Page 120 of The Reason I Married Him
“Have you ever seen this?” he asks.
“It has murder. What do you think?” I reply.
“That would be a yes.” He chuckles and then scoops some ice cream into his mouth. “I actually stayed at The Stanley Hotel in Estes Park once.”
“That’s where the movie takes place, right?” I ask.
“Technically, the inspiration, and before you ask, yes, the place was creepy as shit. It might have been just my head, but I was in there for one night and then told myself no more. Not again, and I fled. I stayed in a nice place on the main strip, devoured an entire tub of English toffee from the candy store, and watched reruns ofFriendsto shed the creep off me.”
“Did it work?”
“Partially. I still felt like I had ghost on me for a week later.”
“Explains the little streaks of white in your hair.”
His mouth falls open in abject horror. “Pardon me?”
I let out a loud laugh, even surprising myself. I point toward his temple and say, “You have a few grays. That’s mid-thirties for you.”
“Wow, Aubree.” He shakes his head at me and dips his spoon into his ice cream. “Just wow. And I thought we were becoming friends, but then you go and say something like that. You know what? I rescind my ice cream.”
He reaches for my bowl, but I curl away from him. “You can’t take my ice cream. It’s mine.”
“I can take whatever I want when you insult me with such hideous accusations.”
“It’s not an accusation, it’s facts.”
“Facts that you should look past, that you act like aren’t there. You don’t point them out.” His voice grows to a low, comical growl. “You think I don’t know about those grays? I try to color them with a Sharpie every morning, but they’re not taking to the ink kindly.”
“Shut up,” I say with a laugh. “You do not.”
“I do. I don’t think I’m using the right shade. I’ve put in a color match request with Sharpie, but I’m still waiting on an answer. Told them if they can help a guy out, I will forever and always sign my books with their pens. But right now, Bic’s imitation of the Sharpie is looking like my new best friend.”
“Wow, quite the story there. Also, have you tried the Bic imitation?”
“Of course not,” he scoffs. “Nothing is going to be better than Sharpie. Where’s your head at, Rowley?”
I laugh. “Clearly not in the right place.”
From the corner of my eye, I catch him running his hand over the hair near his temple, and it makes me laugh some more.
He’s just so ridiculous.I’ve never known anyone like him.
And strangely, with every day that goes past, I like it more and more.
“Fuck,I love those twins so much,” he says.
“I don’t understand how they’re so creepy. They’re two nice girls in matching blue dresses, but they cause an ungodly shiver to roll up your spine.”
“The best kind of shiver,” he says. “And the innocent but not innocent factor makes them creepy. Stephen King took an element that seems to be harmless—Danny riding around on his little tricycle, enjoying life—but paired it with sinful music that makes your toenails curl. To then abruptly stop at the end of a hallway because two identical humans are at the end, calling your name...It’s so easy, so simple, but packs a serious punch.”
“Also, you have to mention the knee-high socks. This would be a completely different scene if the knee-high socks weren’t involved,” I say.
He studies the screen for a moment and then nods. “You’re fucking right. The knee-high socks do pack a powerful, frightening punch. Gives that old Victorian picture in the haunted house vibe.” I can almost see him making a mental note.
“Going to use that in your next book?” I ask.
“You can bet your pretty little face on it,” he says, scooting closer. To my surprise, he pushes me forward, drapes his arm around me, and then settles me back onto him, pulling me in close.
