vanishes.”
Dee looked back at the pictures, curious. “Have you seen him?”
“No.”
“Any at all?”
“No.”
“Do you believe in ghosts?”
He hesitated and she glanced up. “I relate to them,” he said.
She arched a brow.
“Constantly searching for something they miss. In a place they don’t belong, with no idea how to escape it.”
His words were serious. She lowered thepaper. “Do they escape in your comic?”
“Sometimes. It’s about a homeless teen who lives in the empty ballroom above Flinders Street station. He sees the ghosts. Helps them when he can. Sometimes it goes badly and he has to help himself instead.”
“Does he have a story arc?”
Jed nodded, smiling. “There’s a twist coming.”
“Ooh, I love twists. Don’t tell me a thing.” As she held his phone out,she spoke more softly. “Do you still feel like you’re missing something?”
His fingers passed over hers and Dee’s nerves jumped like curled ribbon. “Yeah,” he said, holding her stare. “But I’m hunting it down.”
She nodded once and lowered her hand. He’d tracked her down as part of the hunt, just a stop along the way. Sidestepping that pain, she said, “You’ve still got ink on your cheek.”
Jedraised a hand. His fingers hovered over the wrong side of his face as he watched her for direction. Smiling wryly, she moved in, licking the pad of her thumb and rising onto her tiptoes. Feigning woeful balance, she held his shoulder as she reached, aching when body heat filled her palm and muscle tensed beneath. A stolen touch, to please the desire low in her belly. There it curled inwards; a leafcaught too near fire but not close enough to catch aflame.
It was torture to heat without burning.
Her body missed Jed’s touch, and knew it.
As she ran her thumb over his skin, she resolved to do what she could to help him hunt. She’d had ten years of not knowing his fate. If he moved on, she refused to be left wondering again. He could leave her once he was whole. Then she could miss him,plain and simple, without worry cluttering up her heart.
Jed’s hand had lowered, and he’d grown still as she gently rubbed at the mark. It took her a moment to notice that neither of them were breathing; another again to realize her breasts were invading the personal space of his chest. In a swift glance, she saw his eyes downcast, pinned on the scene.
“Sorry,” she said. “Pretend I’m a buxommatron or something.”
He exhaled, a kind of laugh without apparent humor.
“Bit hard, I guess, since they were the first you saw.” She spoke to avoid silence. It’d rat her out, revealing the thundering of her pulse, the scream of her body. Her breasts ached to have the fabric stripped aside; to feel his hot skin on hers. “I’m assuming, anyway. You’d never mentioned anyone else.”
“There was noone else.”
Dee tilted her head, eyes narrowed on his cheek, and pretended she’d missed a spot. As she rubbed, she sensed Jed’s stare and for an instant, she met dark eyes that seemed to know exactly what she was doing. Looking back to the cut of his cheekbone, she couldn’t help her next question. “But there have been others since. Did it take you long to move on?”
Voice deep with quiet, he said,“A while, yes.”
“Did you love any of them?”
“Dee.”
Her thumb fell away. She stayed close, gaze on the base of his neck. “I’m just asking.”
“Yes, I did.”
A lump grew, unwelcome, in her throat. She just nodded.
Jed inhaled and Dee imagined him saying he hadn’t loved any of them the way he’d loved her. That she’d always been special to him. His first love. His deepest.
Instead, he said, “Ithink it’s time for breakfast.”
With the lump still strong, she nodded again. Alone and undesired, she retreated to her bedroom to change.
Another unsatisfying ending for Dee Johnson.
*
Dee nudged her syrup-stained plate into the middle of the table and leaned back in her chair. They sat
Dee looked back at the pictures, curious. “Have you seen him?”
“No.”
“Any at all?”
“No.”
“Do you believe in ghosts?”
He hesitated and she glanced up. “I relate to them,” he said.
She arched a brow.
“Constantly searching for something they miss. In a place they don’t belong, with no idea how to escape it.”
His words were serious. She lowered thepaper. “Do they escape in your comic?”
“Sometimes. It’s about a homeless teen who lives in the empty ballroom above Flinders Street station. He sees the ghosts. Helps them when he can. Sometimes it goes badly and he has to help himself instead.”
“Does he have a story arc?”
Jed nodded, smiling. “There’s a twist coming.”
“Ooh, I love twists. Don’t tell me a thing.” As she held his phone out,she spoke more softly. “Do you still feel like you’re missing something?”
His fingers passed over hers and Dee’s nerves jumped like curled ribbon. “Yeah,” he said, holding her stare. “But I’m hunting it down.”
She nodded once and lowered her hand. He’d tracked her down as part of the hunt, just a stop along the way. Sidestepping that pain, she said, “You’ve still got ink on your cheek.”
Jedraised a hand. His fingers hovered over the wrong side of his face as he watched her for direction. Smiling wryly, she moved in, licking the pad of her thumb and rising onto her tiptoes. Feigning woeful balance, she held his shoulder as she reached, aching when body heat filled her palm and muscle tensed beneath. A stolen touch, to please the desire low in her belly. There it curled inwards; a leafcaught too near fire but not close enough to catch aflame.
It was torture to heat without burning.
Her body missed Jed’s touch, and knew it.
As she ran her thumb over his skin, she resolved to do what she could to help him hunt. She’d had ten years of not knowing his fate. If he moved on, she refused to be left wondering again. He could leave her once he was whole. Then she could miss him,plain and simple, without worry cluttering up her heart.
Jed’s hand had lowered, and he’d grown still as she gently rubbed at the mark. It took her a moment to notice that neither of them were breathing; another again to realize her breasts were invading the personal space of his chest. In a swift glance, she saw his eyes downcast, pinned on the scene.
“Sorry,” she said. “Pretend I’m a buxommatron or something.”
He exhaled, a kind of laugh without apparent humor.
“Bit hard, I guess, since they were the first you saw.” She spoke to avoid silence. It’d rat her out, revealing the thundering of her pulse, the scream of her body. Her breasts ached to have the fabric stripped aside; to feel his hot skin on hers. “I’m assuming, anyway. You’d never mentioned anyone else.”
“There was noone else.”
Dee tilted her head, eyes narrowed on his cheek, and pretended she’d missed a spot. As she rubbed, she sensed Jed’s stare and for an instant, she met dark eyes that seemed to know exactly what she was doing. Looking back to the cut of his cheekbone, she couldn’t help her next question. “But there have been others since. Did it take you long to move on?”
Voice deep with quiet, he said,“A while, yes.”
“Did you love any of them?”
“Dee.”
Her thumb fell away. She stayed close, gaze on the base of his neck. “I’m just asking.”
“Yes, I did.”
A lump grew, unwelcome, in her throat. She just nodded.
Jed inhaled and Dee imagined him saying he hadn’t loved any of them the way he’d loved her. That she’d always been special to him. His first love. His deepest.
Instead, he said, “Ithink it’s time for breakfast.”
With the lump still strong, she nodded again. Alone and undesired, she retreated to her bedroom to change.
Another unsatisfying ending for Dee Johnson.
*
Dee nudged her syrup-stained plate into the middle of the table and leaned back in her chair. They sat
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