Page 8 of Nutmeg + Mistletoe
I glance around, then back at the van, then at her—who’s practically vibrating with excitement. “You do realize there are entire documentaries about women disappearing after getting into vans exactly like this, don’t you?”
She throws her head back, laughing. “Well. I can give you three reasons why that’snothappening tonight.”
“Oh yeah?” I smirk. “Let’s hear ‘em.”
She lifts her hand, ticking them off with her fingers. “One: Black women don’t go missing in these situations. Kidnappers know we talk too damn much. They’d throw us back within ten minutes.”
I bark out a laugh. “Valid. And two?”
“Two: I’m not one of those sweet, bubbly types who lights up a room and offers strangers the shirt off her back. I’m selfish as hell and I’ve had a resting bitch face since I was four.”
“Duly noted.” I nod, grinning. “Three?”
“And three…” She flashes a wicked smile. “I’ve got this devilishly handsome older gentleman with me to protect me.”
That does it—I’m laughing again. Hell, I’ve lost count how many times this woman’s made me laugh tonight.
“Fine,” I say, shaking my head. “Let’s go get our palms read or whatever ridiculous thing this is.”
“Yay!” she squeals, tugging me toward the van like we’re about to waltz into a five-star spa.
And damn if I’m not following her willingly—likeI’mthe unsuspecting woman who’s just been lured in with promises of tacos and a nap out the back of a van.
Eslin knocks on the van door. No answer.
“Welp! We tried. Want to grab some food?” I say, but she doesn’t back down.
“Don’t be scared, Grant! They probably just have music blaring or something. The strip is loud!”
I watch in pure disbelief as she jiggles the back door handle of the van like she’s unlocking her own damn apartment.
“Why are you socommittedto being murdered tonight?” I whisper-yell.
She laughs again, bright and reckless. “Oh hush!” she calls, just as the door pops open with a groan.
“Esl—” I bark, reaching for her back to pull her the hell out of there. But my hand meets nothing but warm, bare skin—smooth, flawless, kissed by the God’s hand—and fuck me, that’s a dangerous distraction. I should be walking in the opposite direction right now. I’d ruin her.
But instead...I follow her.
Inside, the van has been converted into some kind of makeshift psychic den. Heavy velvet drapes hang along the walls, trying—and failing—to hide the rusted metal underneath. A low table sits inthe center, draped with a deep purple cloth, a cracked crystal ball perched on top. String lights run around the ceiling, their soft yellow glow flickering just enough to make everything look vaguely mystical.
A beat-up velvet sofa—probably stolen from an old casino lounge—sits against the far wall, its cushions mismatched and sagging. The air smells like incense and cheap wine.
There’s a woman—or whatmightbe a woman—curled up on the ragged sofa, out cold. Eslin clears her throat.
How polite she is as we break and enter.
I swear to God, my pulse kicks up like we’re about to wake a sleeping bear. The longer I look, the less sure I am if this is a man or a woman.
Suddenly, the figure startles and jerks upright. “Welcome to SheSeesThings Incorporated.”
Original.
“How can I—” She coughs, loud and gravelly—like she smokes six packs of cigarettes and a handful of Swisher Sweets a day. Definitely a woman. “—help you?” she finishes.
“We would like—” Eslin starts sweetly.
“To leave you to your rest, miss,” I cut in fast, trying to redirect this trainwreck before it really gets rolling.
