“But still, I’d like to take the conversational weight off of me. So what about you? Do you date?” she asked.
“Not really. There’s the risk of finding out my dinner date is going to die in the next day or two. Not to mention, what am I going to tell them if we manage to get past that first date?” he said, jerking his shoulders. “What do you do for a living? ‘I work for a shadow government full of monsters. And in my spare time, I predict people’s deaths. But I don’t tell them because that spoils the surprise.’”
“But you said that you have family, so obviously some of you date, unless there’s some spontaneous egg situation I’m unaware of,” she replied, shuddering.
Brendan smiled. “They’re lucky. They found partners who are open to what they are. My romantic future was ruined by Katie Finnerty. I was head-over-heels in love with her. I walked her home from our first date and kissed her at the door. And all of the sudden, I saw her grandmother, who was just on the other side of the door listening, dying from a fall down the stairs.”
“Oh, no!”
He nodded, settling his weight just a little closer to her on the couch. “It was the first death I’d ever seen, my first death song. And I wasn’t even supposed to be singing in the first place. It was traumatic all around. I didn’t know it was even possible for a male to become a banshee. All poor Katie knew was that some eedjit had kissed her and then started screaming like he was suffering the fires of hell.”
She patted his arm. “I’m so sorry, that must have been awful.”
“It was.”
She cleared her throat. “You can’t see when I’m going to die, can you? Because if so, I don’t want to know. Please don’t tell me.”
“No, I’m better at controlling it. In general, the vision isn’t about proximity to the person as much as how soon the death will be,” he told her. “I have sort of narrowed my ‘radar’ to only sense imminent death. But touch can trigger it, too, depending on the person. So it’s a double-edged sword.”
“I definitely know the feeling,” she said. “That’s why I’m more than a little intimidated by living in a town this small. There are so many people in such a small space. I’m going to see way too much.”
“You’ve got to open yourself up some time,” Brendan said with a shrug.
“Says the guy who closes himself off from people so he can’t see their deaths?” Cordelia noted.
“Entirely different, I don’t see your point,” he sniffed.
She burst out laughing and he pushed her hair back behind her ear.
“I wanted to kiss you before, so very badly.”
“Probably wouldn’t be good,” she told him, while she leaned close enough that she could feel his cool breath on her cheek. “It might mess up our working relationship.”
“Couldn’t have that.” His lips twitched. “Seems a shame, though, when I’ve found someone who knows what it’s like to have a gift like this. Someone who laughs at my silly jokes. And is willing to cut someone over a good piece of pie. And knows the Halloween episodes of the Simpsons.”
“They’re the best ones,” Cordelia said.
“That’s it.” He closed the small space between them and lightly pressed his lips to hers, as if he was waiting for her to push him away. But when no visions came and all she could taste was spice and the chilled sweetness of him, she pulled at his shirt to bring him flush against her. She felt a low rumbling vibration ripple through his chest into hers, making her shiver against him. He stroked a hand down her sleeve, cupping her elbow and bringing her arm around his neck. She squeezed, relishing this closeness she’d never allowed herself before, the pressure against her skin, the sensation of breathing in the same air.
Slipping his hands under her bottom, Brendan lifted her into his lap. She froze—feeling more like a deer in the headlights than actually frightened—she’d never sat in a man’s lap before. She didn’t know where to settle her weight. She didn’t know where to put her hands. Well, she had ideas where to put her hands and…oh…
She also had a good idea of where she wanted to settle her weight. Right over that denim-covered ridge that seemed to be pressing in exactly the right place. She slid her fingers over his jawline as she pressed closer, rolling her hips against his, making that unnamable ache between her thighs flare and throb.
She was so focused on that ache that she squeaked when he bit gently at her bottom lip. He pulled away, watching her face, as if looking for signs of alarm, even as she followed his mouth.
“You kissed me,” she observed.
“Had to be done,” he insisted, making her laugh.
“I think I should go before anything else happens,” she said, and he groaned lightly, tapping his forehead against her shoulder. “Not that I would mind more happening, but we still have to work together. And with our psychic grab bag, we probably need to take things slow.”
He sighed. “I don’t want to admit that you’re right, but you’re right. Just one more quick one.”
He kissed her as she rose off the couch. “Do you want me to walk you home?”
“I think I can make it ten feet on my own,” she said, walking towards the door.
“Still, this way, I can watch you from the back,” he replied, making her roll her eyes.
Miracle of miracles, she made it across the lot to her own trailer. She waved to him before she unlocked her door and shut herself in for the night.
“I kissed a man,” she said. “And nothing horrible happened. I could get used to that.”
Sighing to herself, she crossed to her sink and got a glass of water. It felt a little silly to run off just because they’d kissed, honestly, but if she’d stayed, a lot more would have happened. It had been so long since she’d been kissed or touched, and it was all she could do not to make a fool of herself. She would definitely like more to happen eventually. She just wasn’t ready for it to happen yet. For now, she was just enjoying the possibility of more. She hadn’t had that possibility for some time.
Cordelia glanced out the window, watching the trees that surrounded the village quiver in the slight fall breeze. She saw a flash of white against the muted landscape. She squinted, trying to make out the strange oval, so alien against all the natural shapes.
It was a face. Her mother’s face, staring back at her from the trees. It was like Cordelia summoned her by speaking of her to Brendan. She gasped, dropping the cup in the sink with a crash, her eyes tracking down to the broken glass. When she looked back up, the face was gone.
6
Brendan
Unlike Cordelia, Brendan knew exactly what to do with free time.
Unfortunately, there was not a single store that carried Harp in Mystic Bayou.
Or Beamish. Or Murphy’s. Or even Smithwick’s. For a town that prided itself on the diversity of its residents, there was an alarming centrism towards German beer in the grocery store. Mrs. Berend must have driven a long distance to secure his welcome six-pack of Guinness, securing his loyalty to her even closer.