“Yes,” I say, cutting him off, “Yes, I’ll marry you,” I reach for his face and pull him in close to kiss him. I could hold onto him like this the rest of the night, under the moody lighting of a haunted bar in a faraway city on Christmas Eve.
“You know,” Bowen ponders when I finally let go of him, “tonight played out a lot differently than I thought it would.”
I lift my wine glass to my lips, “Like how?”
“I tried to think of the most romantic thing I could do for you, and it turned out to be sitting next to you in a haunted bar on Christmas Eve, talking about the hanged man next to the top shelf mezcal.”
It is pretty perfect.
Suddenly, I remember we’re not back in Ohio, “They’re going to freak out,” I chuckle.
“Who?”
“Jo! Omar! My parents!” I exclaim, “They’ll probably think I’m nuts.”
“No, they won’t,” Bowen says dismissively, “they’ll be happy.”
“How can you know that?”
“Because your parents only knew each other for two weeks before they got engaged. And,” he brings his glass to his lips, “everyone already knew about this anyway…”
I am rendered utterly speechless—again. Clearly, I am the last one to know about anything happening here tonight. But, oddly enough, I don’t mind.
“OK, but seriously,” I pause, glancing around at the entire scene, “you did all this?”
“Well,” Bowen leans back in his chair, “I know you’re not one for big scenes.”
“But how did you do all this? You’ve never been here before.”
One side of his mouth curls, “Was it good?”
I lean over and kiss him again, “It was really good.”
Bowen grins and tips his whiskey to his lips, “Then that’s all that matters, right?”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Brett
One Year Ago
I hadn’t planned on going into work the day after returning from Toronto, especially not after the most exciting Christmas I can remember, and especially not on New Year’s Eve, but a half-day isn’t going to kill me.
In fact, I was so excited to leave for the holiday, I forgot to sign a pile of forms on my desk. New hires, badge access, clearances—all last minute, as usual. It looks like the pile has grown since I was last there. One hour of scribbling my name 50 times and I’m out the door, back into the wind tunnel that is the parking lot. When I get to my car, I see a text from Barrett.
BARRETT (4:09PM): When I told Anna your single days are over, she choked on a Christmas cookie. It was a gingerbread man.
If Barrett was in town, she’d be coming out with us tonight, but she’s still in Kentucky visiting her cousin, Anna. I start the ignition and type a response.
ME (4:12PM): Of course it was. Which part?
Coasting over the rolling hills and winding through the country roads, I still need to decide what to wear tonight. The Well reminds me of my favorite bar in college, where Barrett, Katie, Emma, and I posted up every Friday night, the reliable standby in case any other plan turned into a disappointment. Except this place is at the edge of the suburbs, out in the cornfields, instead of a 40-minute drive into the city. I can’t even remember what clothes I own. I need to walk into my closet and stare at the rack for a good 10 minutes.
As soon as I pull around the curve in the driveway, I see a car I don’t recognize. Bowen’s truck is gone, which I expect, but a silver Ford Escape is parked on his side of the gravel. I pull in next to it and cut the engine, peering through my windows to see if anyone is around.
The car is empty.
I get out and slowly walk past it to the front door, hurrying up to the porch to get out of the wind. When I reach for the doorknob, I find that it’s unlocked. I swing the door open and peek inside the house.
Silence.
The house also looks empty, just as I left it a couple hours earlier. For some reason, I don’t feel like there’s a home robbery in progress. And if someone were trying to hide and ambush me, they’re doing a shitty job of it by parking right in front of the house where the Ring camera can see them.
When I step through the door, I come to a stop in the foyer and just listen. All I can hear is the hum of the refrigerator and the heat kick off a minute later. I look over my shoulder at the silver SUV sitting in the driveway, still empty and out of place. Then I make for the bedroom, taking out my phone as I enter the dark hallway. I can’t remember Bowen mentioning that anyone was coming over.
No sooner does my thumb touch my screen than I glance up and let out a terrified scream, “Jesus Christ!” I jump back spastically, grabbing my chest.
A second scream fills the tiny hallway, piercing my eardrums. Suddenly, I find myself standing face to face in the bedroom doorway with Hannah.
“Fuck, you scared me,” she snaps with irritation, brushing her hair behind her ear.
“I scared you?” I scoff.
At first, Hannah doesn’t respond until she notices that I’m eyeing her suspiciously. Then she immediately smiles and lets out a sigh of relief.
She nods to the bedroom, “Hildy and Jay are out of town, so I said I’d come by and check on Waylon,” she explains, moving past me as if to dismiss any concern.
“Oh…thanks…” I turn to follow her back down the hall into the living room, my hands shaking so bad that I have to clench them into fists.
