Page 13

TREVOR

The six-foot-tall skeleton sits in my desk chair wearing a permanent grin.

My heartbeat jolting, I huff a sigh at my distracted self and push the door open wide. Although I’m the one who put him here, he’s startled me every time I’ve entered the office today.

A bark comes from the vicinity of my knees. Bandit’s not a fan either, he keeps growling at our bony guest. I give my dog a reassuring cuddle, then round my desk to check if the glue I applied to the skeleton’s broken pieces this morning has dried.

This haunted house prop isn’t the first to need mending, and I doubt he’ll be the last.

“Trevor, I finished my walk-through of the late check-outs’ rooms. All good.” Jo breezes in, holding her mug. She stops short at the sight of me inspecting the cracks in the skeleton’s cranium. “Damn it. I keep forgetting he’s in here. I almost dropped my mug. Twice.”

I wince at the twinge of guilt squeezing my chest. “Sorry. I’m not sure why I carried him over here. I should’ve just repaired him at the carriage house and left him to dry there. He’ll be out of here by the end of the day. ”

She frowns, studying my face. “Are you okay? You’ve seemed preoccupied for the last couple of days.”

No kidding. And being preoccupied is probably why I needlessly carried a six-foot skeleton all the way over to the mansion.

It’s been two days since Bram and I almost kissed under the towering pines. Two days of us being carefully polite with each other. Two days of worrying that one moment put a fray in our friendship that will alter it forever.

Did he feel trapped, with my arms around him and the intention to kiss him obvious in my expression?

The way he looked at me, like he was just as desperate for the kiss, just as captivated in the moment… but then he pulled away.

What does it mean? Was it a fluke? Could Bram actually want me too? If he does, then why did he pull away? Second thoughts?

Jo and I share a lot of things, but I don’t want to tell her about what happened with Bram. The skeleton in front of me brings to mind one worry I can share. “I want to talk about the haunted house. When we started it, we said we’d reevaluate in five years. This is year five.”

“Right. I thought we’d planned to have our evaluation after this Halloween passes.”

“We did. But in light of needing the new roof, among other things, I’ve been running the numbers, so I’d like to discuss it now.”

“Sure.” She gestures at me to go ahead.

I gently pull my chair out of the way so I can access my desk then bring up the spreadsheet I’ve been putting together for the last few days.

“Turning the carriage house into the haunted house takes about a week. Turning it back takes another. And the week that it’s a haunted house doesn’t make up the difference.

The hours we spend on the transition, the expense of maintaining or replacing the props and effects, and the costs to run everything during the week it’s open hasn’t balanced out with the amount we collect from ticket sales. ”

Perched on the edge of my desk, she leans over so she can see the screen.

“We thought hosting the haunted house would be a good marketing opportunity. It’s generated some business from hotel guests who wouldn’t have found us otherwise.

Like the vampire novel book club hosting their retreat here.

The haunted house put us on their radar. ”

“True. But the amount of money coming in from people who’ve found us through the haunted house isn’t anywhere near where we hoped it would be. Look.” I point to the column at the end of the spreadsheet.

The scent of her herbal tea, jasmine today, wafts over me. She sips from her mug as she studies the screen. “The cost of everything is increasing. We’ve had so many repairs this last year too.”

It’s a lot. Stress forms a tight band at my temples. Massaging them and the tension in my neck doesn’t alleviate the pain. “Another thing is the ticket prices. We’ve had to raise them each of the last three years.”

“Ticket sales have been steady since we opened the advance sale at the beginning of the month. Fewer than last year, comparing the columns.” She glances at me. “You’ve really stepped up your spreadsheet game with this one.”

The amount of columns and rows and color coding would make my mom’s organized heart proud. I learned from the best. “Thanks. Keeping prices affordable for everyone was always our goal. We’ve reached the point where that might no longer be possible.”

“Seeing all the figures from the last four years side by side, I understand.”

Every year we’ve held this event, I’ve heard from families and people on fixed incomes who are grateful we’re at a price that makes buying tickets possible. "If we raise the price to what we’d really need, we’d have to charge double our current amount. Maybe more. We can’t do that.”

She tucks a lock of purple hair behind her ear. “Well, we could. It’s not personal, it’s business.”

