“We have a clear winner,” he said, pointing to Sabrina. “This dame can cook, damn it.”
Sabrina’s whole body lit up as Tatum aimed the camera to capture her elated expression. She jumped up and down, then rushed to Tristan’s side and threw her arms around his shoulders.
“Will you do me the honors of a little picnic in the rain?” Tristan said.
“Duh.” Sabrina stepped back beside Marion the Linda. When Linda reached out to high-five her, Sabrina made herself meet her hand, and the sound of the slap reverberated through the room.
When Sabrina turned to Marion, there was fire in Marion’s eyes, but she stuck out her hand to shake Sabrina’s. Sabrina took it, a gesture of goodwill, and Marion held tight to Sabrina’s hand, pumping it up and down, her grip tightening. “Strong shake,” Sabrina said, laughing nervously, but as the grip grew stronger, Sabrina’s bones complained. “Ow!” Marion didn’t let up. Sabrina tried to pull away. “Quit it! That hurts.”
Deja glanced at Linda. “Are you going to stand there while your friend needs help?”
Sabrina didn’t have time to puzzle over the words, but Linda didn’t move from her spot, her mouth frozen in an “O” of shock. Marion kept squeezing, until finally, Tristan stood and slammed a fist on the table. “Enough!”
Marion let go of Sabrina’s hand, then turned and stormed out of the room. Sabrina held her hand up to the light. It was bruised with the shape of Marion’s fingers.
“For someone sick, she’s still strong,” Linda said. “You okay?”
When Sabrina didn’t answer, Tristan reached for her hand. She winced as he held it softly in his.
“I’ll never understand you women.” He gestured out the window. “But I understand a picnic. Come on, Sabrina. Let’s make the most of this time.”
• • •
The picnic consisted of the rest of Sabrina’s breakfast biscuits, strawberry jam, and mimosas. They trekked through a patch of mud to reach the blanket production had laid out for them, then settled into cross-legged positions across from one another. Tatum held an umbrella over them while Deja operated the camera. Mist crept sideways into their hair and across their clothes, and as Sabrina bit into her first biscuit, she shivered.
Tristan unbuttoned his flannel and slipped it over her shoulders. “Can’t let a pretty gal like you suffer, not even for me,” he said.
Sabrina smiled. It felt right being out here with him, as right as anything had ever felt. Maybe destiny was as simple as that, intentions or no intentions. She was meant to be here. She was meant to be his. She felt it as certainly as she’d ever felt anything before. “Thank you,” she said. Tristan flicked a speck of crumb from her lips. “This time means a lot to me.”
“Me, too,” he said. “So, tell me: what do you really think of this place?”
Sabrina shivered again, this time not from the cold. “It’s creepy.”
“It is,” he said. “Are you starting to believe in ghosts?”
Was she? “Unsure.” She’d discovered weird walls that could be production tricks, and heard about weird cries in the night, but had anything unexplainable happened? She thought of her mother and the intentions that seemed, on the surface, like weird oils and pretty crystals. Maybe that was how the supernatural worked; it disguised itself. Or maybe life was as simple as it seemed on the surface.
“My mom fancied herself mystical in some way,” Sabrina said. “I didn’t tell you that before, because I thought you might find it off-putting, but now, I feel comfortable telling you.”
Tristan raised his brows. “Mystical? What does that mean?”
“She made intentions and recited chants. Wore charms. Burned a lot of incense and sage. Cursed people who did her wrong, which was like wishing them ill and stuff. It seemed the same as make-believe was with the other kids. Some of them believed Santa was real, and it was the same with us, only we also believed our mom could make things happen by wanting them bad enough.”
“But she died when you were young, right?” Tristan touched her thigh, giving her a gentle supportive squeeze.
“Yeah. Cancer. She couldn’t wish herself well.”
“Is that when you stopped believing her?”
Sabrina shook her head. “It wasn’t all at once. It was kind of like how some people come to no longer believe in God. It happened year by year. For a long time, I believed that we could still make things happen by thinking about them. My sister believed, and she lived to carry out my mother’s wishes. I did what my sister wanted me to. First, because I believed, too. Eventually, I followed her because she’s smart, and she always knew what was best for me. At least, she did then.”
“And now?” Tristan asked.
“I’ll follow you. You know what’s best for me.” As she said it, she relaxed into him. Even in the middle of a strange place, in a relentless mist, she understood that Tristan could take care of her the way she needed. The way she wanted.
“That’s right.” He kissed her, capturing her lips and forcing her to surrender to him. “I know what’s best.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Linda
When Linda tasted her scramble, she tried not to gag. The eggs were both watery and overcooked. Tristan had left them on the table when he and Sabrina went for their picnic—and she didn’t blame him. She took the bowl into the kitchen and dumped it in the sink. She’d woken ravenous, and the kitchen was full of uncooked food.
“Didn’t win, huh?” Charity said, breezing into the kitchen, her hair a tangled mess.
“I’m a bad cook.” Linda shrugged. “There’s worse things.”
Charity glanced over the leftover ingredients. “I can whip something up.” She grabbed a couple of eggs and stepped to the stove, pulling a pan off the drying rack. “Sit.”
Linda sat. When she considered the events of last night, she came back again and again to the almost-kiss. Her cheeks warmed as she fiddled with her necklace. She wasn’t about to bring it up, but Charity peered over her shoulder as she tossed the eggshells aside.
“Crazy night, huh?”
Linda’s stomach jumped. “Wild.”
“Brandon is a mess.”
Linda opened then closed her mouth. “Yeah…”
