A Love Song for Ricki Wilde (75)

“After I became a Perennial, I took a train down to South Carolina. I swore I’d never go back, but everything was different now. I couldn’t die. And it struck me that my grief would be eternal. All the loss from the fire, my family, everyone I grew up knowing in Fallon. It’d just stretch on forever, no relief. So I had business with Sheriff Rourke. And nothing to lose. Less than nothing.” Ezra paused. His voice was flat, devoid of emotion. But his jaw was working. And his voice fell deeper, as if he were physically sinking into the memory.

“I got in his house through a basement window. It was after dark; nobody was up. I caught him by the throat. Pistol to his temple. And I told him I knew his secret. I said I’d keep quiet for fifty thousand dollars. Near a million back then. He gave it to me. It was that easy.

“I gave half the cash to the families of the people who burned in the fire, and Sheriff Rourke’s Black descendants. I invested in the town, building schools, hospitals, roads. Today, it’s one of the most prosperous Black towns in the South. I’m… I’m right proud of that.” He briefly glanced at her, his eyes mournful. “I invested my half in property. All over the world. Over the years, the money grew and grew. So… that’s it. That’s how I can afford my lifestyle.”

Ezra stopped talking and looked away. He suddenly looked so much older, the weight of all that time and pain etched on his face.

Ricki couldn’t bear seeing him this way. Her heart crashed against her ribs. It was devastating, the matter-of-fact practicality with which he told his story. She wanted to cry, to fight, to scream into nothingness. For several lifetimes, he’d been carrying these memories alone—but now he had her.

She wanted to draw him to her chest and comfort him, protect him. To smother him with so much steady, secure affection that he’d forget what it was like to suffer alone. Ricki wanted to be Ezra’s support, to be there beside him and help share the weight he was carrying. She wanted to be the one person for whom he could finally let down his walls.

But she couldn’t do all of this if she was to die in ten days. And he would still be alone.

Ricki had no more questions. She understood every detail, and they were in it together.

“I believe you,” she said resolutely.

“You do?” Ezra looked at her with wonder. “Why?”

“Okay. Well, my mom always keeps her house freezing. She thinks it’s good for her skin. When I was little, I always wore this red blanket draped around my shoulders. Everyone thought it was because I was cold, but I was wearing it because it was my magic cloak, and it made all my fantasies come true. I wore it on my grand adventures, making up quests and stomping through the woods behind the house. That cloak and its powers were real to me. I was indestructible when I wore it. I couldn’t explain it. But I had faith that it was true. I grew up, but my magical thinking didn’t. The world’s full of mysteries we can’t explain. The Bermuda Triangle. Siberian sinkholes. Malaysia Airlines Flight 370. Twinkies.”

Ezra’s eyes softened. “Aw, Little Richard. I’m picturing you stomping around in a cape, and it’s really cute.”

“I told you I do not consent to that nickname!”

“I like your coat, by the way.” He gestured at her bright red vintage cape. “The magic red cloak you had when you were a kid, was that your inspiration?”

Smiling, she offered a slight shrug. “I like symbolism.”

“I see that.” He locked his gaze on hers. Bare-naked affection was all over Ezra’s face. The way he looked at her, with that simmering charisma—he ate her alive. Obliterated all her good sense. Was the charge crackling between them just cosmic fate? Or more? Whatever it was, their connection soothed her darkest fears, made her feel more herself and at home than anywhere, and it was currently turning her to liquid in the middle of Starbucks.

“That night at my apartment,” she asked, her voice searching, vulnerable. “Was it real? Or was it just a hex, tricking us into being… like this?”

It gnawed at her, this idea that she was only loved and lovable if a guy was cursed to feel it. Ricki needed to know that it wasn’t just an empty magic trick thrusting them together.

Contemplatively, Ezra slowly ran his fingers along his jaw. “You live as long as I do, you think you’ve felt all the feelings, seen everything there is to see. It’s hard to be surprised. But, Ricki, I’ve never experienced anything like you. You knock me senseless.”

“Oh.”

“The beauty you create in the world. Your optimism, your brain. Your fascination with being fascinated. The way your face fits perfectly under my chin when we’re sleeping. Your tenderness, whether your focus is on the care of a single flower, or… me.” His gaze was unwavering. “Ricki, you’ve turned me upside down. For so long, I’ve lived life like it was something to endure, to push through. But with you? I know how precious it can be. And I refuse to live in a world without you in it.”

Ricki’s heart thundered in her chest. “You… feel all those things for me?”

“I do,” he said quietly. “And I know in my bones that I’d feel them hex or no hex.”

“Me too. I feel so much, it scares me,” she whispered, overwhelmed. The stakes were so high. Ricki wanted a quiet, normal life, to run her little shop, be at peace. And yes, she longed for a passionate romance. But this specific passionate romance? Featuring an immortal lover and a premature death sentence? No.