Haunt Your Heart Out

Chapter 26

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

The basement clean-up had been completed without the contractor finding new and different issues to drain my savings. A miracle, honestly. They did, however, find a little trinket tucked into the rafters near an overhead outlet: a dusty, patinaed keychain shaped like the Statue of Liberty, the torch bursting with a tiny heart-shaped flame in place of the usual fire. There was a note tied to the keyring. With shaking fingers, I gently unfolded the little love note left for my grandmother, and my grandfather’s boxy letters hit like a hug.

Nearly finished now. Just loose ends, bits and bobs, the littlest pieces: Trim here, a loose door frame there. Soon, you’ll be here, and maybe right away or maybe years from now the walls will ring with tiny voices; the halls will shake with tiny feet. If you prefer a farm to a gaggle of our own, I’ll frame a barn the moment you insist. I’ve found my calling in lumber, a hammer, and some nails—and making your wildest dreams come true, of course. If you wanted to pack it in and fly to Paris next to try our hands at baking bread, or take a wander toward Florida to grow citrus, you only have but to ask.

I kept this keychain close while you couldn’t be. A flame against the dark lonely nights. You’re due to arrive next week—this time to stay—so it’s time to retire her for you to find at a later date. No matter where we are in this journey, I hope it puts a smile on your face, darling.

With love (and a few remaining splinters),

Your Thomas

I’d known that my grandfather was a total romantic. I’d had no clue he’d had such a sense of adventure. Whether he’d really have dropped everything to chase my grandmother’s whims was anyone’s guess, but my heart sped up at the idea of it. Even my grandfather, who’d moved into this very house in his twenties and never left, hadn’t discounted the idea of skipping town to see what else was out there. So what if the people had kept him here; even if he never left, the idea was in his head. Maybe he wouldn’t have hesitated to take a leap, or maybe he was trying to convince himself he would.

Either way, he’d been braver than I was. When faced with losing someone important to him or stubbornly digging in his heels, he’d have taken a chance. Even if it scared him, and even if there were no guarantees.

James took chances and chased each opportunity. There was a corkboard map and a fridge covered in photos to prove it. Just a bunch of Bilbo Bagginses, the lot of them. Some of the stops may have been busts, but they always seemed to look ahead to the next—not behind. They had each other. A big, happy found family creating weird films and making it up as they went along. Instead of holding his father’s choices against him, James had moved beyond their history to build a future of his own, on his terms.

I’d always thought that type of autonomy meant fighting tooth and nail to stay where I was, but maybe I was missing out by insisting I wouldn’t—couldn’t—change. My parents would just love to hear me admit that.

I tucked the trinket back into its space in the rafters, then pulled my phone from my pocket. I tapped into the last text from James, letting me know he’d gotten back to Vermont after our big argument over Christmas. I hit the call button and waited through the ringing, my foot jiggling enough to generate its own energy.

His voicemail greeting came through the line, and the familiar voice practically wrapped fingers around my heart and squeezed. “Knock knock,” I said, after the greeting requested a message and joke. I hung up without providing a punchline.

Maybe he wasn’t home. Maybe he was, and he was already packing to start his next adventure.

I scraped the holiday-hued nail polish from one thumbnail as I considered my options.

Wait for him to call.

Wait for him to text.

Wait for him …

No.

There was no more waiting. If I wanted this to work, it was on me . I had to make a move or lose him.

I climbed the stairs into my freezing little book nook. I scanned the shelves, eyeing the titles and considering what each communicated.

As I Lay Dying wasn’t quite the message I wanted to get across. Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance was a solid no-way. I tapped the spine of The Da Vinci Code , remembering James’s mocking grin as he discovered my secret hobby.

There, beside it, was Iowa: A Travel Guide for Couples . Not my idea of a romantic travel destination, but the title would do. I grabbed my archival ink pen from the shelf—the best option for taking notes in the margins because it wouldn’t bleed or fade—and jotted a few words onto the title page. Then, I tucked the book into a cheesy Christmas gift bag and climbed into my car, taking off down the road without scraping away the snow that had built up on the windshield. After dark usually meant dodging the stragglers coming down Mountain Road or stopping at every crosswalk to let the dinner crowd through. By some miracle, I made it from my house to James’s apartment without hitting a single traffic jam, pedestrian or otherwise.

My knock was followed by a tiny jingle, then a snuffle and woof from inside.

“James?” I said, through the door. “Can we talk?”

Not a sound came in return, aside from the click of Lulu’s excited claws against the tiled entryway floor—probably twirling in place waiting for someone to answer the door.

