Page 116 of Haunted

He’s known me since I was seven. Come on.

“Sir?” the saleswoman says. “Do you know your size?”

“Nine, I think,” I say. “But try it anyway. Jonny, call Shelley.”

She tries the ring sizer on me while Jonny dials. “Can you put me through to Shelley Bishop please? I’m her nephew. Well, I think she would want to be interrupted. It’s very important.” He looks at his phone. “Did you just add me to the Broussard family group chat?”

“Nine and a half,” the saleswoman says. She boxes up the rings and puts them in a bag. I hand her my debit card.

“Two and a half minutes! Well done!” I say as I take the bag.

“Hi, Aunt Shelley. Sorry for bothering you at work, I—”

“Give me the phone,” I say. He surrenders it immediately. “Shelley, he just proposed, and we’re getting married in twenty-nine minutes at the courthouse. Can you make it?”

“Jesus Christ!” she shouts. “Yes! Oh my God, yes!”

“Great. See you soon.” I hand back the phone and open the door for my fiancé, who looks exhilarated and slightly windswept.

My phone beeps as we’re getting back into the truck.

Chapter forty

Jonny

We’re lying naked, side by side, in our bed. The studio is littered with clothes discarded too hastily. If I ever wanted proof that Lance loves me, it’s in the fact that the uniform he treats like a holy relic is currently lying rumpled on the floor. I have the feeling this might be the only time in my life I ever see it in this state.

I’m trying to record my new voicemail greeting, but I keep getting derailed by my new husband.

“This is Jonny Bish—hey! What the fuck, Lance?” He’s just tweaked my nipple. Although, looking at me through his annoyingly perfect lashes, he could not look more pleased with himself if he tried.

“You gave the wrong name! I’m not letting you record a brand new greeting with the old one.”

I huff. “It was force of habit. No more distractions.”

“Go on, then,” he says. He laces his hands behind his head and looks up at the ceiling.

I hit the button to re-record. “You’ve reached the voicemail of Jonathan Broussard. I—”

“Are you a Jonathan now?”

I stop the recording. “Seriously? That was take seven and it was flawless.”

“Yeah, but. Jonathan?”

“Doesn’t it sound good? Jonathan Broussard?”

“I guess,” he says, with a look that says he’s not sold.

“Take number eight.” I punch in the number seven to retry. “This is Jonny Broussard. I can’t—”

Lance sneezes so loudly I check the wall to make sure there aren’t bits of his brain splattered on it.

I stop the recording. “What the hell was that?”

“Sorry!” He smiles. “It just snuck up on me.”

“That was the fakest-ass sneeze I’ve ever heard!” I hit seven again. “This is Jonny Broussard and I can’t keep up with this if you’re smiling at me like that!”