by Ani Gonzalez
Good, the conversation about his recently deceased engagement was officially over. Time to focus on the one thing he didn't mess up: food.
He noted with amusement that his new dishes had tiny fish on them. Hell, even the silverware had a fish design. In the past few years he hadn't once eaten from a dish with a fish design, or even any design at all. Everything in L.A. was either gourmet white or conspicuously rustic. One memorable meal had featured colorful recycled glass, another agate geodes as plates.
But no fish.
He nodded approvingly. The plates were a pleasant reminder that L.A. was in a galaxy far, far away. He spooned pasta onto the plates, poured the sauce, and then took the plates to the dining room table. The jack o' lantern sat in the middle of the table, glowing merrily.
"That's our centerpiece?" he asked, amused. "I'm not sure it matches the fish china."
Lily finished folding the napkins. "This will give us enough light to eat in case the power goes out."
"Very resourceful."
He set the plates on the table. Lily had found green placemats and napkins. The napkins, he was happy to see, were plain white. Good, he wasn't sure he could take fish napkins. He grabbed a dark red bottle from the table and glanced at the label—Haunted Orchard's Bloody Hook Cider Mix.
"Is this one of Gabe's products?" The local cidery was among his brother's many investments. It was, like all of Gabe's businesses, doing marvelously.
"Yep, it's the Christmas Cider. See?" she pointed at the label, which featured a cartoon Santa Claus with a menacing grin and a hook for a hand.
"Very festive." Evil Santa seemed to wink at him as he set the bottle down on the table. "I wonder who came up with that particular marketing campaign."
"Don't you know? I think you're listed as one of Haunted Orchard's owners."
"Maybe I am." He laughed at the thought. "Gabe manages my money and I have no idea where he puts it. Maybe I do own a Halloween-themed cidery."
He sat down and opened the bottle. The smell of apples, cinnamon and alcohol, lots of alcohol, filled the air. "Is it any good? I wouldn't want to be known for brewing mediocre cider."
"It's devil monkey good," Lily said, drily. "It'll make you see things that aren't there." She sat down and stared at her pasta plate doubtfully.
"Don't worry," he reassured her. "My sauce won't make you hallucinate."
He tasted the cider. It was good—sharp and acidic and with a bit of a punch. He took a long sip.
"Be careful. That thing has a lot of bourbon."
"Good. It's been an eventful night and I could really use some bourbon right now."
But the need for alcoholic refreshment wasn't due to the booby trap or the snowball fight. Those were actually rather invigorating.
No, it was the goddamned conversation about Ariel that had drained him.
And the Bloody Hook Mix really hit the spot. He still glanced at the alcohol percentage. Yowza. This was not apple juice. His brother's cider was likely flammable.
"Told ya," Lily said smugly. "You'll be all right, as long as you don't start setting booby traps."
He took another sip. "This tastes like a winner. I'll have to tell Gabe."
"I think he already knows. It's sold out everywhere."
She looked down at her pasta. She picked up her fork hesitantly and moved the pasta around. After a couple of revolutions, she put the fork down and picked up her cider.
"Are you going to tell your family?" she asked.
"About Gabe's probably-illegal, mega-intoxicating bestseller? No." He put the bottle down. "You know, this stuff could be used as an alternative fuel resource."
That wasn't what she meant, of course, but the last thing he wanted to discuss right now was his family's reaction to his broken engagement. He put a forkful of pasta in his mouth. The sauce was delicious. At least one thing had gone right today. And sitting here, by the light of the jack o'lantern, discussing his brother's crazy investments with Lily was very relaxing. Even the music was pleasant, in a hectic, cartoony way. He started to hum along. Maybe this weekend wouldn't be so bad after all.
"About the affair," Lily said, sharply. "Does your family know about the affair? Or the pictures?"
Okay, maybe not so relaxing. Lily wouldn't be denied would she?
"Not all of it." He shrugged. "I told Gabe I'd broken up with Ariel. I didn't share any details."
He reached for the cider bottle again. Lily was right, he had to tell his family the whole sordid story. The pictures would hit the tabloids soon. He did not relish the prospect.