My head shake is as automatic as crossing my arms over my chest. “I know it’s business, but I feel a responsibility to those people who rely on things being affordable. That kind of increase would end up pricing out half the town. Not happening.”

“I wouldn’t feel comfortable with that either. So, do you want to stop hosting the haunted house?”

“I don’t know what to do. We make more when those rooms function as hotel rooms. But people love coming to the haunted house.

That’s really weighing on me. I don’t want to let anyone down.

” My thoughts twist into a tornado of worry.

The expenses and the expectations wind around me like tightening chains.

I can’t stay still. With my chair blocking the walkway, I’m restricted to pacing the length of my desk.

I don’t want to jostle the skeleton, there’s only so many times I can put him back together.

Jo returns to her desk, flips the page of her blotter calendar to next month, and scribbles a note in the margin. “Let’s talk the first week in November. Whatever you decide, I’ll have your back.”

“Thanks.”

Bandit climbs out of his dog bed and trots toward me. He stops near the skeleton and growls again then runs to me and hides behind my legs.

“Don’t worry, boy. The big, scary thing will be out of here soon.” I reposition my chair so it, and the skeleton, are behind my desk again. “Jo, I’m gonna head back to the carriage house and continue inventory. I’ll take Bandit with me.”

“After Mr. Bones finishes drying, can I put him in the reception area? We can tell guests we’re working with a skeleton crew.”

Laughing, I pat my thigh to signal Bandit. “Go right ahead.”

The organized shelves lining the basement walls are a small oasis of order. I move a box of lightbulbs on top of a steamer trunk that houses a fog machine, and check the bolts of fabric that were used in a vampire-themed room last year.

Venting my frustrations and worries about the haunted house helped. Talking to Jo made the weight I’ve been carrying a little lighter.

Bandit stays by my side, not caring about the three other skeletons I set out to inspect earlier. I don’t know what’s different about the one in the office. Maybe he didn’t like it sitting in my chair.

Footsteps thud down the stairs. Expecting one of the staff members who were cleaning upstairs, I turn with the box of fabric in my arms.

Bram is at the base of the stairs, in a T-shirt, jeans, and one of my flannels, holding two coffees. My heart aches at the sight of him. Uncertainty clouds his blue gaze. He drags his lower lip between his teeth. “Jo said I’d find you here.”

“I’m checking the props for the haunted house.” I return the box to the shelf. My heart’s beating faster. I want to ask so many questions. Why is he here? Has he decided to leave Maplewood early? How do we get past what happened?

“I brought you a maple latte. I was at Special Blend and the guy behind the counter recommended it.”

Bandit races over to him, jumps up, noses his knee, then looks past Bram like he’s wondering where Hades is, and runs a circle around Bram’s legs.

I tap my thigh. “Bandit, come.”

Bram’s lips lift in a half-smile. “He’s fine.”

“Are we?” The question trembles past my lips.

His smile falls and his shoulders sag. “Trev…” He takes a step in my direction, then glances at the cups in his hands, and puts them on top of the utility table. “I need to apologize.”

“Apologize.” My voice is as hollow as the emptiness at my core. “You don’t need to apologize. I do.”

His eyebrows squish together over his narrowed gaze and he huffs a sigh. “You? No. It was me.”

Frustration and remorse well up, pushing me forward with fast steps over the concrete floor. When I reach Bram, I scrub my hands over my face. “I was the one who almost kissed you.”

“Trev.” His voice is as soft as the press of his fingers to my shoulder.

I lower my hands. Bram stands in front of me, with light warming his gaze and his lips curving into a real smile.

“So was I. Holding on to you as tight as you held on to me. Looking at you, and wanting to kiss you more than anything. I’ve been beating myself up since it happened.

Thought I messed things up. That you didn’t want it like I did. ”

“I wanted it.” My confession comes out in a parched whisper, each word infused with longing. “Then the whistle came, and we were interrupted by that guy. The mood shifted.”

Bram nods. “It made me think I misread the situation and I’d screwed things up with you. That scared me.”

“I thought the same thing. I knew we needed to talk, but wasn’t sure how to bring it up. I didn’t want to make things worse.” My watery chuckle is as bone-weary as I feel. “It’s been a long two days. ”

The press of his fingers slides into a caress. Bram’s gaze is full of warm affection. “I missed you. Us.”