Josefina’s eyes lighten. “Nico uses the same logic.”
Being described as immature is one thing, but to be compared to an eight-year-old kid?
My nose twitches in distaste. “I get your point.”
Being around Julian after nearly a decade apart brings out the worst in me. Things between him and me have always been strained, and it only got worse once we went to college and were introduced to a different kind of issue.
Sexual tension.
Mom tucks my hair behind my ears and straightens my necklace. “I hate to see you two bickering.”
Sometimes I do too. There are brief moments when I wish we could go back to the time right before everything changed.
Before our kiss.
Before he destroyed my heart and any hope for us.
Before he dropped out of Stanford and cut himself out of my life, leaving me to grapple with not only losing Luis Senior but his son too.
My chest tightens.
I never told Julian how much it hurt to be kicked to the curb like I didn’t matter.
And you never will.
The car ride to the Historic District is short, with Julian’s playlist filling the silence. It’s not until he pulls up in front of the library that he finally speaks.
“What’s going on?”
I unbuckle my seat belt. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Impossible wherever you’re concerned.”
My stomach flutters again.
“What are you up to?” he asks after a beat of silence.
“I’m going to go find out more about the Founder’s house. Maybe I can learn about Gerald and Francesca and why the place is haunted.”
His jaw clenches. “There’s no such thing as ghosts.”
“Didn’t you sleep with a night-light until you were twelve?”
“Only because I had to get up a lot during the night to use the bathroom.” His heated glare has the opposite effect on me.
“Right! I forgot you used to wet the bed too!”
With a frustrated grunt, Julian continues down the road.
“Where are you going?” The library grows smaller in my sideview mirror.
He turns down the next road. “I’m going to park in the lot behind the library.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want anyone to witness your murder.”
“You’ll be changing your opinion on ghosts real quick if you kill me today.”
His face remains blank as he makes a right turn and pulls into a parking space.
I hop out of the truck before he has a chance to say something and head inside the library. The faint smell of old books and recently brewed coffee lingers in the air as I make my way over to Beth, the librarian, who sits behind the help desk.
I’m so focused on my mission to get the special key to access old newspapers that I don’t have a chance to become anxious about seeing her.
Look at that progress.
“Hi, Beth.” I lean against the counter with a hesitant smile. Beth has been working here since I was a kid, with hair the size of Texas and a wardrobe straight out of the 1950s.
“Dahlia! I heard you were back!” She drops a stack of books before running around the desk with her arms wide open.
I hold up my cast to stop her from pulling me into a hug.
She frowns. “What happened?”
“Fell off a ladder. How are you?”
She holds me at arm’s length and assesses. “Better now that you stopped by to visit. It’s been a good while since I last saw you.”
“I know.” Staying away was easy compared to the alternative.
Facing the fractured person I have become.
“If I had known you were stopping by, I would have brought my copy of your design book.”
“You bought one?”
She beams. “Of course!”
Something in my chest swells.
“I’ve kept up with all the latest and greatest things you’ve been up to. Team Dahlia forever, am I right?” She holds her hand out for me to slap.
“Right.” I barely manage to hide my flinch as I high-five her.
“Do you plan on sticking around forever now that you and that Olive broke up?”
Beth is the first person in town to address my ex—albeit incorrectly—yet instead of panic, I’m hit with a burst of laughter.
“I’m not sure about that. I doubt Julian and I can last more than a few months in the same place without killing each other, so I’ll be heading back to San Francisco by the new year.”
Beth looks over my head with a raised brow. “Julian Lopez? What are you doing here?”
My muscles go rigid as I turn to find Julian glaring at me.
“I’m with her.”
“Why?” I blurt out.
The vein in his cheek flexes as he ignores my question.
“Do I need to remind you two about the rules?” She nods toward the plaque behind the desk. A majority of the library rules were added after a few incidents between Julian and me over the years with lighters, air horns, and Nerf guns.
“No, ma’am,” we both say at the same time.
“Well, what can I help you with?” Beth returns to her post behind the counter.
“I’m looking to check out some old newspaper clippings.”
Beth opens up a drawer and pulls out a set of keys. “Anything in particular you’re searching for?”
“Anything on the blue Founder’s house.”
“Oh.”
“You’ve heard about it?”
“You’d be hard-pressed to find someone who hasn’t.” She holds out the key ring for me. “Clippings should be organized in chronological order based on year, and the projector is located in the room beside the bathroom if you need it.”
“Thank you!” I snatch the keys.
“Library closes in an hour,” she adds.
“You got it!” I head toward the filing cabinets at the back.
Julian remains quiet as I sift through the first drawer of Wisteria Weekly newspapers dating back to when the town was founded in the late 1890s. I scan the headlines, searching for any information that might be helpful.
My eyes blur after the first fifty clippings. At this painstakingly slow rate, I’m only going to make it through four years of Wisteria Weeklies before the library closes.
The incessant tapping of Julian’s fingers against the screen of his phone doesn’t help matters, and I find myself scowling at him.
“I know it’s a hard ask, but will you at least try to make yourself useful?”
“You didn’t ask.”
Who is he to talk? I’m pretty sure if Julian were on fire, he would do everything possible to put himself out before asking anyone for help because he is that stubborn.
Doesn’t mean you have to be. “Will you please help me?”
“I love it when you say please.” His deep baritone voice does things to my lower half that should be deemed illegal.
I shut the drawer hard enough to make the cabinet shake. “Asshole.”
“Sweetheart.” He throws the old nickname in my face. Once upon a time, back when I won a beauty pageant after he bet I couldn’t place in the top three, sweetheart was Julian’s favorite nickname for me.
He hasn’t called me that since college, right after he kissed me senseless.