Page 55 of Road Trip with a Vampire

Twenty-Seven

Chicago, Illinois

Present day

“Well?”

Peter cleared his throat. “She thanked me for the cookies. She said she hoped I was well.” He had agonized over Zelda’s note for hours after finding it in his jeans pocket, scrutinizing every word for hidden meaning.

Reginald tapped his pen on the café table. “And?”

He shrugged. “And what?”

“What I believe my friend is trying to ask is whether she said anything else,” Frederick clarified. He removed, then wiped clean, his spectacles. Peter struggled not to roll his eyes.

Vampires didn’t need corrective lenses. Eyesight deficiencies were immediately cured during the turning process, along with every other malady that might have plagued a person while human. Peter suspected the fop only wore them because they contributed to the old-fashioned look he preferred.

He could forgive Frederick this indulgence, though. He’d been incredibly helpful in advising Peter these past few days.

“She didn’t say anything else,” Peter said. Worry tugged at him. “Should she have?”

The other men’s eyes met. “It depends,” Reginald said carefully.

“On?”

Frederick steepled his fingers together and rested his chin on the point they made. “On whether she forgives you or not.”

His face crumpled. “Oh.”

Reggie clapped him on the shoulder. Peter had killed men for less, but he let it slide. “Listen. She likes you.”

“What?” Peter’s heart hadn’t beat in many years. But if it could, it would be racing.

“You two couldn’t have had a worse beginning,” Reggie said. “But I’ve known her for centuries. Once she cares about someone, she never gives up on them.”

Peter felt like a schoolboy, adrift and lost in a way that was uncomfortable and unfamiliar. When it came to Zelda, he was helpless.

“If the cookies didn’t work,” he asked, “what’s next?”

“Give her time,” Reginald said.

“Time,” Peter repeated. He could give her time. They were both immortal. They had limitless amounts of time.

“And after you finish giving her time,” Frederick added, “grovel.”

I awoke to the uniquely unpleasant sensation of cold water dripping onto my forehead.

For a moment I was back in the Cotswolds in 1876, sleeping in that barn with the poorly thatched roof during a rainstorm.

When I blinked open my eyes, though, I saw my bedroom, exactly as it had been the night before—save for water dripping from the ceiling in three places.

I flew from bed in a disoriented panic, terrified that I’d miscalculated again and my magic was somehow doing this. Once the panic subsided, though, I looked out my window.

Water fell from the sky in torrents. As if to further prove that I wasn’t responsible, a rumble of thunder pierced the air, making me jump.

My apartment was above the back half of the studio, which was the part of the building farthest from the street. The last time we’d had a leak, water had gotten in through the front half only, soaking some of our merchandise but leaving my home dry.

I wasn’t so lucky this time. I moved my bed away from the leak, then did the same with my bookshelf and bureau.

My well-stocked kitchen probably had enough buckets and bowls to catch all the drips; if not, I could get some from downstairs.

Inspecting my belongings for water damage would have to wait until after I saw what shape the studio was in.

Hopefully it wouldn’t be too bad.

Becky and Lindsay were already in our conference room by the time I got there twenty minutes later.

“How bad is it?” I asked as I slid into the last empty chair.

“It could have been worse,” Becky said. “None of the workout rooms are leaking, which is a relief. But that leak in our lobby came back. We’ll have to get rid of more inventory.”

I grimaced. “How much?”

“All of the leggings will have to go.” Lindsay shook her head. “About half the sweatshirts, too. It’s just rainwater, but we can’t very well wash this stuff and sell it to people.”

“We can’t,” I agreed. Hopefully we’d met our insurance deductible the last time our roof leaked, and we wouldn’t be out of pocket too much this time. “My apartment is leaking now, too, which means the roof has deteriorated since the last rainstorm. Any chance you’ve found a roofer?”

Becky and Lindsay exchanged a meaningful look before turning their attention back to me. They looked nervous, which was not something I was used to seeing from my friends in this room, where our most heated debates usually involved where to put Pilates on the schedule.

The hairs on the back of my neck now stood at full attention.

“What is it?” I asked.

My friends exchanged glances again.

“There’s something we should tell you,” Becky confessed. “It’s about the person we’re considering hiring to fix the roof.”

“Please don’t get mad,” Lindsay added.

“Why would I get mad about you hiring someone to fix the roof?” I asked, bewildered. “It doesn’t matter to me who does it as long as they take care of it before it rains again.” If the roofer charged more than the studio could afford, I could chip in from my personal savings.

“It might matter to you when you find out who it is,” Lindsay said in a small voice.

My gaze darted between my friends, my confusion growing. I was just about to insist they tell me what was going on when I figured it out.

“Wait,” I said, stunned. “Peter’s in California again?”

“He said he’s not in town long,” Becky said, looking sheepish. “He’d left behind some things in his apartment when you went on your trip. He just needs to pack up before he’s charged another month’s rent.”

He was in town and hadn’t told me. I felt a flash of something that was absolutely not disappointment course through me. “I see,” I said.

“He dropped by late last night when it started raining, just to see if everything was all right with the studio,” Becky continued.

“He seemed to already know our roof leaks when it rains. As it turned out, the roof was leaking. You must have been deeply asleep, because you didn’t reply to any of our texts about this. ”

“We sent you, like, a million of them,” Lindsay added.

Had they? I fumbled in my pocket for my phone and checked my messages. Sure enough, I had missed more than a dozen texts from my friends late last night, confirming everything they were saying now.

“Peter was so concerned,” Lindsay continued.

“Seriously, you should have seen how worried he was. When we explained that we were looking to get the roof replaced, he outlined a very detailed plan for getting it done in three days. And gave us a list of references we could call if we wanted assurances that he can do the work.”

