Page 9 of The Most Unusual Haunting of Edgar Lovejoy

Edgar pressed his hand to the empty wall. He managed to get a breath and cleared his throat. Fuck. What explanation could he possibly give Jamie that didn’t make him sound delusional?

“Um. Spider.”

He lowered himself back into his seat, wincing as sweat seeped into the back of his underwear.

“Oh, yikes,” Jamie said, apparently accepting this explanation. “Are you arachnophobic?”

Jamie, Edgar assumed, wasn’t afraid of spiders—or anything.

“I, um. It just startled me. Sorry to be a freak.”

“No problem. Wanna switch seats?”

Jamie seemed as sincere as they had when they’d swapped dinners, and it made Edgar’s throat tight.

“No, I’m fine. Sorry.” The last thing he wanted was to watch the ghost touch Jamie, even if Jamie never knew it was there. Edgar inched his chair around the table so it was closer to Jamie’s and farther from the wall. “We can share desserts easier this way,” he said.

Jamie accepted the excuse without comment, and relief washed over Edgar.

He sat on his shaking hands and surveyed the desserts, wishing more than anything to return to the camaraderie they’d been sharing before the undead interruption. “So what’ve we got here?”

Jamie took a bite of the gingerbread panna cotta and groaned.

“This is amazing. Really creamy but great ginger flavor.” They pushed it over to Edgar. “Do you like gingerbread?”

Edgar didn’t, but he said, “It’s okay.”

Jamie tried the next dessert, and their eyes went wide. “Oh, damn, this one’s even better. Do you like beignets?”

Edgar started to lie, then realized that Jamie’s preference for the truth probably transcended the game they’d been playing. Yeah, he couldn’t tell the truth about seeing ghosts, but at least he could be honest about his taste in food.

“I don’t have much of a sweet tooth.”

Jamie’s eyes went wide. “But you ordered… Oh, that was only because I dared you.”

“No.”

“It’s okay, I get it. Thanks for being honest.”

“No, it wasn’t. I promise.”

Jamie frowned. They didn’t look at all convinced. “Then why?”

“I figured you probably dared me because you thought it would be nice to taste four of the desserts. And I wanted you to be able to.”

“That’s sweet,” Jamie said. “But just so you know, you’re allowed to speak even during dares and say, like, Hey, Jamie, I don’t like dessert, so it’ll all be for you .”

“I just wanted you to have what you wanted,” Edgar explained. It came out sounding much more intimate than he’d intended.

Jamie regarded him intently, and for a moment, like at the club when they first met, Edgar felt terrified that Jamie could read his mind. They looked at him as if they saw far more than he meant to reveal. Just as he felt like he’d drown in their eyes, they quirked an eyebrow.

“Well, I certainly can’t allow food to go to waste, so.” They pulled the cheesecake and sorbet toward them and dug in.

A lightness fluttered in Edgar’s chest. Joy at Jamie’s joy. Envy that he didn’t share it. Hope that perhaps someday he might.

“This cheesecake isn’t very sweet at all. Want to try?”

Edgar took a small bite. It did taste sweet to him, but not as sweet as most desserts. It was pretty good.

Jamie tried the sorbet.

“Ooh. Kinda sour. Really good. Wanna try?”

“Okay.” He ate a bite, and the grapefruit sourness made his mouth pucker, then gave way to a mellow sweetness that was more fruit than sugar.

“I like that,” he said, surprised.

Jamie pushed it in front of him. “So no beignets and coffee for you, huh?”

“Nah. Powdered sugar is like sweet chalk. And it squeaks.”

“More for me, then. If we ever go out for coffee, that is,” Jamie teased.

Edgar pictured how it could be. Walking hand in hand with Jamie, each sipping their coffee as they wandered through the Garden District or along the river.

Jamie would carry a bag of beignets, munching as they went.

Maybe he would lean over to kiss them and come away with the faintest taste of sweetness from their tongue.

“We should,” he murmured.

“I’d love that,” Jamie said softly.

They acquitted themself admirably but couldn’t quite finish all four desserts and relinquished the remains to the waiter in exchange for the check. Jamie slid their credit card into the envelope before Edgar could even offer to pay.

“So what do you say, Edgar I-don’t-know-your-last-name-yet? Wanna come with me on the second half of our date? Or do you want to take off?”

Edgar hadn’t known there was a second part to the date, but he definitely wanted to go on it. “Yes.”

Jamie cocked their head.

“I mean, yes, I want to go on the second half of our date. Are you sure I can’t split—”

Jamie waved him off and accepted their credit card back from the waiter.

“It’s my pleasure.”

“Lovejoy, by the way. My last name.”

Jamie snorted. “Of course it is.”

Outside, the balmy evening air settled around them.

The quarter was coming alive with evening revelers, the afternoon bands that played for shoppers and tourists along Bourbon Street giving way to partiers wielding radioactive-colored cocktails in bright plastic go-cups of different shapes—purple voodoo punch, pink fishbowls, green hand grenades, and daiquiris in every color of the rainbow.

“So, um, where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” Jamie said with a grin. They walked with purpose.

Edgar did not appreciate surprises. Surprises meant unfamiliar places, and sometimes unfamiliar places meant ghosts. But since he couldn’t say that, he said, “It’s weird to be down here on a Saturday night. Usually I avoid the quarter like the plague on weekends.”

“Same. Once, I had to pick something up for work the morning after St. Patrick’s Day, and I knew Bourbon Street would be deserted because everyone was so hungover, so I cut down it.

And oh boy, what a mistake. Just puke and pee and wigs and beads, and even the street was sticky, and it was ick. Very gross.”

They shuddered.

“But we have a good reason for being here, and I promise it doesn’t include cocktails that look the same color coming back up. God, sorry, I don’t mean to keep talking about vomit on a date.”

Edgar smiled. But as they crossed Rampart, all humor drained from Edgar as he realized where they were.

Jamie grinned at him. “Here we are.” And they gestured to a sign that announced what the second half of their date would be.

A ghost tour.