Evidence? Her first marriage, when her husband had to choose between his young, reasonably attractive wife and a bunch of dead ghosts, and he’d chosen the ghosts. So yeah, she was perfectly happy with holding Jericho at arms’ length and then just making out like bunnies when it was convenient for their schedules.
Making out like bunnies still had its charm.
The Peppermint House was rather quiet lately. The biggest excitement she’d had was when one of Jericho’s friends showed up with a bunch of trapping cages to get rid of her possum problem. That had been an interesting day, but things were taken care of and she paid for new insulation to be blown since the old insulation was covered in poop.
And since the possums had been removed from her attic (nine nests! nine!), things had gotten quiet. Jericho had fixed the wiring for the lighting and it no longer flickered. Between that and the possums now gone, her home felt normal.
No ghosts…but also no tenants. Her last live in, Elise Markham, had moved in with none other than Jericho’s brother, the aptly named Rome, who was even more pierced and tatted (if it was to be believed) than her tall, sexy Jericho was. Elise seemed deliriously happy, and if it meant that Emily had a lot of nights in which she could just curl up on the couch with Jericho, then it wasn’t so bad not having any tenants at the moment.
She’d just bake for the police and fire stations, and give the extras to Jericho and his work buddies, who had taken to showing up for lunches. She didn’t mind – the more mouths to feed, the happier she was. She loved to show off her baking skills, and the plumbers, handymen, and contractors that had started coming around were an extremely appreciative audience…as was Jericho. She still got flushed over the looks he gave her when he bit into an oatmeal raisin cookie.
Really, life was pretty amazing at the moment. Emily was happy. She had no ghosts, a sexy man that gave her incredible orgasms, and enough money in the bank to fiddle around with more improvements for the Peppermint House. She couldn’t complain.
Which meant shit was bound to hit the fan at some point, right?
Emily was elbow-deep in kolache dough – the fruit strudel kind – when the doorbell rang. Maybe Jericho was coming over early? She looked at the clock. Four in the afternoon. The last time Jericho had come over this early, he’d had a cancelled appointment. They’d fallen into bed for hours. That had been an incredible day, and Emily’s cheeks felt a little flushed just thinking about it. She called out “Just a minute” and ran to the sink, washing her hands clean and wiping them on her apron. She checked her hair in the reflection of the stained glass window above the sink, but all it told her was that yes, she still had a face. With a pat to her hair, she headed out of the kitchen and into the foyer. It wasn’t Jericho, then, if no one was coming inside. Maybe it was a customer stopping through town that needed a place for the night—
She opened the door with a welcoming smile on her face, and was stunned at the person standing there.
Her ex.
“Hey, baby,” Braden Smith gave her a disarmingly white smile. “Good to see you.”
As she stood there like a dumbstruck idiot, Braden leaned in and gave her a kiss on the cheek, then pushed his way inside. “House looks good. You’ve been working hard.”
“I…Braden, what are you doing here?” She followed him as he began to stroll through the house – her house – as if he were assessing it as a potential property. “I didn’t know you were in town. You didn’t call or anything—“
“I figured I’d stop by, help you out.” He gave her another megawatt smile. “Don’t you worry anymore, baby. I’m here with my team, and we’re going to investigate things for you.”
“Investigate…?” Something clicked in her mind and she ran back to the front door, opening it up to gaze outside. Sure enough, several black vans with splashy SPOOKY SQUAD logos were parked on the fire lane. Several people in matching black shirts were unloading equipment.
Emily moaned. This was her worst nightmare come to life.
“So, any activity lately?” Braden asked, heading into her kitchen as if he still lived in the damn place. “Or did burning the sage work?”
“Burning sage? What? No, I didn’t do anything with sage. I don’t have ghosts. Braden, what are you doing here with all these people?” Emily shut the door and followed him as he wandered through the house with some sort of gadget in hand.
“We’re going to need to stage the area,” he said, as if she wasn’t speaking. “I’m going to have some of the guys come in and move some of the furniture into the living room. Do you have any really old fashioned pieces? Maybe a big grandfather clock? Those always look good in a set.”
“This isn’t a set! This is my house,” Emily said. “And it’s not haunted!”
“Baby, baby, come on.” Braden finally turned to her and put an arm around her shoulders, giving her an affectionate squeeze. “I know you don’t want to be on TV, but I’m telling you, we’re professionals and we’re here to help.” He paused. “Plus, we had a cancellation in our schedule so coming here works out perfectly.”
“I don’t want to be on TV.” She didn’t want to be infamous. Not in the slightest. And she sure didn’t want more ghost-hunting nuts stopping by her now-quiet house at every hour.
“We can blur this pretty little face of yours,” he said, tapping the tip of her nose with his finger like he used to when they were married. The tenderness – and the sheer gall of it – confused her.
She pushed his hand away. “Braden, you’re not answering me. What are you doing here?”
He gave her a confused look. “Didn’t you want my help? You called me.”
“I called you weeks ago,” she reminded him. “And you were too busy to help me.”
“And now I’m not,” he said, beaming at her. “You look good, Emily. Real good.”
“I don’t have ghosts, Braden. I’m fine. Really.”
He gave her a sympathetic look. “It’s going to be okay, baby. I’m here and I’ll take care of things.”
Yes, but where were you when I needed you all those times before? She wanted to shout, but said nothing. Arguing with Braden was useless. When they were married, they liked to joke that he had ‘selective’ hearing – he only heard what he’d wanted to. Now that they were divorced, it wasn’t quite so cute. In fact, it was pretty infuriating. Helpless, Emily trailed behind Braden as he continued to hold up his little meter.