Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE

“Oh my God, how hard would it have been to send a text that we have guests?” Missy howled as she burst into the kitchen. Holly, Winter, Aunt Daisy, Aunt Rose, Charlotte, and Connor were already passing around bowls of spaghetti and salad and a platter of breadsticks. Missy was still dressed in her sparkly plum dress and heels, and her irritation faded when she noticed the empty chair beside Connor. She strutted over and sank down beside him.

“How was the radio interview?” Winter asked, piling spaghetti on her plate. Holly caught Charlotte eyeing Winter in amazement as she added yet another scoop of spaghetti. A sad plate of lettuce and tomatoes sat before Charlotte, because along with being vegan, she also didn’t eat gluten.

“The host was soooo sweet,” Missy purred, filling her glass from a pale green decanter. “He was fascinated to hear that those little conspiracy sites could be right about a ghost in the orchards. I invited him over for a midnight séance.” She took a sip and spit the amber liquid back into the glass. “Ugh, why isn’t this alcohol?”

“The light green bottle is sparkling cider,” Holly answered. “The dark green is the apple wine.” The aunts had gone all out for their guests, showcasing the best of Wicked Good Apples’ products: apple jelly, sparkling cider, apple wine, and even apple cider vinegar—the only problem was that all the liquids were in similar bottles. “I hope he declined your offer to visit.” Really! The last thing they needed was some overblown radio host camped out in their backyard. One too-large media personality was enough.

Missy smirked and downed the sparkling cider before making a “gimme” gesture for the wine bottle. “Oh, not that kind of séance.”

Aunt Rose and Aunt Daisy were used to Missy’s equal attitude toward sex, but Charlotte didn’t know that and glanced nervously at them as she stuffed a romaine leaf into her mouth.

“How was your day?” Missy asked, turning in her seat and waggling her eyebrows at Connor and then Holly. “Amy Gordon is all over Facebook saying you two blew out her window.”

“Amy Gordon is a big fat liar.” Holly poured a second glass of sparkling cider. After the day she’d had, she knew a migraine was coming, and alcohol would only make it worse. Her head was already starting to ache over her left ear.

Holly glanced at Connor over the rim of her glass as she took a sip. She didn’t know why she was so unnerved by the sight of him in her kitchen, fork and knife in hand as he ate and listened closely to every word. She was so used to their space being filled with feminine energy, and Connor’s very big, very male presence was giving her the panicky feeling that everything was changing right beneath her nose.

She didn’t want Connor Grimm in her house or in her life. He was too confident. Too determined. Too ruthless.

And yet he’d used his body to protect her from the shattered window today, taking the sting of glass so that she didn’t have to. She knew he’d been on the verge of saving Prickles from Amy’s rage too. As much as Holly wanted to hate him, so far he’d done nothing to earn her ire. Everyone loved Connor Grimm, from his crew to his fans, but that didn’t mean she had to.

And it didn’t mean she had to trust him.

“Holly’s right,” Charlotte said, examining a tomato with the scrutiny of a doctor. “A branch fell into the window. I saw it happen.”

“That freak storm that blew through this morning must’ve loosened it. Holly couldn’t have had anything to do with that,” Missy said, blinking innocently at Holly. Holly slid her finger across her throat in response and Missy smothered her smile in her wine.

Aunt Rose clucked her tongue. “That Amy Gordon has always been a troublemaker. Holly’s boyfriend slept with her in high school, didn’t he, Daisy?”

“Yes, he did. Or was it the Lafebre girl?”

“Her too,” Missy piped in helpfully. “Holly’s boyfriend slept with pretty much everyone in high school. You were lucky you were using condoms. That dude probably had every STD known to science.”

Holly’s cheeks were flaming. “Thank you, everyone. Great recap of Holly’s high school sex life. What are your plans now?” she asked Charlotte, deliberately redirecting the conversation. “Do you plan to film at night?”

Charlotte nodded, decided the tomato was acceptable, and popped it in her mouth. “The audiences expect it. You know, the whole shtick with the green night vision lens and the beeping electromagnetic field meter. We probably won’t catch Miller on camera, though.”

