Page 9 of Scary In Love

Mason

A week and a bit later, I’m still replaying opening night. Specifically Jenna Laing, and the way she goaded me into dirty talk in my office.

And her lips.

And her hair.

And her gorgeous thighs.

I want to spread them apart, tear those fishnets wide open, and sink my teeth into her skin. Thought about that more than is healthy, to be honest.

Every night has run smoothly, and every night I’ve watched the door of the Tavern, hoping to see her walk through it.

Last Tuesday, I pulled her number from her first aid paperwork and called to follow up on her accident, as per protocol. She didn’t answer, and I chickened out of leaving a voicemail, but I still can’t get her off my mind.

The fact that I know where she lives is haunting me, but turning up on her doorstep doesn’t feel appropriate.

And anyway, contacting her for anything beyond work-related purposes is a breach of confidentiality guidelines.

I’m trying to keep things professional, even if my thoughts about her are entirely unprofessional.

After a couple of hours in her company, something shifted when I walked her to her door, and our night ended before I could …

Honestly, I don’t know what I had in mind.

It’s not like I have any free nights to take her out.

Who knows how long I’ll even be in town.

Dating is not a distraction I need right now, but I know I would have kept talking on her doorstep all night.

And I definitely would have been up for five minutes of canoodling if she’d let me kiss her.

Our first week has been great, but I’m a little stir-crazy spending all my time in the house. I guess that’s bound to happen when you live where you work, so I’m forcing myself to walk down the hill into town to grab a coffee most mornings.

When I was planning the haunt, my research veered into the old market town of Crowmorne, and I learned the cobbled streets were once bustling with businesses.

Half of them are now coffee shops, but that’s great news for someone as caffeine dependent as me.

I’m determined to try them all, and today’s spot is Happy Crow Coffee , where I hope the drinks are neither made from, or served by crows.

I never figured out how the town got its name, but the locals sure love birds, and you can spot them in most shop windows.

The bakery sells crow-nuts, there’s a salon called Hair We Crow , and the community vegetable garden has a sign that says ‘Crow Your Own’ .

The puns are tenuous at best, but that’s part of the charm.

The line is short, and the woman in front of me has dark hair pulled back in a high ponytail, and a figure that reminds me of Jenna’s. She places her order, and when she makes her way to the other end of the counter, I catch sight of a long blonde streak hanging loose in her face.

Holy shit. It is Jenna.

She’s in a world of her own, toe-tapping along with whatever she’s listening to. I place my order, then lean into her eyeline and give her a little wave.

She glances over her shoulder, then back at me, before removing one earbud and staring at me blankly .

“Hi?”

“It’s Mason. We met last week. At the Miller house?”

Her makeup is more natural than the last time I saw her, but those lips are just as full and pretty. I watch them open and close, pinch into a pout, then break into a smile as her eyes run the length of my body.

“How could I forget? You still have blood on your face.”

She reaches for my cheek, then quickly pulls her hand back without touching me. I rub at the spot she’s been looking at, though I’m sure it does nothing.

“It’s the fake stuff. Occupational hazard, I’m afraid. Can never get it all off before I have to put it back on the next night. How are you? How’s the knee?”

“It’s fine.” She lifts her foot, extending and retracting her leg to prove it. “Think I have your magic ice-pack to thank for that.”

She’s wearing dark green trousers with clean white trainers, and a grey zipped-up hoodie underneath her black leather jacket. It’s a totally different look to the outfit I saw her in last week, but still cute as fuck.

I’ve had plenty of time to think about what I’d say when— if —I saw her again, but now I’m standing face to face with her, words fail me. The hold this woman has over me is unreal. I’m an actor, for fuck’s sake. I’m never speechless, but I can’t stop staring.

“Pumpkin spice latte,” the barista calls out. Jenna takes it with a warm thank you.

“Well,” she says awkwardly, her lips pinching together. “Nice to see you again.”

“Do you have plans today?” I blurt out.

She looks down at her feet. “I’m heading to work.”

“Can I walk you there? ”

A passing interaction isn’t going to cut it for me. I’ll do anything to spend a little more time in her company.

Jenna stares up at me, a little crease forming between her brows. Her head tips one way, then the other, before she shrugs and her frown turns into a smile. “Sure. Why not?”

She heads for the door, and I bounce on my heels while waiting for my coffee, then almost knock a chair over in a hurry to catch up with her.

Late autumn sun warms the street, and she basks in it as she tucks her other earbud away.

She was gorgeous at night, but by day she’s something else entirely. A little softer, but with plenty of clues to her personality, if you’re looking for them, which I am.

A slick of black eyeliner. Dark red nails. A pin on her jacket of a skeleton reading a book. A pendant at the hollow of her throat that I mistake for a cross, but is actually a dagger.

No fishnets, unfortunately.

“You haven’t been back to the house.”

“Have you been watching out for me?”

“Maybe.”