"Your mom is going to go ballistic."
"To put it mildly." His mom had already gone ballistic. That's why she'd engineered this cabin makeover. She was going to make Mount Vesuvius seem puny when she heard about the pictures.
"You have to tell her." Lily leveled a stern glance at him. "Everything."
"I know." He gave a resigned sigh and fiddled with the pasta on his plate. "I just don't know how."
He picked up a forkful of pasta and put it in his mouth. Maybe Lily would take the hint and start eating. This conversation was going nowhere.
"Yes, you do." Lily's voice was firm. "You go up to her, you give her a kiss and you say 'Mom, I'm not engaged anymore and my slut of a girlfriend played hide the chorizo with her director in a Turkish hot tub. Oh, and the pictures are coming out next week. Feliz Navidad.'"
He laughed so hard that he almost choked on the pasta.
"That might work," he said, amidst chortling. "Can you write it down for me?"
"You don't need a script for this, Sebastian," she said firmly. "Just tell the truth."
"The truth?" he drawled, leaning back against the chair. "Let's see. My girlfriend's career wasn't doing so well, so she talked me into doing a silly action movie because, if I signed up, she would get a part. While we were shooting the movie, she figured that an affair with the director would be even better for her career. She leaked the location of her rendezvous to the tabloids, so they could get some pictures. You know, to preserve these events for posterity."
Lily stared at him, mouth agape.
"She told her agent, who contacted the studio and they came up with a brilliant plan. The studio paid the tabloids to delay the release of the pictures until the film had been out for a couple of weeks, and, in the meantime, she asked for an engagement ring, which I dutifully bought, and arranged to have the tabloids take various pictures of our engagement bliss."
"Did you know?" Lily gasped.
"Of course not," he snorted. "I had no idea why I had all these paparazzi following me all the time. I knew nothing until my agent called me to mention that my contract for the War of the Gods sequel had a very strange clause that required that I reconcile with Ariel during the shooting. My agent found that a bit suspicious."
"And you still didn't know?"
"My agent did some digging. He found the photos and sent them to me. I called Ariel and she claimed that it would be great for both of our careers. All I had to do was get over the my-girl's-sleeping-with-another-guy issues and play along. She was very reasonable about it."
Lily stared, her green eyes wide with shock. That was pretty much the same look he'd gotten from the studio underling when he'd refused to sign the contract. The sequel was still pretty much up in air while everyone waited to see the public's reaction.
"Well, that's why I'm not engaged anymore." He picked up another forkload of pasta. "And that's why I'm not sure how I'm going to tell my mom."
"Are you going to reconcile with Ariel?"
"Hell no," he said, firmly.
Take Ariel back? Did Lily think he was an idiot? Perhaps. The expression on her face definitely implied that he'd missed something obvious. Then again, she'd downed a full bottle of Gabe's extremely potent cider on top of whatever she'd been drinking before he got here. Her intellectual faculties were probably somewhat impaired
"Then you're set," she said, sounding very sure of herself. "All you have to do
is tell your mom that Ariel had an affair, you broke up with her when you found out, and there will be a couple of nasty pictures in the papers. She won't care as long as you're not in the pictures."
Sebastian considered her plan. It couldn't be that simple, could it? But maybe she was on to something. If he played it right, his mom would be so relieved about the fact that it wasn't his naked ass on those pictures, she'd forget all about the broken engagement. He ran the lines through under his breath.
"Yes. This could work," he said slowly.
He'd been so focused on his own pain and embarrassment, he hadn't even considered that the solution could be so simple.
Lily drank her cider, her lips curved into a smug smile. It was a familiar expression and he felt something inside him thaw in response.
"You don't have to be so pleased with yourself," he teased. "You're not always right, you know."
A frown replaced her merry smile. She pushed the loose strand behind her ear and glared at him.
"Are you talking about Hollywood again?" she asked, eyes glinting dangerously.
That stung. What kind of an asshole did she think he was? He wasn't rubbing his so-called success in her face. Hell, if Hollywood were that important to him, he wouldn't be licking his wounds in his spectre-ridden hometown with his own personal ghost sitting right across from him, angry and beautiful and honest and smart and...true.