“Miller?” Winter asked.

Connor finally spoke, filling in the rest of the family on the history he’d shared with her in the car. To their credit, her family kept their expressions neutral when he told them the ghost’s name. She wasn’t sure her aunts and sisters were making all the connections: how Connor had narrowed the first sightings of Councilman Miller to four years ago, which just so happened to be when Aunt Rose’s potion had stopped working. It also happened to be that four years ago was when the farm’s finances had begun to nosedive. The Celestes had heard rumors of the ghost, but other than browsing a few websites, they’d never taken the gossip seriously because they’d never seen the ghost themselves. If the spirit of Councilman Miller actually existed and was haunting their property, was it possible he’d been scaring their customers more than they’d realized? She’d have to mention it to her family after Connor left.

“Have you heard of Councilman Jonathan Miller before?” he asked Aunt Rose and Aunt Daisy. “Or do you know of any dispute between him and Autumn in 1820?”

Aunt Daisy shook her head, but Rose considered and said, “Seems to me we may have heard a rumor or two about it, but these old brains don’t work like they used to.”

Holly caught her breath and dropped her eyes to the golden liquid in her glass. What an act, those two. They were as sharp as tacks and could remember the date of the last time they went roller skating forty-five years ago.

Connor leaned forward and clasped his hands together beneath his chin as he studied the aunts. “Is there anything you do recall?”

“Well, it seems to me,” Aunt Rose began, “that mama once told us the orchards were planted by Autumn to spite a councilman.”

Daisy nodded in agreement. “Yes, that sounds right. It was something to do with an apple seed she received as a gift. The gift angered the councilman, although we don’t know why, and Autumn responded by growing an entire apple orchard.”

Holly loved that part of the story. Autumn’s reflex to grow an apple orchard out of spite had been a very Celeste thing to do.

“Very few people can out-stubborn a Celeste,” Holly said, but maybe she’d been a little quieter than she’d intended, because she felt Connor’s curious gaze on her face. She hadn’t whispered, had she? Her head was beginning to throb.

“That is both a blessing and a curse.” Aunt Rose looked sternly at Holly. “It wouldn’t hurt the Celestes to learn a little give-and-take.”

Excusez-moi? Holly knew how to be flexible! She was practically a rubber band. Okay, maybe she wasn’t that flexible. She was more like a paperclip. She could bend if she had to, but she really preferred to stay in shape.

“Was there something special about the original apple seed?” Connor asked.

Holly shouldn’t have been surprised that he zeroed in on the exact question to ask, but it was so uncannily on the nose that it caught her off guard. She wasn’t the only one.

“That’s the part we don’t remember, if we ever knew,” Rose said after a pause.

She lied smoothly, but Holly’s family was underestimating the Grimm sitting at the table with them. The truth was the Celestes didn’t know the full story behind the dispute between Autumn and Councilman Miller. Heck, Holly hadn’t even known that the man had been murdered. Aunt Rose had basically shared all they did know—apart from why the apple seed was special.

Holly wished her aunts hadn’t said a word. Connor Grimm didn’t need any help ruining them.

Missy sighed. “I’m so bummed I’ve never seen the ghost before. Have you, Winter?”

Winter shook her head no, and while they discussed the Councilman Jonathan Miller ghost sightings, a foot nudged Holly’s. She shifted but then felt it again. She looked up to find Connor staring at her from across the table.

“Are you all right?” he mouthed.

She gave him a thumbs-up, and those gray eyes narrowed as if he didn’t believe her.

A robot text tone beeped from Holly’s phone, which she’d left on the counter. “Did you ever call Jeremy back?” Aunt Daisy asked.

Holly sipped her sparkling cider. “Nope. I don’t owe Jeremy anything.”

The table went awkwardly silent, and an irritated voice said, “It’s nice to know how you feel, Holly.”

Holly lifted her eyes from her almost-empty glass and cringed at the sight of Jeremy standing at the swinging kitchen door. Jeremy was a tax lawyer with political ambitions, and he dressed the part: creased pants, shiny loafers, stuffy tan overcoat. His eyes bulged out of his sockets a little bit, and she thought he used so much gel in his hair to draw attention away from the fact. Jeremy blinked in annoyance as he moved farther into the room. “I stopped by again when I still didn’t hear from you. Amy told me about the exploding window.”

