Chapter 31

31

N athan surveyed the transformed hall of Glenwood Lodge. Jack-o’-lanterns peered from every nook and cranny, their dancing candlelight throwing twisted shadows at the vaulted ceilings. Spiderwebs of synthetic silk hung over the stone fireplace. A skeleton dangled from the chandelier, its plastic bones rattled with each gust from the open windows.

He reached up to adjust his eye patch, the coarse fabric grated against his skin. The zombie pirate costume had been Abby’s idea, and he had to admit, it was a good one. She made a grim captain, her tiny tricorn hat perched defiantly atop her curls, while he played the beleaguered first mate. Even Sir Hubert had been drafted into the festivities, a miniature skull-and-crossbones charm dangling from his collar like a badge. The cat shot Nathan a withering look as if judging him for his life choices.

You and me both, Hubert. You and me both.

Nathan’s gaze drifted to the heavy front door. His heart lurched with each new arrival. He tried to tell himself it was merely his discomfort at having strangers in his home. But deep down, he knew better.

He was waiting for her.

Had he been a sneaky coward, letting Abby send the invitation text? Yes. But the thought of reaching out himself, of putting himself on the line like that, had been too much. So, they’d tackled it as a team, Abby’s tiny fingers typed out the message while he’d hovered over her shoulder. She’d insisted on adding a string of emojis, for emphasis.

Gennie had texted she’d be there. But the minutes were ticking by, and there was still no sign of her.

Laughter, chatter, and spooky tunes filled Glenwood Lodge’s hall as Abby’s friends arrived with their parents trailing behind. Their curious stares pricked his skin like nettles.

‘This place is incredible,’ Mrs MacLeod gushed as she took in the macabre decorations. ‘You’ve really gone all out.’

‘Thanks,’ Nathan replied and attempted a casual tone. ‘Abby had a lot of ideas.’

Derek Sinclair, one of the dads, patted Nathan on the back. ‘Good to see you coming out of your shell. Great idea. This is fun for the kids.’

Nathan nodded. The pressure of social niceties weighed on him. ‘Abby’s been buzzing for weeks.’

Their unspoken questions hung in the air like the fake cobwebs. How does he live? What does he do all day? How does he pay for it? He wasn’t used to this scrutiny, this barrage of forced social interaction.

He spotted Dr Murray, her sensible attire was replaced by a long, flowing black dress and a tall, pointy hat. She was talking to some parents and gave him a wave.

A nice familiar resting witch face.

It was the first time Nathan had allowed such a gathering within these walls, and the weirdness of it all made his skin itch as if he’d been rolling around in a thistle patch. He’d spent the better part of a decade keeping the world at arm’s length, and now here he was, opening his doors to the people he’d been avoiding like the plague.

He tried to concentrate on the task at hand, picking a splinter from his thumb, but his mind kept wandering back to her. The sting of the wood in his flesh was a welcome distraction. He’d been working on a project up in the forest. A secret he’d kept from everyone, even Abby. Something he had to finish.

Something important.

As the party swirled around him, Gennie was all he could think about. The way she’d felt in his arms, her body moulding to his like it was made to be there. The gaping void she left when he’d sent her away.

Fucking idiot. You absolute fucking muppet.

His gaze lassoed back to the entrance for the hundredth time. He needed her to walk through that door. Each second was a reminder of his spinelessness. He balled his fists and crumpled the lace sleeves of his costume shirt in his palms. He needed to act, to regain control. He couldn’t stand there, helpless and waiting for something that might never happen.

She might not show up.

He couldn’t even blame her.

‘Don’t you look like you’re about to bolt.’ Jo sidled up beside him, her own costume an over-the-top vampire. ‘Relax, Nate. It’s a party, not a public execution.’

He grinned, grateful for the brief diversion. ‘Easy for you to say. You thrive on this stuff.’

‘And you don’t. I know, I know. But look at Abby. She’s having the time of her life.’ Jo’s eyes brightened as she watched her niece twirl around with her friends. ‘You did good, big brother.’

He snorted. ‘Thanks, Jo. For everything. Couldn’t have done it without you.’

As the parents moved off to mingle, no doubt gossiping about the smooching hermit of Glenwood, he seized a minute to catch his breath and scanned the room. The Camerons had taken charge of the spooky buffet, setting out kid-friendly gory snacks. Witch finger biscuits, complete with almond fingernails, ‘mummy’ pigs in blankets wrapped in puff pastry, and a bowl of punch frothing with dry ice, casting a ghostly fog over the table.

