Page 11 of Ghostlighted (Ghost Townies #2)

Chapter Eight

“ T hat was fantastic.” Ricky dropped his crumpled napkin into the plastic basket that had held his sandwich and grinned at me across the table. “I’ve never had falafel before.”

I took the last swig of my water. “It was one of my dad’s favorite foods.”

“Did he cook it often?”

“Almost never, and when he did, it was just cooking frozen patties he bought at the local Middle Eastern market because he could never get a texture that he liked when he made it from scratch.” I stood and stacked our baskets while Ricky collected our empty water bottles.

“He was always on the lookout for restaurants that served it, looking for the best option.”

We deposited our trash and recyclables in the bins by the door and waited while a group of women in workout gear entered before stepping outside.

“He ever find any?” Ricky asked.

“Occasionally, yes, but he had very high standards.” I backed up to the middle of the sidewalk, the better to see the sign above the restaurant’s window. “He loved this place. My grandmother lived here when I was a kid and we used to come here whenever we visited her.”

“You miss them.” Ricky moved closer, also gazing upward as though he didn’t want to invade my privacy by forcing eye contact.

My throat was tight enough that I couldn’t answer, so I just nodded.

“Do you miss this?” He gestured to the street. “The city, things like this restaurant?” The streetcar dinged behind us as it whirred smoothly along its tracks, and he smiled crookedly. “Public transportation as an alternative to your patético car?”

“My car is not pathetic.” However, my knee-jerk retort was, because my voice broke like a thirteen-year-old’s.

Someone passed us and walked into the restaurant, sending the bell over its door tinkling, and I was hit by a sudden longing for Isaksen’s. For my front porch. For the rolling expanse of the Manor grounds across my quiet street.

For Ghost.

“You know something? I don’t think I do.” I took a deep, steadying breath, the old chains of grief losing another link or two. “As much as I love Portland, I’ve found something I love even more.”

I turned my head to smile at him and caught my breath because his warm brown cheek was this close to my lips. Then Ricky turned his head slightly so his lips were this close to mine…

And then the door to a glassed-in vestibule next to the restaurant flew open, and a young guy with a very big dog on a very flimsy leash bounded out onto the sidewalk.

The guy flashed us a smile before he turned toward the corner, but the dog dropped his hindquarters and skidded to a stop, his toenails scraping the concrete.

He skittered in a circle and lunged straight at me, and yep, that leash was just as flimsy as I’d thought, because it didn’t restrain him in the least.

Suddenly, the dog’s square white muzzle was inches from my belly, and I was staring into a pair of practically glowing yellow eyes.

“Good doggie,” I croaked.

The dog’s nose quivered, and he began lowering his head when the guy barked, “Doop! No butt sniffing!”

The dog backed off, his red ears flattening, as the guy strode over and grabbed his collar. “I’m so sorry. He’s usually better behaved on the street, but some lessons are harder to teach, you know?”

“No worries.” I brushed at my jeans. “He probably just smelled my cat.”

“Oh.” The guy’s sunny smile grew. “I never thought of that. Maybe he wasn’t backsliding after all.” He gazed down at the dog with clear affection, the leash once more in evidence. “Sorry if I misjudged you, boy.” He lifted a hand to us. “Have a nice day. C’mon, Doop.”

As they loped off down the street, I glanced at Ricky and looked away when I saw that he was glancing at me. I mentally rolled my eyes. We were both thirty-year-old gay men, and we were acting like preteens with a first crush.

But I didn’t want to rush things. What was growing between us was already important and might turn into essential .

I didn’t want to jeopardize that by pushing for anything that he wasn’t ready for.

Heck, that I wasn’t ready for, considering that the rubble of my last lapse in relationship judgment was presently loaded in his truck.

I winced internally. Yeah, maybe bringing Ricky face to face with Greg wasn’t the best way to move our own relationship forward. Maybe I should send the guy and his dog a thank-you note and a really big dog biscuit for interrupting what could have been a giant misstep.

“So. Um.” My gaze caught on the window of a shop on the other side of the vestibule.

“Oh, hey. Crystals.” I pointed at the display that included jewelry as well as loose stones.

“Maybe there’s something in there that Patrice could use in her shop.