Lindsay sounded genuinely awestruck by this, but I was unsurprised. Peter would, of course, have a thorough plan for repairing our roof. He’d be able to execute it, too, in no time at all.

Who on earth had he provided as references, though? I didn’t want to think about it.

“We’ll tell him to get lost if you want us to,” Becky said, likely confusing my stunned silence for angry silence. “If he hadn’t offered to get started right away and do the work for free—”

“Hold on,” I said. “He offered to do it for free ?”

“Yes,” Becky confirmed, incredulous. “We couldn’t believe he was refusing payment for such a huge project. But he insisted. He said he has a lot to make up for.”

My eyes fell to my hands as I tried to wrap my mind around all of this. “I see,” I said again. “What did you tell him?”

“That we needed to ask you first,” Becky said.

Before I could tell her that I needed to think this over, the lights in our conference room flickered a few times before going out altogether.

Shit.

Power outages were nearly a foregone conclusion when it rained in Redwoodsville. Our town’s power lines were old and above ground, which meant windstorms often knocked out power to an entire city block until the utility company sent someone out to turn it back on.

I closed my eyes. We needed this roof repaired as quickly as possible. If Peter wanted to do it…fine. I wouldn’t let my baggage with him get in the way.

“Can one of you call the power company?” I stood from my chair, mentally running through the list of everything we needed to do. “We also have to cancel today’s classes and let everyone who’s signed up know that they’ll be refunded.”

“Of course,” Becky said. “We’ve got it. And about the roof?”

I took a deep breath for strength. “I’ll text Peter and let him know he can get started right away.”

As I climbed the stairs to my apartment, the full reality of the situation finally struck home.

I was going to see Peter again. Soon.

This is fine , I told myself.

Everything was going to be fine.

During the most stilted text conversation in history, in which I told Peter he had the job, we agreed he would do most of the roofing work at nighttime.

Partly so he could avoid the sun while outside for hours on end and partly to minimize the disruption his inevitable hammering would cause during class time.

It was seven that evening when he arrived, a few hours after the sun had set. Peter’s long shadow announced his arrival before he came fully into view. I swallowed, doing my best to ignore how my heartbeat kicked up when he stepped closer and his face came into the light.

Just because I was still attracted to him didn’t mean anything, I reminded myself.

It didn’t mean anything at all.

He wore the same clothes he’d worn the night he’d first waltzed into my studio and turned my life upside down. A snug-fitting black T-shirt, one that hugged his torso the same way my traitorous arms still wanted to, tucked into jeans that fit him just as well.

He looked every bit as good as I remembered. He wore the same nervous expression from that first night, too, and it took everything in me not to leap into his arms and tell him all was forgiven.

He slid his hands into his pockets as he leaned against the studio’s open doorway.

It was abundantly clear he was trying for casual, and I would have laughed if I weren’t so nervous myself.

Everything else might have changed, but some things never did.

Peter did not, and never would, have a casual bone in his body.

“Thanks for coming,” I managed, trying for casual, too. And failing just as badly as he was.

He shrugged, his eyes dropping to the ground. “I said I’d come.”

“You did.” Gods, this was awkward. “You’re sure about doing all this work? And for free?”

“Very.” His gaze found mine. “About both.”

Why? I wanted to ask. But I already knew. I wouldn’t be able to handle it if he said it out loud.

He cleared his throat. “Did you, um…Did you like the cookies?”

I didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth. “Yes,” I said, hoping I was giving off appreciative vibes. “Thank you.”

His posture relaxed slightly, as if my answer was a relief. “I’m glad. Hopefully a roofer working at night won’t seem too odd to your neighbors. I should have thought of that earlier.”

I chuckled. “It would take more than fixing a roof at night to seem odd around here,” I said honestly. “You can’t do this work in broad daylight either way.”

A corner of his mouth lifted. My eyes were helplessly drawn to the movement. I’d missed all his little microexpressions more than I’d realized. I’d missed his mouth, too, if I was being honest with myself.

“I, uh…” He rubbed at the back of his neck. Blew out a breath. “I have all the roofing supplies out in my truck. Shingles. Tools. I’ll just…get started.”

My mind caught on the first part of what he’d said. “You have a truck?” I couldn’t picture it at all.

Another amused quirk of his lips. “Just renting it.” He inclined his head towards our parking lot. “I’ve parked it behind your building. Hope that’s all right.”

“We canceled all our classes on account of our power being out most of the day,” I said. “We won’t need the parking lot tonight. If you’re working on our roof, you’re welcome to it.”

“Right,” he said. And then as an afterthought: “Thank you.”

We stood there staring at each other for several long seconds that seemed to unspool for hours. There were so many things I wanted to ask him about what he’d been doing since I’d last seen him. Was he sleeping better now that he knew who he was? Had the nightmares stopped?

Did he miss me the way I missed him despite all my attempts at putting him out of my mind?

None of the words would come, though. Had Peter not ended the connection first, stepping away from me and averting his eyes, I might have stood there all night just wordlessly gazing at him.

“Right,” Peter said again, then cleared his throat. “Well, then. I guess I’ll be off.”

He turned to go.

“Peter,” I said impulsively.

He paused and turned to face me, eyebrows raised in silent question.

“It’s…good to see you,” I confessed. “Really good.”

He let out a shaky breath. “You, too, Zelda,” he said, my name in his mouth a gentle caress.

I absolutely did not stand in that open doorway, watching him walk away until he rounded the corner and was out of my line of sight. If I had, I’d be forced to admit to myself that I wanted him back.