After a few seconds, the scuffling paw sounds quieted. The knots in my stomach pulled ever-tighter. If I counted backward from ten, and he didn’t open the door, I’d give up. For the fairest chance, I tapped knuckles on the door once more. Lulu’s shuffling was diminished compared to her first greeting. The longer a person was on the opposite side of a door, the bouncier she was, unless James was there to control the ruckus.

Ten. Nine. Eight.

Even if he did open the door, would my attempt at an apology be enough?

Seven. Six. Five.

Maybe the documentary was salvageable. If they’d saved that, even after my involvement, maybe we could save this.

Four. Three.

But only if he opened the door.

Two.

With gloved fingers splayed, I pressed my palm into the door and leaned my forehead on the cool fiberglass. It was too cold to cry outside. Instead, I curled my hand into a fist and completed the countdown in my head.

One.

With a metallic rattle, the world tilted as the door swung inward, and I stumbled into the entryway only to be caught by a surprised James. Lulu leapt and barked, snuffling at my knees and feet before wandering away as I worked to regain my balance.

“Would you like to come in?” His joking tone was a promising start.

Lulu sat at the end of a row of boxes, floppy ears perked up and tail swishing the floor. Her mouth cracked open and her tongue lolled in a doggy grin. The urge to ruffle the curly hair on the top of her head was strong, but I resisted. It was better to sever the attachment now—just in case my apology wasn’t enough.

I tucked a curl behind my ear. “Here.” I tugged the Christmas bag from my purse. He started to reply before opening the package, so I interrupted. “Sorry it’s a little late. I’ve been … stupid. Just. Open it, okay?”

He pulled the corners of the bag open and ran his fingertip along the pages. “A book. Just Alex, who would have seen that gift coming?” His tone was mocking, but his eyes lit in that playful glimmer I’d grown to love.

He pulled the book free and knit his eyebrows, presumably at the book’s title. “Iowa …” he said. Nimble fingers flipped to the title page, proving how well he knew me.

The original inscription said, “The birthplace of Captain Kirk, what could possibly go wrong?”

Beneath that, I’d scribbled my own note, so the title page read “ Iowa: A Travel Guide for Couples you an apology. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“I’ll go with you,” I said before he could speak. “Whenever you leave, I’ll go, too. I’m ready to let go of my resentment and fears. I’m ready to take a leap. And it’s not just because of you. It’s partly you. I wouldn’t even be considering it if not for you, but I’ve been protecting myself from being left behind for so long that maybe I’m pushing people away just in case rather than accepting that sometimes things work out.”

The only movement was James’s slow blink and the heaving rise and fall of my chest. Even Lulu was a statue.

“Why?” James asked.

Not a pop quiz; not a test. It was a challenge, and one I was fully prepared to accept after listening to his heckling over the last few weeks.

With locked gazes, I answered, “Because I wouldn’t forgive myself for letting Lulu leave.”

A quirk in the corner of his mouth. I’d gotten his attention.

“And I’d be distraught if she took you with her. I’ve been hoping that someone would decide to stay, but to my own detriment. I’m still terrified, but I’m not letting it stand in my way this time. I can do this. I can move on.”

“But your house—”

“Is a building. Walls and windows and questionable wallpaper choices. It was home, but maybe it’s time to see what’s out there. It’ll be okay. Home is not necessarily tied to a physical space, but the people you surround yourself with. You’ve helped me see that. I’ll sell the house, or I can fix it up and keep it for when we come back to visit. It’s still a mess. Just like me. I’m a mess. Constantly, without fail, I’ll be a giant mess, and that’s just something you’ll have to accept if we do this. If you’ll have me. I want to do this. Let’s ride off into the sunset together, old plans be damned.”

He knit his eyebrows and the muscles in his jawline worked overtime before he replied, “You might be getting the wrong idea here …”

“James.” I reached for the sleeve of his shirt, hoping I hadn’t completely misread the situation. But then I stopped. If he was looking for an out, me offering to tag along was the exact opposite. I let go of his sleeve and straightened. “It’s fine, I get it. We rushed into things, and I knew the risks.”

He held up a finger, begging for patience, and dashed into his room. When he returned, a book was clasped in both hands. He thrust it toward me, pressed his lips together, and turned his eyes toward the ground.

There was no confidence in his stance. While his posture was usually perfect, he stood before me with his shoulders hunched, hesitant. I accepted the book, and he pointed at the cover.

Ultimate Spooky Guide to United States Travel . A well-used atlas with worn edges, filled with bookmarks and sticky tabs. An abundance of reading sessions made the binding pliable; the book fanned open easily in my hand. Pages were marked, highlighted, and notated. Some more heavily than others: Each state had at least one comment in the margins, while others included notes detailed enough to draft a new travel guide.