She takes a tentative sip of her latte to hide her smile. I’m coming on strong, but she has no idea how disappointing it is when every guest who walks through that door isn’t her.

“I was hoping I’d run into you in better circumstances.”

“I have tickets for Wednesday night, so you might see me then.”

“Another date?”

Please say no.

“Friend from work.”

“Hopefully, this one is braver than the last guy.”

Jenna corrects me. “She is. ”

“ She. Good.”

“And why is that good?”

“I just mean I’m glad it’s not a guy. Or, I don’t know, maybe you’re bi,” I blurt out, then immediately panic.

“That’s fine if you are. Obviously. That’s none of my business.

I don’t really know you, but I want to. Sorry, this is my third coffee.

I haven’t slept much lately. All those late nights are catching up with me, and then I just lie there staring at the ceiling thinking about new ways to scare people.

For the haunt. Not because I’m a creep or anything. Work scares only from this guy.”

I tap my chest with my thumb, then realise I’m running out of air. Jenna’s hand covers my other one, pulling my cup away from my face.

“You sure that’s only your third coffee?” Her warm smile grounds me. “And I thought I was an over-sharer.”

This is not like me. Since when do I get stage fright or… whatever this is? Jenna looks bewildered, and it’s ironic that my bumbling bullshit might freak her out more than anything I could pull off in the house.

I take a deep breath to compose myself. “I’m sorry, I… I was just really hoping I’d run into you.”

“So you said.”

“And I didn’t want to scare you off again.”

Her eyebrows knit together, and she stares at her coffee, swirling the cup through the air.

“You didn’t. I was just a little overwhelmed by the whole evening. I didn’t think you’d walk me to my door, and I get awkward when I’m nervous.”

“Well, that’s fantastic.” My tone is far too enthusiastic. “We should start a support group or something. Same time next week? We can take turns seeing who can be the biggest weirdo. Not that you’re weird or anything. I don’t mean that. You seem great. I like your hair.”

Through an amused snort, she mutters something that sounds like ‘this fucking guy’ .

“Three coffees is definitely your limit, dude.”

Oh, fuck no.

How did I blow this so fast? I don’t want to be in ‘dude’ territory or anything close to the friend zone with her.

Jenna rolls her eyes and strides off, calling back over her shoulder. “Are you walking me to work or not?”

I run to catch up, and she asks about my week, but only a few minutes later she stops outside a big house, set back from the road.

I’ve walked past a few times, but never really paid attention.

The ‘Crowmorne Heights’ sign is blue and white, and the smaller text below tells me this is a residential home.

Jenna twists to face me, her shoulders pulling back as she squares off with me. “This is me.”

The street is familiar, and looking around, it takes a second to realise the house where I dropped her off last week is right next door.

“You work here ?”

“Yep. I’m a Senior Care Manager.” She hugs her arms around herself and stares at the floor.

Suddenly, her green trousers make much more sense.

“I know it’s pretty pathetic, still living with my parents, working right next door, but they own this place, and I’ve worked here since I was sixteen. Can’t imagine doing anything else now.”

I’ve been wondering what a woman like Jenna Laing does for a living, but I wouldn’t have picked this. Everything I learn about her only fuels my curiosity .

“It’s not pathetic,” I tell her, nudging the toe of her shoe with mine. “That’s very noble work. And people would kill for a commute this short.”

“That’s why I grab a drink from Happy Crow most mornings. Walk a loop around town, and try to mentally separate home from work.”

“That’s what I’ve been doing. The days kind of blur into one when you sleep at the office.” I raise my cup for emphasis.

“Wait, you’re living at the Miller house?” Jenna frowns while taking another sip of hers.

“Well, yeah. It’s my house.”

She nearly chokes, grabbing my arm to steady herself. “Hold on a second. Are you telling me you’re Old Man Miller’s illegitimate son?”

“Not a son,” I clarify. “Distant nephew and only living descendant, apparently. He never had children, but his sister was my great-great-aunt, I think. I’d never even heard of him or Crowmorne until I got a phone call from an executor who’d been trying to track me down for two years.”

She drums her fingers on the lid of her cup. “Fuck me. I did not think my brother would be right about that theory.”

“Your brother had theories about me?”

“About the house, sure. Everyone in town had one. You know, I’ve been obsessed with that house since I was a little girl. I want to know everything about it, but—”

“I’ll give you a tour,” I interrupt.

Her face lights up, but then she looks back at the building. “I need to go before the residents start curtain-twitching.”

She saunters up the path, but I’m not leaving until she’s out of sight. Halfway up, she turns to call back to me.

“Hey Mason Miller, why are you so nervous to talk to me?”

“Have you seen yourself, Jenna Laing? ”

She bursts out laughing, shaking her head as she scans her work pass to enter the building.

I catch myself just before I trip off the edge of the pavement, but I know I’d willingly throw myself into traffic to hear her laugh like that again.