Chapter 9

Nine

B lake

I hoist my backpack and sleeping bag, and grab Dahlia’s things from her.

“I can carry those,” she says.

I ignore her protest and press her to get on with the tour.

The first stop on the tour is, of course, the graveyard.

It should come as no surprise to me that Dahlia has done her homework. I learn a few things about the town’s founders, about some local war heroes, murders, historic battles, stagecoach robbery gangs, famous criminals, and unfortunate disease outbreaks. I don’t say it out loud because I don’t want her getting her hopes up that she’s got a chance of winning this ridiculous bet we made, but this tour is not bananas at all. I think a lot of people would find it really interesting.

When I see Dahlia shivering, I ask her to skip over the vacant lot where everyone thinks there used to be a hotel where Lincoln once slept.

“But…” she begins to argue, but I’m overcome with the urge to warm her up with a huge bear hug.

I can’t hold back. My arms pull her in close, unzipping my coat and wrapping it around her. Her slim-fitting trench coat might look hot as hell on her, but there’s no way it’s keeping her warm enough.

That’s my job now.

The more time I spend with her, the more I feel as though we have things to talk about. Dahlia’s body stiffens at first, not expecting my embrace. I wait for her to push me away or scold me. She would be right to. But instead, she relaxes against my chest and gingerly squeezes me back, her arms around my ribcage.

“Let’s get to the main event now, D.”

She steps back, her eyes wide.

“I don’t mean it that way,” I say. “I mean let’s get to the Milton House and out of the cold so we can talk. I think you and I have a few things to hash out before the night is over, don’t you?”