Death Takes a Holiday (26 page)

“Thank you very much, Mrs. Alexander. I hate to impose, but—”

“It’s not an imposition. You can stay as long as you like. And call me
Liz
.”

“Liz. Sorry. It’ll just be for one night. We’re leaving tomorrow.”

“So soon?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s a shame,” Nana says. Then we three stand quietly for another awkward second. I keep my eyes on the carpet, and Will’s hands haven’t left his pockets. Nana gets a clue. “Well. Then. If the excitement’s over, I’ll just be heading back to bed. Bea?”

I jerk my head up. “Yes, ma’am?”
Ma’am
? I haven’t called her that since she caught me sneaking out ten years ago.

“Can you show your friend where the fresh towels are?”

“Yep. Uh huh,” I say, nodding my head.

Her eyes narrow in confusion. “Good. Pleasant dreams.”

“You too, Mrs. Al—um, Liz.”

She eyes us, then smiles. “Good night, you two.” Still grinning, she walks to her bedroom, leaving us alone feeling like guilty teenagers.

“She’s nice,” Will says.

“Yeah. Um, let me show you to your room.” Eager to flee, I lead Will down the hall to Brian’s old room. Like mine it’s suspended in time with baseball pendants, trophies, and AC/DC posters. I flip the light on and Will steps in, surveying the place. “Hope it’s okay.”

“It’s fine.”

“Good. So the bathroom is right across the hall, towels are under the sink. You can help yourself to anything in the fridge,” I say as fast as an auctioneer, “Internet, cable, anything you like. I’m just next door if you want me.” I mentally slap my head. “
Need me
. I mean need me.”

“Thank you.”

“’Kay. Night.” I say, shutting the door.

“Bea?”

I open the door all the way. “No. Not tonight. I have had the day from hell. I’m exhausted in every conceivable way, and I don’t have enough energy for the insanely long, awkward conversation we need to have, okay? I need to process, and think, and—”

“I just wanted to know if I could use the phone to call George. It’s long distance and my cell’s about to die.” He holds up the phone. “The charger’s back at the hotel.”

And now I want to die. “Oh, um, of course. No problem.”

“Thank you. Good night.”

“Night.” I shut the door, cursing my mouth to heck.

I trek back to my sanctuary, flip on the light, close the door, and promptly fall against it, sliding down it onto the floor like a lump. I’m amazed I stayed upright as long as I did. I just rest on my carpet staring into space in total and utter shock.

Not because of what he said.

Not because of what he did.

Because it hit me. Something I must have known for months but just couldn’t admit. Something scarier than armies of vampires, zombies, and basilisks combined.

I am truly, madly, deeply, completely in love with William Price.

In spite of his temper, in spite of what he says, in spite of what he does, in spite of a million reasons why I shouldn’t be, I am. I am in love for the first time in my life.

And I am so screwed.

TEN

I COULD NEVER BE YOUR WOMAN

R
EASONS WHY
I
ABSOLUTELY,
positively
cannot
be in love with Will Price: He’s a werewolf. He has serious anger issues, though I know he’d never raise a hand to anyone he loves. He’s moody. He’s mucho possessive. He’s over twenty years older than me, though he doesn’t look it. He’s probably still in love with his dead wife. He’s my boss. But wait, I pretty much quit my job. Okay, so I’ll probably never see him again. Nice save, Bea. Okay, the biggie. We’ve never kissed. How can I possibly be in love with someone I’ve never even kissed? It’s unthinkable.

As I climb out of bed, I have more or less convinced myself that there is no chance I’m in love with him. It’s only taken two hours of staring at the wall, but I’ve come to my senses. I walk out of my bedroom ready to face the day and—

Oh. My. God.

Nope. I was wrong. Head over heels in love.

