Kiss Me Forever - M.J. O'Shea Page 0,4

from his second book and a love of the French Quarter. He hadn’t expected to fall for the first house he stepped foot in. It was like a part of him sighed happily and said Yes. This is it.

The cottage wasn’t perfect—his kitchen could use an update, and he’d far rather have air-conditioning than some lazy ceiling fans—but it had wide-plank wooden floors and pretty built-ins, and his bedroom was surprisingly big. Plus, he loved his front porch and the street-level courtyard, where he could sit and watch the life on the quiet end of Royal go by.

Avery was usually tempted to do that, grab a snack and sit out on his porch to correct his papers and chitchat with his neighbors, but he was still weirded out, so he stayed inside with his work. Avery settled into his living room with a beer, some dinner, and a pile of papers to grade. He put on the TV in the background, nothing particular, since he couldn’t manage to concentrate on a show he really liked and finish his work at the same time.

Avery relaxed as he worked, happy to be in his own space. He hoped by the time he went to bed he’d have the day out of his system and he’d be able to sleep. No dreams allowed.

Tyson always felt like the morning came as a relief after a long stretch of darkness, even if he sometimes thought he wouldn’t mind dying after so long living in the gray liminal spaces between humanity and whatever else was out there.

A fuzzy, downy gloom covered everything in warm drippy fog, and the light grew slowly.

It was a day for people like him, for shades who lived on the outside of society. It wasn’t for friends and laughter and sipping wine in the sun. Tyson didn’t know the last time he’d done something like that. He didn’t know the last time he even wanted to.

He stared out the window onto the misty street and wondered what the normal people were doing with their morning—getting up for work, eating toast, kissing their loved ones goodbye.

It was all so foreign to him. He’d never had a life like that, not even when he was like them — when every heart beat counted down the minutes to a time when he would no longer exist.

Tyson sat up in his chair in the library, the one he’d been in all night. He couldn’t bother making his way up to sleep in his actual bed. He didn’t sleep well anyway, most of the time. It had gotten boring over the years, probably. Seemed like such a chore.

The bakery down the street was baking—he smelled buttery croissants and frying beignets easily through the window he’d cracked just to listen to the night. It smelled like everything he wanted. Sometimes Tyson dreamed of shoving entire platefuls of pastries into his mouth, but he knew he couldn’t, as much as he might want to. At least... well, he shouldn’t. Not if he wanted to—

“Morning, dear.” Mrs. Peggs came bustling in. “Do you want your tea?”

“Please, Mrs. Peggs.”

“How many times do I have to ask you to call me Gemma?” she asked.

Hundreds, he assumed. Since she’d already told him countless times over the ninety-odd years she’d been with him. Tyson often wondered if she was sick of his company yet. It had been just the two of them for so, so long.

It was a hell of a lot better than being alone. Or watching people he’d come to care about grow old and die. He’d tried both of those over his considerable lifetime, and he didn’t care to try either of them again.

Luckily Mrs. Peggs had been on her own with no family since she’d been young, and she didn’t mind sticking around to dust his house and bring him his awful but necessary tea, and most importantly be a friend. Family. The only constant in his life.

Sometimes she jokingly chided him for not finding her before she had wrinkles on her face. But then she shrugged and said there were worse fates than being eternally middle-aged. Tyson always laughed.

“Maybe someday you’ll finally listen to me,” She said with a small nudge to his shoulder.

“Doubtful.”

He loved Mrs. Peggs more than he’d ever loved anyone in his long, long life. He smiled tiredly up at her and noticed how the wan, misty light shone off her glossy brown ponytail, and how the smile lines she’d had back when he first met