"You know what, Lil? You're lucky you didn't make it to Hollywood. " He pointed to the flickering glow of the jack o'lantern. "The monsters in Banshee Creek are fake, but the ones in L.A. are all too real. You probably think you missed out on wealth and fame, but you're wrong. You're better off here."
Lily took a long drink of cider and looked into his eyes.
"I'm happy in Banshee Creek, Sebastian." She licked her lips thoughtfully. "There's one thing I regret about not going to Hollywood." The orange light of the pumpkin made her eyes glow. "But it's not the glamour. Or the fame."
She put her elbows on the table and leaned forward, her chin on her hands. The position made her v-neck sweater dip, exposing a fair bit of décolletage. He tore his gaze away and focused on the intent expression on her face, and the deep warmth of her eyes.
"It's you," she said.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
IT'S YOU.
She instantly regretted the words. This was the Bloody Hook cider talking, not her.
Sebastian was quiet, his gaze focused on his plate of coagulating pasta. The final strains to The Sorcerer's Apprentice died off and the howling wind was the only accompaniment to a suddenly uncomfortable conversation.
She fiddled with the fork and shifted her feet. Why had she made such a troublesome confession? They were sort of, kind of becoming friends again and her silly outburst had spoiled that. Now, there would be this awkward thing between them.
"And now," the deejay's voice rang out, "for our last offering, a little break from all this cartoonish fun. Guiseppe Tartini's Devil's Trill. This is a violin sonata so technically demanding the composer maintained that Satan himself had played it for him in a dream. So, did Signore Tartini sell his soul for the most difficult violin composition of all time? Judge for yourselves."
She winced as a shrieking violin joined the raucous lashings of the storm. WPRV's foray into cultural programming was getting quite annoying. Still, it was better than the devil monkey hunt updates.
Barely.
"Not the fame or fortune?" Sebastian asked in a caustic tone.
She straightened in her chair. Was he calling her a liar?
"No," she said firmly, stabbing her pasta with her fork. "You wanted those." Another strident violin chord. "I just wanted to design movie sets. Designers don't get famous or wealthy."
That wiped the smirk off his face
"Although I am a little bit famous now," Lily continued, affecting a theatrically smug expression. Time to lighten up the conversation. Above all, she wanted to avoid rehashing their bitter break up. "I won a Top Haunted House Stager Award at the Speculative Television Awards last year."
"Speculative..." his voice trailed off. "That sounds familiar."
"It should. You have two Sexiest Ghoul awards."
He frowned. "Are those the ones shaped like..." He drew a phallic shape in the air.
"Yep. Those are the ones." She picked at the pasta with her fork. "At least yours are. My award is house-shaped."
"I guess I got lucky." His sarcasm was now tinged with amusement, and Lily almost sighed with relief.
"You did." She congratulated herself on the evenness of her tone. She'd even managed not to roll her eyes. Was Sebastian seriously whining about his life as a movie star? "You have a stellar career, insane amounts of money, a family that cares for you, and friends who are willing to put up with your ridiculous complaints."
"Well..." his voice trailed off.
"So, you got played by your girlfriend? Don't worry about it." She raised her pasta-laden fork. "You'll find someone else."
Sebastian stared at his plate morosely, and Lily's heart clenched painfully. Was he still in love with Ariel? Of course he was. Sebastian didn't do things halfway. He threw caution to the winds. He did it when he left for L.A. a decade ago and surely he also did it when he fell for Ariel.
Stupid Ariel.
They sat in silence as the last strains of the Devil's Thrill sonata faded away.
"Well, that's it for our new cultural segment." The deejay's tinny voice was a welcome break to the awkward silence. "Let us know what you think. We're thinking of doing opera next, Mozart's Don Giovanni. Sure, Mozart's name doesn't conjure up images of murderous stone golems right now, but wait until next weekend. This opera will keep you up at night." A creepily discordant organ chord rang out. "But now for a public service announcement from Banshee Creek Fire and Rescue."