Will stands shirtless and sweating in my kitchen, drinking milk with a little dribbling down his chin. His everything is perfect. Flat stomach, well-defined muscles all glistening, and rugged face turned up in ecstasy. I blush from tip to toes. My little whimper draws his attention. The glass drops from his mouth as he sheepishly smiles. “Morning,” he says putting the milk on the counter and grabbing
his shirt from beside it.

“Hi,” I all but sigh and wave. Wave!

He pulls on his shirt. “Sorry. I was thirsty after my run.”

“You ran? You went for a run? That’s nice. Running’s nice.” Shut the heck up, you crazy person.

“Yeah. I, uh, ran around the cemetery.”

“Cemetery. Good place to run, a cemetery. They’re nice.” I need to staple my mouth shut right this instant.

“Peaceful,” he says, shaking his head vigorously. “Peaceful … run. Refreshing,” he says as an afterthought. And then a full ten seconds of brutal, uncomfortable silence where we look at everything but each other.

My brain reboots and the social-niceties link opens. “Did you sleep well?” I ask. “Was the bed comfortable? The sheets? The pillows?”

“Yes. Thank you,” he says, relieved. “And your grandmother is just wonderful. She made me breakfast before she left.”

“She did?”

“Um, yeah,” he says, grabbing two coffee cups from the hooks on the cabinet. He turns around and I sit on the stool at the bar that faces the kitchen. “She’s great.” He pours the coffee and milk. “She’s really proud of you.”

“She’s not angry that I lied?”

“I explained the situation to her.” He spins back around and hands me a cup of coffee. Milk and sugar, the way I like it.

“Thank you.” He remembered. I coo inside but outside my poker face remains for all of three seconds until I glance at the dining room table and notice the photo albums piled on it. Oh no. She didn’t!

Will’s gaze follows mine. “So, yeah. She wanted to show me a few photos.”

I know what she showed him. Me and Brian as kids naked in a bathtub. Fat ten-year-old me squeezed into a pink tutu surrounded by munchkin six-year-olds. Me at thirteen with zits, braces, and a horrible haircut that made my head look so big people thought I had the mumps. Sixteen-year-old me in blue, yellow, and white polyester shorts, shirt, and go-go hat during my tenure at Hot Dog on a Stick. She did the same thing with Steven.

“Of course she did,” I mutter. Black hole in the ground, take me now.

“You were cute. I mean, you are cute. Now,” he stumbles. “But you were cute then too. You, you know what I mean.”

“I can figure it out,” I say. And awkward silence time. “So, um, do you have plans for the day? Are you guys leaving right away?”

“Um, no. We’re gonna stick around until tonight just to, um, keep up appearances. Just in case.”

“Oh. Good. Appearances and all. Very important.” All day. Alone. Just him, me, and my mouth. I give it an hour before I blurt out my ridiculous feelings.

“Your grandmother asked me to help with the tree and decorations. For Christmas.”

“I totally forgot about that,” I say. I’d feel like such a sucky granddaughter if she hadn’t shown the man I love a picture of me in a bathing suit. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“No, I’d love to. Haven’t really celebrated Christmas in years.”

“Really? What do you guys do?” I ask, stunned. Not celebrating the holidays is a crime against nature, completely inconceivable, and just plain wrong.

“Well, Chandler and Rush usually fly home unless something comes up. The rest of us just give gifts on the day.”

“No tree? Carols?” Even Brian managed to suppress his rage long enough for us to get through “Silent Night.” “What about Nancy? She’s only seventeen. She deserves a Christmas.”

“We have a massive tree, we just don’t put it up ourselves. George hires people to come in and decorate.”

“Then I am sure glad I came home,” I say, mortified. “No Christmas,” I huff. “Barbarians.”

His eyes crinkle as he smiles. Oh, I hope our kids inherit that. And his eyes. And his devotion. And—

“I’ve missed it,” he says, just realizing it. “Mary always made such a huge deal about Christmas,” he says, referring to his dead wife. All thoughts of hypothetical children vanish.

“Really?”