It really was the spookiest house.

They’d set up a dance floor in the adjoining dining room, where the kids were bouncing to the Monster Mash like a pack of gremlins. Abby’s laughter rang through the hall. It eased the lump that had taken up residence in his chest. Her joy and happiness made everything worth it.

The weight of the parents’ eyes was on him, their curiosity only faintly concealed by polite smiles.

‘You’ve truly got a lovely home, Nathan,’ Mrs MacLeod said. ‘Must be a lot to manage on your own. Right?’

‘It’s awright,’ Nathan replied curtly. He didn’t want to delve into his private struggles. He felt like a specimen under a microscope, every aspect of his existence open to assessment. He needed air, needed to escape the suffocating atmosphere of forced pleasantries and thinly veiled nosiness.

So he did the only thing he could think of. He strode to the front door and yanked it open.

Bony tree branches reached out like skeletal fingers as Gennie navigated the winding country road in her rental. Their shadows danced an eerie waltz across the windshield. She gripped the wheel.

This was it. The hour of truth.

She was going to tell him fair and square and once and for all that she wasn’t a snitch and that he was a paranoid idiot who also happened to be the man she was hopelessly, head-over-heels, ass-backwards in love with.

Not sure about confessing that last bit.

Baby steps, Rivers. Baby steps.

But the rest? Absolutely.

Probably.

As the manor on the hill came into view, her guts twisted into a Gordian knot, a tangle of nerves. The kind of thrill she could easily do without.

All gothic arches and weathered stone, the place was a relic of a bygone era. She pulled the car up the narrow driveway, gravel under the tyres like the cracking of ten thousand tiny bones.

She turned off the engine and took in a deep breath. Her fingers trembled like a virgin on prom night as she reached for the door handle.

She was dressed as Lara Croft.

Or, as she called it, for a Tuesday.

But this was a far cry from her usual gig. No, this was something much more frightening. This was a leap of the heart.

Gennie squared her shoulders and channelled every ounce of Lara Croft swagger, as she stepped out of the car. The frigid air knifed through her skimpy getup as the wind picked up and whistled through the trees like a mournful wail.

But this was no time for weakness. Her costume may have been a bit overkill, but as she moved forward, the persona settled over her like a cloak of courage that buoyed her spirits and steeled her spine. She was a lone adventurer who braved the Scottish wilderness in search of a treasure far more precious than gold.

Love.

Gritting her teeth, Gennie marched up the steps and planted herself on the porch. Then she stood there, motionless and tense, like a scarecrow. Or as if waiting for her cue, the command to jump. She shifted her weight, and the old wood groaned under her boots, as if the house itself was daring her to turn tail and run.

What the hell am I doing here, seriously?

The question circled in her mind, a mantra of doubt drowning out the frenetic flutter of her heartbeat. She could still turn back, retreat to her car and disappear into the night like a ghost.

No. She was many things, but not a coward.

Just as she raised a hand to ring the bell, the heavy door swung open with a creak. Her heart nearly exploded in her chest.

There he stood.

Nathan.

Oh, sweet baby Jesus.

A vision of gritty masculinity that plundered the breath from her lungs and all sense from her head. He was dressed as a dashing pirate as if he’d stepped straight out of her wildest fantasies. Sin incarnate, with tousled golden hair, a rakish eye patch, and an open white linen shirt that teased the golden fluff on his broad chest she yearned to run her fingers through.

Fuck me sideways.

‘Gennie…’ His voice gave. The stoic fa?ade had crumbled. A physical ache unfurled behind her breastbone as she drank in the naked anguish carved into every line of his handsome face.

Every molecule in her body urged her to close the distance between them, to feel the rasp of his hands, the scratch of his beard. To taste the salt of his sweat on her lips and lose herself in his embrace. She wanted to bury her hands in that fabulous hair and crush her mouth to his in a claiming kiss that would brand him as hers in a way that left no room for doubt.

She yearned to be held by him, held by him forever.

Because there was only ever going to be him.

A soul-deep truth she could no longer deny.

But the uncertainty in his ocean-blue eyes, the wariness that shadowed his chiselled features, gave her pause.

‘Hi, Nathan.’

‘Do you want to come in?’