Holly picked up her fork and twirled it in the pasta without taking a bite. “Er—thanks for checking in.” She had no idea why he’d felt it was necessary, unless Amy had sent him for some reason.

Jeremy’s lips pinched when he noticed Connor at the table. He and Connor sized each other up in silence, and it was apparent by their stony expressions that each found the other lacking.

“You must be Connor Grimm,” Jeremy said. Did he have a cold? Why was his voice so nasally? Had he always sounded like that? “I hope you’re not taking advantage of these ladies while you’re here. Perhaps they should retain legal counsel.”

Missy rolled her eyes. “We’re fine, Jeremy. And you’re a tax lawyer.”

He flushed. “I didn’t mean me,” he snapped. He’d always disliked Missy. He’d once told Holly she should speak to her sister about “toning down” her image because she was starting to get a reputation for being a slut. Holly had dumped him with her next breath.

After she’d broken up with him, Holly had made a grilled cheese sandwich, gone to bed, and forgotten all about him until two days later. That was how passionate their relationship had been. It wouldn’t have been a stretch to say she’d had wilder sex in her dreams than with Jeremy.

“We don’t need legal counsel,” Holly said shortly, rubbing her temples. “I looked over the contract, and it’s fairly standard.”

“You’re hardly a lawyer, Holly. You’re just an apple farm manager.”

Holly ground her teeth together.

“I have another reason for coming over,” Jeremy continued, oblivious or uncaring that he’d just insulted her. “Amy wants to sue you.”

Missy tightened the elastic on her ponytail. “Amy sucks. I guess I see why you two get along.”

Burn.

Aunt Rose gestured to Jeremy. “Dear, take off your coat and join us. We have plenty of food.”

“It has been a long day,” Jeremy said. He peeled off the tan coat, revealing a suit and navy-striped tie that was still perfectly knotted even after his “long day,” while Aunt Rose got him a plate from the cabinet. He pulled out the chair beside Winter, and she grudgingly scooted over. “Amy is excitable,” he said, not bothering to defend his girlfriend. “She wants to sue both Holly and Grimm.”

Connor arched a brow. “She can try, but she signed an iron-clad contract with Grimm Productions. What does she want to sue us for?”

“Emotional distress and physical harm.”

“That bead of blood really did her in,” Holly snickered, and Connor’s lips twitched.

Jeremy’s gaze darted from Connor to Holly. “What were you doing at Amy’s house anyway, Hols? Especially with that disgusting rodent? I’ve told you time and again those things are riddled with salmonella.”

Holly slammed her glass on the table, suddenly so very tired of Jeremy’s unsolicited lectures. “He is not a rodent!” The outburst was satisfying, but it cost her. She flinched as her aching headache morphed into a full-blown migraine. She reached for the sparkling cider bottle, knowing from experience that hydration helped.

Jeremy shook his head with disapproval. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”

Missy covered her eyes. “Oh no you didn’t.”

Aunt Daisy quickly tried to ask Jeremy about work, but it was too late. Holly stared at him with every ounce of menace she possessed. Outside a tree branch tapped on the glass as the wind picked up. “What did you just say to me?”

“You’re clearly drunk. I’d say you’ve had enough.” He plucked the sparkling cider bottle from her hand and set it out of reach.

Holly’s mouth dropped open. The audacity! She could not imagine such a scenario in reverse, because men were allowed to have outbursts without it being assumed they were drunk and hysterical. How could Jeremy think he had the right to police her decisions in her house? What made him think he knew what was best for her body?

The whole table fell silent, and a muscle ticked in Connor’s jaw. Holly stood, reached over Jeremy, and snagged the bottle. She sat back down and filled her glass to within a centimeter of the top. She wasn’t going to bother telling him she hadn’t had so much as a sip of alcohol or that it was cider rather than wine; it was none of his business either way. “You don’t get to make decisions about my body.”

