Page 41 of Tourist Season

“Stop pretending like you care, Nolan. It doesn’t suit you,” I mutter, leaning from one side to the other as I try to catch a glimpse past a small group of tourists entering the theater. “He should be here already. He hates being late.”

“Who?”

I glance in his direction, and I’m surprised when I catch the faintest glimmer of concern in his furrowed brow.

But I know him. The only thing he cares about is that fucking book, and the only reason he’d ask is either to assess the risk to his prized possession or to explore the opportunity of getting it back.

“It’s not with him, so don’t even fucking go there,” I warn, continuing my thoughts out loud.

Nolan’s head tilts and he frowns as though he’s genuinely confused.

I slice him with a final glare and then shift my attention to the back of the room where I finally spot Arthur in an impeccable three-piece suit, one hand wrapped around the indigo handle of his black oak cane, the other gripped to Lukas’s bicep.

I let out a long breath through pursed lips. “Thank fuck.”

I can feel Nolan’s gaze on the side of my face, burning beneath my skin.

But I don’t look his way. I turn my back on him instead, watching as Arthur and Lukas progress down the shallow steps that lead to the row where I’m sitting.

When they get to my aisle, I rise, surprised when I sense Nolan do the same beside me.

“I was getting worried,” I say as Arthur takes my hand and we exchange a bise greeting.

Arthur grunts, casting a vicious glare at his grandson. “I despise being late.”

“We know,” Lukas replies as he leans around the old man to give me a brief hug. “You mentioned it no less than forty thousand times on the drive here.”

“Who are you?” When we separate, Arthur is sizing up Nolan, a look of suspicion folding his skin into wrinkles that seem even more menacing than their resting state, particularly with the stitched gash that’s still healing on his forehead.

“Nolan Rhodes, sir.” Nolan extends a hand past me, and though it takes Arthur a beat to move, he accepts the handshake. “Pleased to meet you.”

I suppress the urge to groan, but only barely. Of course Nolan would lay his accent on a little thicker and put on his most charming facade for Arthur. All I need is for these two to suddenly become friends. “Nolan, this is Arthur, and that’s Lukas.”

“Good to meet you,” Lukas says, and though Nolan replies with the same, it feels cold, summoning a chill across my skin.

When I peek up at Nolan, he’s closer than I thought he’d be, his presence looming only an inch from my back.

His attention shifts from Lukas to me, dropping to linger on my lips.

Blood dances in my veins. I give him a quirked brow, an unvoiced question.

When his eyes latch to mine once more, he backs up a step, then sits.

The distance between us is a cold whisper in my flesh.

I clear my throat and give a little shake of my head. When I turn my attention back to Lukas, he looks puzzled. “All okay?”

“Of course,” I say, squaring my shoulders. “Just wondering what took you so long.”

A slow, sardonic grin slides across Lukas’s lips, summoning a ball of dread into my flip-flopping guts. “You must have put the house keys in the dishwasher, Harper. It took me forever to find them.”

Shit . “I absolutely did not —”

Arthur hits me with one of his lightless, menacing stares. “Why would you put them there? If you wish to clean them, Harper, use the silverware polish if you must. It was an infuriating search.”

Judgy bus , Lukas mouths over the top of Arthur’s head as he settles his grandfather into the seat next to mine.

“But—”

Lukas’s eyes light with sparks of vengeance. “Judgy bus, Harper,” he whispers. “Just let it happen.”

“Harper,” Arthur barks, and I cringe. “The hedges need to be trimmed.”

I dart a glare at Lukas, whose smile only widens. I try not to look too petulant when I turn my attention to the old man, who glares at me over the rims of his reading glasses. “I can start them this week—”

“Into shapes .”

“W-what?” I ask, though Arthur has shifted his focus to his playbill, pinching the arm of his probably ridiculously expensive reading glasses as he skims the details.

A thick swallow slides down my throat. Dread slinks down my spine.

Lukas can barely contain his glee. I cast a glance to Nolan on my other side, though I don’t know why.

He might look a little perplexed, but I’m sure he’s busy trying to devise ways to increase my future suffering.

I return my attention to Arthur, my voice thin and tight when I say, “What kind of shapes?”

Arthur waves a hand toward me, not looking up from the paper. “Animals. A swan for the boxwood in the center of the circular drive—”

“But—”

“And a series of native species for the yews in the front garden. Perhaps a bear. Maybe a moose, but it must be majestic. Befitting of Lancaster Manor.”

