On My Way - Eve Langlais Page 0,10

any hesitation, whereas I really questioned my life choices. Going down into a basement alone with a guy, and no one knew I was here.

“You coming?” he shouted up from the bottom.

My anxiety screamed at me to run away.

I straightened my shoulders and lifted my chin. There was nothing to fear but fear itself. I repeated that as I went down the steps, feeling my trepidation loosen as I entered a well-lit basement that was, as he said, full of junk. Or as my sales pitch would refer to it, undiscovered treasures.

The space hadn’t been sectioned off like most lower levels. It had a few metal posts sunk into the cement floor supporting joists. The walls were made of stone blocks, not the earth I’d feared.

Everything appeared dry, and yet I knew to ask, “Ever have water issues?” I crouched to examine a side table with spindly wooden legs.

“Nope.”

I ran my hand over the wood and didn’t spot any signs of swelling. As a matter of fact, I didn’t smell any mildew at all, which was impressive. Even my old basement in suburbia had a bit of a scent that no amount of dehumidifying could get rid of.

I moved amongst the items, taking note of the things that I thought might catch buyers’ eyes and the things he’d be better off ditching. At the far end of the basement, a tarp covered a large lump.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“An old hobby of my grandma’s.” He moved past me to grab the covering and yanked it loose.

I gaped. “Is that a pottery wheel?”

Not a modern version, if I went by its appearance. It had a metal seat hinged onto a frame that had a large stone at the bottom, a post running up the middle, and the spinning stone where the magic happened. Pottery magic, not the sparkly kind.

“My grandma went through a period of crafts. Thankfully none of the blobs survived. Only the wheel. You’ll find a ton of archery stuff in the garage from her Katniss phase.”

“Your grandma watched The Hunger Games?”

He rolled his shoulders. “She was pretty hip for an old lady.”

“Mine believed in magic,” I admitted. I’d only ever had the one grandparent. I didn’t recall ever meeting anyone on my dad’s side. Other than grandma and my mom, no family on my matriarchal side, either.

“You don’t believe in magic?” he said.

I wrinkled my nose. “No. It’s just a word people use when they don’t know how to explain a phenomenon via science.”

“What if you couldn’t explain it? Would it be magic then?”

“More likely something we’ve yet to discover.”

“You’re serious, aren’t you?”

Insight hit me, and I blurted out, “Holy cow, you believe it exists.”

“I’ve seen things science can’t explain.”

“Like what?”

“Ghosts, for starters.”

“Ghosts aren’t real.”

“Says you and only because you haven’t encountered one yet.”

“And you have?” I scoffed. He had to be pulling my leg.

“Yup. You’ll encounter them most often in places that have been around awhile. Like this house. It’s been passed down quite a few generations and has a history.”

“Your home is haunted?” I couldn’t help my skepticism.

“Very.”

“I don’t believe in ghosts.”

“Does this mean you won’t be cuddling up for safety?” His eyes twinkled.

I snorted. “No.”

“Then how about cuddling for fun?”

“Uh.” It wasn’t just the offer that had me speechless, but the smile. A sexy grin that got closer as he entered my space. His hand reached for my waist and drew me near.

His head was coming down.

Down.

Oh geez. He was going to kiss me. I hadn’t brushed my teeth since the morning. What if I had lunch breath or, worse, some salad caught somewhere and it came loose?

I recoiled so hard I lost my balance and fell onto a garbage bag, which split down one side leaving me lying on a pile of dolls. Imagine, if you would, heads of all sizes, some bald with unblinking eyes, some with ringlets and kinky hair, all staring.

“Get me out of this!” I might have panic-whispered the demand as I held out my hand.

Darryl grabbed me and hauled me to my feet easily. He let go and took a step back.

Way to go. I’d made him think he had cooties. Awful schoolyard game, especially since I’d once gotten head lice, and everyone knew because the school sent a letter home to all the parents of kids in my class.

“Sorry. I’m so clumsy. Left-handed,” I said with a nervous laugh, shaking the poor abused limb.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me.” The statement showed I hadn’t fooled him one