Connor gave her a feral smile of approval just as the edges of her vision began to blur from the migraine.

Jeremy opened his mouth to retort but visibly flinched. Holly was pretty sure Missy had kicked him under the table.

Aunt Daisy broke the tension by asking Jeremy about work again, and while he yammered on about a new tax law, Holly leaned forward and whispered across her plate to Connor, “I think I know why Councilman Miller was murdered.”

“Why’s that?”

“He told Autumn she didn’t need to drink another glass of wine.”

Connor threw his head back and laughed, and Holly found herself responding to his merriment with a grin of her own. She only noticed that they’d become the center of attention when the table went quiet again. Charlotte was staring at Connor as if she’d never seen him crack a smile before, and Jeremy was glowering.

By then Holly’s vision was almost completely gone. She suffered from ocular migraines when she overextended herself, which meant temporary blindness and a headache so splitting it made her want to scream.

“Excuse me,” she said, pushing her chair out. She gripped the table edge with both hands and tried to picture the layout of the room. She could not, would not weave or bump into something in front of Jeremy and fuel his mistaken assumption that she was drunk.

“Holly, do you need your tonic?” Aunt Rose asked.

“Yes, please.” There was no fooling her aunts; they were aware of all the freak weather changes lately and what the consequences would be for Holly. Besides, no one mixed a potion like Aunt Rose.

Holly cautiously walked out of the room and was somewhat amazed that she managed to do so without running into any furniture. She made it all the way to the living room before she crashed into the stair banister and stumbled backward. Warm hands caught her arms and steadied her. “Need some help?”

She was relieved to hear Connor’s deep voice by her ear instead of Jeremy’s know-it-all nasally one. She shivered at the whisper of warm breath on the back of her neck.

“I’m having a migraine,” she admitted. “I can’t see.”

Connor made a noise in the back of his throat. “I thought there was something wrong. Can you make it up the stairs?”

“Probably, but maybe you could guide me so I don’t knock over any vases in the hallway upstairs?”

“I’ll do you one better.”

She gave a little shriek as he scooped her into his arms. With one arm around her back and the other curved under her knees, Connor started up the stairs with surprising ease. Sightless, she was more aware than ever of his pine and spice scent, of his body heat warming his T-shirt, and the shifting muscles of his torso beneath the thin cotton. She tried to control her breathing, excruciatingly aware that her sort-of-nemesis was cradling her close to his chest and that his long fingers were splayed just above her knee, burning through the denim.

“Where to?” he asked, his chest rumbling.

“To the left. Mine is the last room on the right.”

He followed her directions, his steps soundless on the runner, and pushed open the door to her room with his foot.

Holly bit her lip as she tried to imagine how her room appeared to him. There were books scattered everywhere because she’d been trying to find a particular romance the other night, and more than one pair of jeans had been tried on and tossed without being refolded. An entire wall was a collage of old-fashioned Polaroids and black-and-white photos of items on the farm: apples, sunsets, birds, and flowers. She’d left her window open, and the room smelled of fresh rain and apple blossoms.

Connor stepped over something lying on the floor and set her on the edge of her bed, her thigh brushing against his and his hand sliding across her shoulder blades as he released her. Holly spread her fingers on the rough, cream-colored quilt behind her. “Thanks.”

A heartbeat passed before he said in a low voice, “Do you want me to take off your boots?”

“I can do that.”

“Won’t it hurt your head to bend over?”

It would, actually. She’d planned on swallowing ibuprofen and lying down as she was, or at least until Aunt Rose delivered her elixir. But the temptation of having her boots off and not touching her clean bed was too much to resist. “Yes. If you want to, that’d be great.”

There was a heavy pause, and then his knee was brushing against her boot as he kneeled in front of her. He lifted her foot with one big hand wrapped around her ankle and set the sole on his hard thigh. She tried not to breathe, knowing that if she did she would draw in lungfuls of him . He tugged on the laces, the quiet rasp of cotton sliding over cotton filling the room as he released the bow, and then he was loosening the rest of the laces with steady, competent fingers. By the time he cupped his hand around her heel again to gently tug off the boot, her stomach was pitching with a feeling she was uninterested in acknowledging. Air hit her foot and she set it down, but it landed on his thigh, and this time she was wearing socks instead of boots and could feel every warm inch of him. She quickly jerked her foot away.

