Ghost (The Halloween Boys #1) (11)

“Why hello, Blythe.”

I rushed a napkin to my face, hoping my lipstick was still intact. Why hadn’t I made this stupid work shirt look cute already? “Hi, Dr. Cove. In the mood for Indian?”

He chuckled, walking over to my counter in that slow, sexy way. He leaned forward and rested on his elbows. “The vegetable korma here can’t be beat. I’ll take one of those and a chai to go, please.”

Vegetables. See? I knew it. Straight-laced, uncomplicated, normal, professional Dr. Cove.

“Oh, and please, call me Ames. You make me feel like I’m one hundred years old when you call me that.”

I felt my cheeks heat, though I wasn’t sure why. The comfortability we seemed to share so soon, so instantly, wasn’t something I was familiar with coming across. I rang up his order, fighting past my jittery fingers, and Raja appeared with a bright smile. “It’s on the house for Ames Cove, always,” he chimed, handing him his bag and a paper cup of tea.

“You know I just pay double each time you do this, Raj,” Ames goaded, tossing a large bill on the counter.

“Anyone who offers service workers and people in need free sessions gets free food from me forever, my friend. Blythe, why don’t you take off early. I’ve got it here.”

My shift was over in fifteen minutes anyway, so I thanked him and grabbed my purse. “Free therapy, huh?” Though it wasn’t a complete shocker. Dr. Omar had been seeing me on a sliding scale. Such a steep sliding scale that I hadn’t even paid yet. I probably wouldn’t even get around to paying before I took off again. Add thief to my list of sins, right under coward.

“I’d do anything for a free meal,” he said lowly, taking a sip from his cup. “Is this your car?”

I nodded. “Yeah, I think I saw you looking at it?”

“Your rear tires are low on air. When was the last time you filled them?”

“Oh, uh . . . I don’t know. Five states ago?”

He rolled his eyes. “Come on, there’s a gas station two miles south. I’ll fill them up for you.”

Somehow, instead of panic I felt . . . butterflies. He wanted to help with my car? Why?

“No, seriously, it’s okay. I can do it.”

He put his food in the back of his car before holding out his palm expectantly. “Come on, it’ll give me a chance to talk to you more anyway. You ran out today before I could offer you more resources.”

Well, resources didn’t sound so bad. It didn’t sound so sexy either, but whatever.

I dropped my keys in his large hand. “You’re not a serial killer, are you, Dr. Cove?”

He huffed a laugh. “Only sometimes.”

When we were situated and pulled out of the parking lot, I broke the nervous tension that I was sure was all in my head. He was just being nice. He probably came by just because he felt sorry for me. He’d said as much already. Resources. I was a charity case. “Is this against some doctor and client code or something?”

He raised a dark eyebrow from the driver’s side. “Putting gas and air in the car of someone who’s not my patient? No, not an ethics violation.”

We stopped outside the ancient-looking gas station with one rickety pump and busted overhead lights. “Wow, fun gas station. Is this where you kill me?”

He gripped the wheel for a moment, staring out into nothingness, before turning to me with a grin. “No.”

With that very reassuring reply, he exited. The hiss of air soon emitted outside before he filled my tank with gas. I got out then and leaned against the car. “Hey, I didn’t agree to you getting me gasoline.”

“I can’t use their free air and not buy fuel.”

“Oh, right.”

After he went inside to pay, he returned with a toolbox and plastic container. He popped my hood and began tinkering. “Are you a mechanic now, too? What are you doing?”

“Fixing your headlight, one’s out,” he responded. I tried not to stare at his hands. I failed. His big, strong hands were smeared with inky residue. He noticed me staring and shot me a dark look I didn’t quite understand.

“Your food’s getting cold,” I scolded, knowing there was no point in objecting to this headstrong man’s goodwill. I knew my car needed it just as well as he did.

He said a beat later, “I have a microwave.”

In the silence that followed, I surveyed the empty lot. Across the way was a cornfield. Its stalks were high and swaying in the light of the moon. Cornfields always freaked me out. There was no way to see more than one stalk in front of you. Imagine the things you could bump into . . .

“So, you going to the rave of lunatics tomorrow?”

I pulled my gaze from his rolled-up sleeves and muscular forearms, storing that image in my private brain file for later. “Maybe. Are you?”

“Overrated rave.”

“You seem to think a lot of things are overrated. Why'd you suggest it then?”

He tightened something with a wrench, entirely focused on his work while he spoke. “A lot of things are overrated, and I thought it might be fun for you because it’s what kids your age do around here. And well, every other nutcase in Ash Grove. Which is everybody.”

“So are you going? And you can’t be that much older than me, Dr. Cove. You’re what, thirty?”