great place just around the corner,” I say, tugging him through the unseasonably brisk night.

A few people are out and about, but most are inside to avoid the cold.

“I can always go for hot chocolate. You should know that I have a massive sweet tooth. It was a huge problem in childhood because I always came home from the dentist with at least one cavity. I had an issue with sneaking candy after bedtime,” he says, cheeks coloring as he realizes he may have shared something embarrassing.

“So anyway, if you’re ever in need of gift ideas for me, something sweet is the answer. ”

“Wow, we’re already at the gift-giving stage?” I ask, raising my eyebrow teasingly at him.

“Well, I wasn’t expecting one right now, obviously. I’m thinking anniversaries,” he says sincerely.

“Anniversaries?” I all but shout.

He takes one look at my face and snorts a laugh. He tugs me into his side, wrapping a long arm around my shoulders. “I’m kidding, but you should really see your face right now. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” I can’t help but laugh and shake my head.

If only you knew, dude.

“Sorry. I was deciding if it was time to cut and run. It’s creepy to talk about anniversaries a couple of hours into the first date, you know,” I say, plucking his arm off my shoulder and continuing to walk down the street.

Even if he was joking, the spike of anxiety at his words felt very real.

My fear of commitment runs deep, apparently.

He ups his pace to keep stride with me and says, “I know, I’m sorry. You make me nervous.” He looks at me sheepishly, that pretty blush reddening his cheeks again.

I stop at that and turn to look at him. “I make you nervous?”

He rolls his eyes and replies, “Yeah. Have you looked in the mirror lately? You’re beautiful.

Not to mention funny and easy to talk to.

Our chemistry is off the charts, if you ask me,” at my expression, he stops himself.

“Okay, sorry. See? Nervous. Anyway, what I meant is that this date is going well, and it's been a minute since I’ve had a first date go well.”

“Really?” I ask skeptically. He’s truthfully one of the sexiest men I’ve ever seen in person, and when he isn’t freaking me out, he’s pretty funny.

“Yeah. I’ve had a few girlfriends over the years, but nothing that stuck for longer than a year or so.

My last relationship ended about two years ago, and every date I’ve been on since has either ended badly or we just didn’t hit it off.

I’m not sure why. Just bad luck, I guess,” he finishes, looking down at his polished shoes.

“So, yeah. When I noticed how well the date was going, I got overly excited. Sorry. Can we take back the last few minutes of embarrassing myself?” He smiles at me hopefully; his damned dimple looks adorably pokable.

I roll my lips and reach out to grab his hand, leading him down the street again. “We can. I get it,” I say with a shrug. “I haven’t had a serious relationship, well… ever. And clearly, very few of my dates go well, so I’m not one to judge on that front.”

“You’ve never had a serious relationship?” he asks.

He doesn’t sound judgy, more curious, so I feel comfortable answering, “Not really. I’ve dated a handful of guys here and there, but it never moved past the first few dates.”

Before he can reply, we’re in front of Brewed Awakening.

I pull open the doors and make my way inside, Dean following close behind.

I watch him take in the funky decor, from the deep green damask wallpaper on the back wall to the various antique dining tables and chairs scattered in groups.

The entire place has a vaguely Victorian feel with the added charm of thrifted pieces.

“Hey, Rae,” Misha, the barista, greets. He waves, his mouthwatering, tanned arm flexing with the motion.

“Mish. How’s it going?” I ask, leaning against the counter.

He’s been working here for years, and we’ve developed a casual friendship between placing orders and brewing coffees.

Unfortunately, he’s well off the market.

He and his husband are very happy. I learned that the hard way when I hit on him years ago.

I got a friend out of it, so I can’t complain too much.

“I get off in an hour, so pretty good. Want a hot chocolate?” he asks, already turning towards the bar to make me one.

“Make that two, please,” Dean says, stepping up next to me and wrapping his arm around me again. I shake my head at his obvious posturing.

“You got it, big guy,” Misha says, lowering his voice flirtatiously.

I see Dean instantly relax, and he sends Misha a wink before pulling out his wallet.

Misha pauses his work to swipe the card and then turns back to making the most delicious hot chocolate ever.

I don’t know what he puts in it because he won’t tell me, but it’s truly the best. Even Wren doesn’t know his secret recipe, only that he adds extra spices to the mix they use.

“Come on,” I show Dean to my favorite little alcove. I sit on the low couch, placing my bag on the antique walnut coffee table.

“I really like this place. It’s very cozy,” Dean says, sitting next to me. We both turn slightly to face each other, and the low lighting makes him look like a dream come to life.

“Yeah, it’s my favorite in town. My sister, Wren, works here. She’s been a barista for the last five years.”

“Is she your only sibling?”

“Yeah, we’re fairly close in age, so she feels almost more like a twin than a run-of-the-mill sibling. What about you?” I ask.

“I have three older brothers and one younger sister,” he says.

I feel my eyes bug out. “You’re one of five? ”

Dean laughs and replies, “Yep. My parents were both from small families, so they wanted a big one. They definitely got their wish.”

“Are you close with them?” I wonder.

He rubs his chin, long fingers rasping against the five o’clock shadow. “Yeah, for the most part. My eldest brother Adam is… overbearing sometimes. He’s older than the rest of us by quite a bit, so I think he ended up taking on a parental role by default.

Unfortunately, he never stopped mother-henning us.

It makes it hard to be close to him because it always feels like he’s judging or parenting.

The rest of us, Grant, Luke, myself, and Clara, are varying degrees of closeness.

I would say I’m the closest to Grant and Clara.

Grant, because we are very similar in personality and in the same business, and Clara, because we’re total opposites, but we get each other on a fundamental level. ”

I try to imagine what it must have been like to grow up with seven people constantly around and just…

can’t. My little family of four already felt constrained in some ways.

I can’t imagine adding an extra three people to that dynamic.

“Wow. That must have been a really interesting way to grow up,” I say.

He shrugs. “I guess. It’s just something you get used to. I can’t fathom only having one sibling. What happens if you’re mad at each other? Then you don’t have another sibling to talk shit with. You just have to”—he shudders—“deal with it.”

I can’t help but laugh. “Yeah, when Wren and I get genuinely angry at each other, it’s cataclysmic. It’s only happened two or three times that I can remember, but those were dark days.”

“You guys never fight?” Now it’s his turn to look bug-eyed.

“Of course we do! But it’s always over stupid things that don’t really matter. Minor annoyances. Despite our very different personalities, we just get each other. Similar to you and Clara, I guess.”

“Rae, I’ve got two hot chocolates for you!” Misha calls from the counter.

“I got it,” Dean says, springing to his feet before I can even think about standing.

When he gets back, I ask, “So what made you want to be a lawyer?” It’s something I’ve been wondering about because I couldn’t imagine willingly going into a profession where you have to read thousands of bland legal documents.

Especially because Dean seems like the least stuffy person I’ve ever met.

He laughs low in his throat, and the sound gives me instant goosebumps. “That is a long story. One for a different day.”

“Ah, this is your way of trying to get a second date, isn’t it? You’re hoping the mystery will keep me coming back,” I tease.

“Is it working?” he asks slyly .