“I found this in a library book sale in California a few years ago. We’d stopped over for a few months and rented a room at a really sketchy motel. We’d been wandering so long, trying to get away from the expectations of our parents, but we didn’t have any real goals. Julian wanted to make films, and I wanted to find myself. Instead, I found this.”

He tugged a bookmark from the center of the book, which was still firmly in my grasp, and passed it to me. A familiar logo stared me down—a stack of books and a steaming coffee mug I saw every day at work—the logo for Dog-Eared Books & More.

“Julian wanted to check out the top-ranked spots in the book. All of the places you hear about where spirits stalk and rattle and moan. But I wanted to check out this town. It seemed authentic. And the bookmark was a sign.”

“A sign of what?”

James laughed. “I don’t know, but I wanted to find out. Especially when I realized it was the very same Vermont town where Luna had stalked spirits. The comfort I got out of that vlog—the escape it gave me—felt timely when I was looking for a different kind of change. Something to make mine. I was all about living my life on the move, exploring new places and learning new things. Julian had his thing, but I didn’t have mine. But wandering wears on a person, and seeking adventure turned into a desire to find home . And I thought … maybe I’d finally found it. Right here.” I inhaled to cut in, but he didn’t give me the chance. “Before you remind me, yes, I know you all have a strange dislike of outsiders and getting in is a longshot. I wanted to try, anyway.”

Too much, too fast. My ears buzzed at the informational whiplash. After all of the absolute angst over the last few days, all I could manage to ask was, “What are you saying?”

The calculated strut was back as James breezed his way toward the kitchen. He dragged his tongue along his top teeth, slowly, while staring me in the eye. “Lulu,” he called, without breaking eye contact. At her name, she bounded toward James, waiting for instructions at full attention. “Go get Lex.”

She dashed back and forth between the two of us, then snuffed a spirited sneeze. Her bushy eyebrows shifted side to side before she gave up on my taking the hint. Gingerly, with as little tooth as possible, she nipped the knee of my pants to lead me toward the kitchen, and James. He took a step closer to me, and Lulu took a measured step to match. With one last puff of air, she released me.

A curl had slipped out from behind my ear again and James reached to tuck it back into place. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t think. I should have told you that I wanted to stay. But I didn’t want to scare you away by seeming too eager.”

James held out a business envelope, stuffed to bursting with paperwork, and I accepted it.

A line deepened between his brows while I pulled open the envelope flap and pulled its contents out. Tucked inside the tri-folded papers labeled “lease agreement” was a set of keys.

Specifically, two small Schlage keys. Shiny little house keys, shoved inside an envelope stamped with a rental agency’s logo and phone number.

Home.

I pinched a key between my fingers and peered at it. “You are starting a nightclub and you’re going to turn Stowe into a top-tier rave location?”

The corners of his eyes crinkled. “Cold,” he said, and took a step backward.

“You’re a secret cagophilist, and you thought this specific key was the perfect way to complete your collection?”

“Cold,” he stepped back again.

“You’re starting a library because you just couldn’t stop purchasing duplicate books from the pretty bookseller in town?” I asked.

He tucked his hands into the pockets of his jacket, and his eyes glittered with laughter as he took a step forward. “We’ll say warm, even though you’re taking liberties with the storyline. The bookseller is a very persistent salesperson.”

“You rented a place in Stowe because there was something about the town you just couldn’t bear to leave?”

He took a step forward. “Warmer.”

“The dog park, right? Lulu was too attached, and you—”

He leaned in, his lips a breath away from mine, putting the brakes on my mocking.

Still looking into his eyes, I took one final guess. “You decided to settle down in my weird little snow globe of a town because you fell desperately in love with the pretty bookseller who convinced you to stay using her uncanny ability to recommend the perfect books, and you couldn’t imagine leaving her.”

“Hot.” James licked his lips, closed the inch of distance between us, and dipped me backward into a kiss. His mouth was warm and firm against my lips, and when he swept his tongue across my upper lip my body flushed with heat.

James was staying . For real. Not leaving, not moving on, but settling down. And I was finally letting myself believe it. I didn’t even get a chance to overthink the words “desperately in love” before I blurted it out, and all for the better. We’d have time to explore what this was without a countdown clock—because he wanted it, and because I wanted it. Because maybe it was lust and maybe it was love, but mostly it was allowing ourselves contentedness. I dared to feel the excitement that came with setting out on a new journey, here, together—and he dared right back.