Lukas hides his laugh in his fist, barely keeping it under control when I reach past Arthur to smack him in the arm. “I’ve gotta go get ready,” he says, backing away toward the aisle. “Don’t want to be late for opening night. Have fun.”

“Break both legs. Maybe also your hands while you’re at it.”

“Doesn’t sound like such a bad idea. You’ll get to do the gutters next time if I do.” With a wink and then a nod to Nolan, Lukas turns and strides away.

“Arthur, I don’t know anything about topiary,” I say, clutching my popcorn to my chest as I lower to sit between the two men. “How am I supposed to make a moose?”

“Practice, Harper. Use your own garden.” Arthur takes a fistful of popcorn without even looking in my direction. “We nearly lost the best garden award to Sarah Winkle last season. We need to come out with something spectacular.”

He’s right, we do need to come out with something spectacular.

Arthur is too curmudgeonly and I’m too taciturn to join something as sociable as the gardening club, and those fuckers have been banding together to take us down.

I’m afraid there aren’t enough deserving dead tourists to win against their creativity on the quality of the blooms alone.

“I’m just not sure a topiary moose is going to seal the deal for best garden of Cape Carnage, Arthur. ”

Nolan takes his own successful swipe at my popcorn. “Especially not if it winds up looking like a hunk of ballmeat.”

When I slice a glare in his direction, his eyes brighten with amusement.

And while I’m distracted, Arthur takes his chance to steal another handful of popcorn.

With an exasperated sigh, I shove the whole bucket in his direction and stand, rogue kernels falling from my skirt. “Trade places with me please, Arthur.”

“I’m comfortable.”

“If you move, you can more comfortably share your popcorn with this”—I wave a hand in the general direction of Nolan behind me—“ thing over here, instead of both of you reaching over me. Plus, you’ll be smack in the center of the row. Best seat in the house.”

“Where are you going,” he demands, rather than asks.

I start moving past him, the patrons a few seats away shifting to make room for me to exit the aisle. “To get my own popcorn. Maybe I’ll go backstage and see if Lukas needs help with his costume.”

“Hmpf.”

“Trade places with me and I’ll bring you back Milk Duds. You know they’re contraband.”

I barely get out my last word and Arthur is rising just enough to slide into my vacated spot.

When I shift my glare to Nolan, he’s leaning forward in his seat, watching me with an intensity that hums through the confines of my skull.

I feel tilted from my axis. Off-center. Like someone has shoved me to the edge of reality.

I blink and turn away. I just got up too fast, that’s all it is.

With a shake of my head, I shimmy my way down the aisle until I reach the stairs.

And though I don’t look back, I still feel his eyes on the back of my neck.

When I touch it, there’s a current beneath my skin.

It doesn’t leave until I’m at the top of the stairs.

But even when I’m consumed by shadow, the electric murmur is there.

I head into the bright lobby, where people are still mingling and standing in line for refreshments.

I join the line, deciding I’m going to get myself a cocktail along with my popcorn.

I need something much stronger than soda to deal with Nolan.

I’m watching the bartender make a pair of cocktails with gummy eyeball candies stabbed with cocktail sticks when I feel a presence behind me.

Someone watching me with intense, obsessive interest. But unlike the weight of Nolan’s gaze, which ignites a resonant pulse in my veins, this observer leaves only frost behind.

I know who it is before he steps to my side and says, “You look so familiar.”

My heart lurches into my throat as I turn and give Sam Porter the most bland, unaffected look I can manufacture. “Really?” I squint and cock my head to one side. “I’m afraid you don’t look familiar to me at all, sorry.”

Like me, Sam also arranges his face into a mask.

But it’s not infallible. Though his smile is benign, he can’t manage to subdue the kaleidoscopic gleam in his eyes.

There’s excitement there, and the anticipation of a hard-earned victory.

But there’s urgency too. Maybe a bit of concern.

He extends a hand to me, and I hesitate a beat before I slip my palm against his. “I’m Sam Porter. Pleased to meet you.”

I pump his hand once, and two of his fingers slip against my wrist as though he’s hoping to feel the beat of my hammering pulse, his eyes fused to mine. I slide my hand free. “Harper,” I say.

“Harper …?”

A beat of time seems to pull apart around us. All the sounds of the reception hall fade as my options are snipped away. “Starling.”

Sam nods, as though this is the response he expected. “That’s a unique name.”