“Er—sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” His voice was low and gravelly as he reached for her other foot, his arm grazing the inside of her thigh. She hated her lungs for going breathless simply because this charismatic ghost hunter was kneeling at her feet, taking off her shoes. If she admitted to herself how much he was affecting her, she’d have to hide in her room for the rest of eternity, reading books about how to develop common sense. Connor Grimm probably slept with a new woman at every filming location, and here she was breathing hard from having her boots unlaced. It was pathetic. Clearly, she’d gone too long without intimacy.

He deftly unlaced and pulled off her second boot and set it to the side. She waited for him to stand, but he didn’t. She could almost feel the heat radiating from him and wondered what he was thinking, wondered why he hadn’t moved. “Need help taking anything else off?”

“Um, nope. I’m good.”

He laughed quietly and pushed to his feet.

“Before you leave, will you put the bottle of ibuprofen in my hand? It’s on my nightstand.”

The air shifted and he returned a moment later, the pills rattling in the bottle. He pressed a water glass into her hand, which he must’ve also found on her nightstand, and then asked her how many pills before shaking them into her palm.

Holly swallowed the tablets and then crawled over her bed and gingerly laid her head on the pillow.

“Your aunt asked if you needed a tonic?”

“Oh, it’s just a folk remedy for headaches.” She pressed her fingertips to her temples, and they pulsed with her own heartbeat. “Like Alka-Seltzer and stuff.” Or not.

He made a humming noise in the back of his throat. “I see. Are you going to sleep in your jeans?”

Her fingers drifted to the top button of her jeans. She’d chosen a much snugger pair than usual, and they were digging into her belly. “Cover me and I’ll take them off myself.”

A moment later the blankets underneath her feet tugged and Connor draped them over her body, concealing her from view. “You don’t need help?”

“I’ve been undressing myself for a long time.” She exhaled with relief when she popped the button and dragged the zipper down. She swore the sound of the teeth peeling apart was louder than usual.

Connor’s voice was strained when he said, “I want to search the attic tomorrow if you’re up for it. These old cellars are usually damp, so I think the attic is our best shot at finding letters or other paperwork in decent condition.”

“Okay.” Holly shoved the waistband of the jeans down her hips, and they caught around her thighs. She wriggled, but that was a mistake—her head instantly exploded with pain from the jerky movement. She hissed between her teeth and paused, lying completely still.

Connor’s voice was blessedly low and—concerned?—when he asked, “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Your pants are stuck, aren’t they?”

“Fuck off, Grimm.”

He laughed. “Let me help you. I won’t look, I promise. I’ll stare at the wall and reach under the blanket.”

“Like a gyno exam?”

He cleared his throat. “Um …”

Holly flushed, horrified. “No, not like that! I just meant how at the gynecologist you have the sheet on you and the doctor goes under and … never mind. It’s not like you’d know. Please leave before I die of mortification.”

“Holly, I’m a grown-ass adult. I can hear about a gynecology exam without fainting. Now if you want me to leave, I will. But if you want me to take off your pants, I’ll do that too, and I promise we’ll never talk about it again.”

“Fine,” she moaned. “This is already shaping up to be one of the most humiliating days of my life. You might as well.”

The end of the mattress depressed when Connor kneeled on it, and then the air from the opened window slid over her bare skin when he lifted the blanket. The waist band of her jeans was stuck around the thick part of her thighs, and her cheeks heated further when his calloused, warm fingers slipped between the denim and her skin. Without a word, or even an unsteady breath, he efficiently peeled them down her legs and discarded them.

The blanket settled over her legs again, and she felt somewhat worse by how unaffected he was. Not that she wanted him to be interested in her, but she also didn’t want him not to be—for the sake of her ego.

She heard him moving around the room, and then from the doorway he said, “Feel better, Holly. I’ll see you tomorrow.” A few seconds later the door clicked shut.

Holly groaned and pulled the covers over her face.