The mournful voice of the Banshee Creek police chief came on, warning people about the proper use of night-vision goggles and the wonders of the buddy system. Lily played around with her fishy pasta and tried not to remember the many times she sat with Sebastian, listening to the Chief warn the Banshee Creek Drama Club about the hazards of the town's many supernatural attractions and the proper use of emergency flares during expeditions. She focused on spearing a slippery cylinder with her fork. She especially didn't want to remember leaving the Drama Club camping trip, sneaking into the boathouse with Sebastian, and making out all night under the light of an emergency flare.
But the flickering glow of the plastic pumpkin was too much like the orange light of the emergency flare and Sebastian's cabin, with its wood beams and knotted pine walls, was too similar to the rustic boat house. Even the decor she'd picked reminded her of the boathouse. Why, oh why, had she bought that striped wool throw for the sofa? It was the exact twin to the musty blanket Sebastian had haphazardly thrown over the rough planks of the boathouse floor that night. She could still remember the feel of the scratchy fabric against her naked skin and the liquid heat of Sebastian's lips as he kissed the abrasions away.
She shook the image out of her mind. She wasn't a hormone-crazed teenager anymore and Sebastian's cabin was no boathouse. There was no rickety pile of flimsy canoes waiting to interrupt one's frantic coupling by crashing ignominiously to the floor. But the mere memory of their interrupted coitus made heat spread through her body. She inspected her impaled pasta, desperately searching for a distraction.
Luckily, the deejay came to her rescue.
"Aaaaand we're back with the news." The tinny voice inundated the cabin. "Apparently not all of you took the Chief's words to heart. Three of our neighbors are at Banshee Creek Emergency Care being treated for hypothermia after an ill-advised expedition to the lake."
Lake? She frowned as her attention turned to the radio.
"I blame myself," the deejay said sounding not at all repentant. "I started it with all that talk about hot springs. So, let me clarify: the lake is not a hot spring. Repeat, it's not a hot spring. It's an icy death trap and no devil mo
nkey would be caught dead swimming in it in the middle of a blizzard. Stay out of the lake, people."
Sebastian grimaced. "Someone went swimming?"
"Caine," she answered. "I bet it was Caine." Caine was the leader of the local biker gang and an avid cryptozoologist. Most of the paranormal mishaps around town could be safely attributed to him.
"So let me say it again," the deejay stressed the last word of the sentence. "The devil monkey is not near the lake, people. Stay. Away. From. The. Lake. And now I'm opening the phone lines. This is our worst blizzard in decades. What have you guys seen out there? I'm listening."
A squeaky-voiced teenager greeted his mom, his girlfriend and his cousin working the midnight shift at the emergency clinic, before describing his encounter with a large, furry creature on Stuckeyville Parkway. The convoluted tale gave Lily an idea.
"You want something to worry about?" She dug into her pocket for her cell phone. "Worry about Caine and his posse digging up your front yard searching for devil monkey coprolites."
He caught sight of the phone and his fork clattered as it struck the porcelain plate.
"You wouldn't tell them," he sputtered. "You wouldn't dare."
"Try me," she said.
He stared at her, aghast, while she dialed 1-800-PROVEIT, the WPRV call line.
The call didn't go through.
"You don't have a phone signal," Sebastian said with evident relief.
Lily frowned at her traitorous phone. She'd forgotten about the stupid phone signal. Foiled again.
Then a thought struck her and she eyed Sebastian thoughtfully. "But I bet you do. You wouldn't stay here incommunicado. You'd get a phone that works. "
Sebastian's eyes widened in panic, then shifted to his coat, strewn carelessly on the sofa. Lily leaped out of the chair and managed to pick up the coat a split second before Sebastian tackled her to the rug.
She fell on top of him, the coat trapped between their bodies. The shock of the fall took her breath away. Sebastian's arms felt like steel bands around her and she could feel his warm breath on her neck. Memories flooded over her, including Sebastian pulling her down to the striped blanket and the feel of his hands under her "The Drama Club Does It in Front of Complete Strangers" sweatshirt.