Do you mind if we step inside for a minute before we head home? ”

Ricky blinked twice and shook his head slightly, as though he were coming up from being underwater. I wasn’t sure if his smile held a rueful edge or not. “I don’t think she’s looking to increase her inventory. The store doesn’t get much traffic. But I’m in no hurry.”

“Great. Um. Yeah. Great.”

When we walked in, we were greeted by the scent of sandalwood with undertones of vanilla, along with the sound of water burbling over stones from an indoor fountain. A woman wearing multiple layers of trailing gauze in graduated shades of purple was weaving a willow branch into a wreath.

Smiling, she set the wreath aside and lifted her hand. I nearly returned the Vulcan live long and prosper salute before I realized her gesture was something completely different.

“Blessed be,” she said, her sleeve fluttering way too close to the row of lit candles on the counter behind her.

“Hi.” I charged toward her, right hand thrust forward. Not the most graceful of greetings, perhaps, but I really wanted her to lower her arm.

Hey, I ghostwrote a series of fire safety pamphlets for a risk management company, and those examples really stick with you, know what I’m saying?

To give her due credit, she graciously shook my hand. “I’m Lenore. May I help you find what you seek?”

“Not really seeking anything. A friend of ours has a similar shop back in our hometown and…” Yeesh. Way to make it more awkward by suggesting we might be scoping the place out for a competitor.

However, she clasped her hands, and I recognized the expression on her face because I’d seen it on people at countless fan-based conventions when they discovered another member of their tribe.

“We’re always pleased to find other practitioners. Do you have one of their business cards?”

I had never even been inside Patrice’s shop, which made me wince. I should rectify that sooner rather than later. “No, I?—”

“Sure.” Ricky pulled out his wallet, extracted a card from an inner pocket, and handed it to Lenore. “The owner’s name is Patrice DeHaven, but this is the manager’s card.”

Lenore took it, running her finger over the embossed text. “Strings and Stones. Intriguing. Thank you. I shall certainly give them a call.” She looked up and winked at Ricky. “And perhaps ask for knitting pattern recommendations.”

We left her to her wreath and strolled around the store. When I was checking out the book selection, I heard Ricky chuckle behind me. When I turned, he had his cell phone in his hand.

He caught my gaze and held it up. On the screen was a photo, clearly taken with a selfie stick, of Felicia and Sofia standing in front of Nordstrom Rack.

“Felicia took Tia to Eugene to shop for the trip.” He looked down at the screen.

“I suspect that they’re at the Rack more for Felicia, though. It doesn’t seem much like Tia’s style.”

“You never know,” I said as we left the shop with a wave at Lenore. “Maybe she’ll find a new vibe now that she’ll be a continental traveler.” Something caught my eye from inside the vestibule. “Hold on a sec, please?”

“Sure.” He tucked his hands in the pockets of his denim jacket and stepped aside so he wasn’t blocking the sidewalk.

I peered through the glass door, shading my eyes against the glare. A flyer featuring the graphic of a cartoon ghost was tacked on a bulletin board opposite a bank of mailboxes.

When I was living in Portland, I must have passed this place a hundred times, but I’d never noticed that flyer before.

Granted, I’d had no reason to look inside the vestibule—in fact, I don’t remember ever seeing it, and the flyer might be a new addition.

But even so, I doubt that it would have caught my eye if it weren’t for Avi.

Product identification . That’s what my college marketing teacher called it. I only noticed things related to ghosts because, well, I was now related to a ghost, even if only by proximity.

The flyer advertised a company that sold ghost hunting equipment.

I wasn’t sure why they thought this was a good place to post their flyer, since the only foot traffic with a clear view would be the people who lived and worked in the building.

Maybe it was a thumb-your-nose gesture to Lenore’s occult shop?

I made a note of their website, anyway. Who knew? Maybe they’d have something that could assist with my project at the Manor.

After I stepped outside, we headed straight back to Ricky’s truck. I studied his profile as he effortlessly navigated his way out of town. “Do you come to Portland often?”

He shrugged. “Now and then. One of my cousins lives up here and her kids go to high school in the district. Her daughter’s on the dance team at Lincoln.

” He cut me a glance as he turned onto the highway.

“Trust me, you haven’t lived until you’ve spent all day on gym bleachers watching a competition. It took my butt a week to recover.”

“A tragedy,” I murmured.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.” I watched the flow of traffic for a while before clearing my throat. “Thank you.”

He didn’t answer until he’d finished changing lanes. “For what?”