He starts playing with his ring finger as he does when he thinks about her. Makes my stomach hurt every time. “Yeah. We’d go out to this Christmas tree farm every year and dig one up. Then we’d go home, put on her favorite movie,
The Sound of Music,
and decorate. It took hours just to do the popcorn garland. Then at the stroke of midnight, we’d open presents.”

“We open one on Christmas Eve,” I say, “but I’d usually stay awake and sneak another after Nana went to bed.”

“I used to do that too. As a kid.” He stops playing with his finger. “I always loved Christmas.”

“Then you are more than welcome to help with ours.”

“Thank you.” He takes a last swig of his coffee and smiles shyly. “Guess I should hit the shower then.” He puts the coffee cup and milk glass into the dishwasher.
And
he’s a respectful house guest. I bite my lower lip to stop the longing sigh from escaping. I don’t move until I hear the water turn on in the bathroom.

I grab the portable phone, running out back to the side of the house while punching in April’s number. Someone picks up on
the third ring. “Diego residence,” Javi says.

“Javi, it’s Bea. Is April there?” I ask, not hiding the desperation in my voice.

“Yeah. Are you okay?”

“Relatively.”

“Give me that,” April says. The phone exchanges hands. “Bea? Are you okay? We’ve been worried to death!”

“You didn’t get my message?”

“Not until this morning! I called and Nana Liz said you were safe, but … you scared the hell out of us!”

“We’re all safe. I promise.”

“Then why do you sound like hell?”

“Because something horrible has happened,” I say, near tears. “And I have no frigging clue what to do about it.”

“What?” she asks. I open my mouth, but the words won’t come out. If I say it then it becomes real, and I don’t know if I’m ready for that. “Bea?”

I open again, and the words geyser out. “Will is naked in my shower right now and I need you to talk me out of going in there, ripping off all my clothes, and screwing him twelve ways from Saturday because I’m totally, completely, crazily in love with him. I am! I love him so much I can’t think straight. I think I have been for months, and now that I know it, I’m scared I’ll blurt it out and he’ll freak or something even though I’m pretty sure he feels the same way, but he could have been lying to Connor to save me, but I don’t think so because he choked him for talking dirty to me. And he threatened a vampire/werewolf war if Connor tried anything, but he also said I literally drive him crazy and then there’s the werewolf thing and the Oliver thing and the dead wife thing but right now I don’t care because I love him and he didn’t have a shirt on this morning and I almost died on the spot and now I have to spend the day with him pretending to be a couple in case Connor is watching so there’s going to be touching and I don’t know if I can control myself. And I have no idea what to do. Help me.” I take a deep breath to make up for the fact I haven’t had one in thirty seconds.

“Okay,” April says, “I didn’t understand a word you said except
naked in shower
,
I love him,
choked
, and
no shirt
. Start from the beginning.” I rehash the whole night. Everything. Connor, Steven, the whole shebang. She doesn’t say a word until I’m done. “Holy shit.”

“I know! Right? What the heck am I going to do?”

“Are you nuts? Follow your instincts. Go in there and stuff your tongue down his throat. I can’t believe—”

The shower shuts off, and I turn into a living statue. “Shut up,” I whisper.

“Why?”

“I gotta go,” I whisper. “He’s out of the shower. He might be able to hear us. Call you later.”

I shut off the phone and quietly tip-toe back to my room. I close the door as the bathroom door opens. Yes, I know I’m acting like a paranoid dork, but I don’t even blink until I hear Brian’s door shut. I flip on the radio and carefully choose my outfit for the day. Dark blue jeans, dark purple long-sleeved undershirt, and black Blue Oyster Cult girl-cut T-shirt. Casual, warm, and covers as much as is possible without wearing a burka. As I’m putting my hair into a high ponytail, there’s a knock on the front door.

Will and I both step out of our rooms in unison. His hair is wet from the shower but sadly he’s dressed. Gray cargo pants and loose green sweater. “You expecting someone?” he asks, all business.