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getting used to that myself. I guess it’s just one of those professions where dark humor can help you get through the hard parts.”

“I can see that.” Silas continued to smile.

A rush of nervous energy hit Tessa in the chest as he reached out and grabbed her hand. She sighed into his touch, lacing her fingers with his. It amazed her how new relationships always felt similar. This was the same sort of excitement she’d felt in middle school when she’d held hands with Trevor Adams on the bus.

“Well, don’t you two look like peas in a pod?”

They both turned toward the voice. Tessa couldn’t decide if she was relieved or annoyed at the interruption.

Old Mrs. Cross hobbled toward the building. She wasn’t exactly Tessa’s favorite person—she’d told everyone who would listen that Tessa probably killed Chet Sanborn. But Tessa had been raised to be respectful of elders, and the woman had given Silas a lovely gift of money when she won some from a scratch-off ticket.

Mrs. Cross stopped in front of them, leaned on her flower-patterned cane, and peered, first at Tessa, then at Silas, and then down to their interlocked hands. The old woman was hunched at the shoulders. She craned her neck to see their faces. Tessa wondered how much taller the woman had been in her youth, before age had weighed her down.

“Are you two an item now?” she croaked.

Tessa thought there was a hint of jealousy in her tone. She felt a squirm gathering in her spine and tried to fight it off, not wanting to act like a naughty schoolgirl in front of the woman. She let go of Silas’s hand and shifted her eyes away from Mrs. Cross’s stone gaze. She found her shoes instead, a pair of red Chuck Taylors.

Next to her, Silas’s voice was smooth and light. “Well, I don’t know if item is the right word, but Tessa and I are dating.” He put an arm around her shoulders and drew her in closer to his side.

Tessa blew out the breath she’d been holding and relaxed. Lifting her chin, she met Mrs. Cross’s gaze again, more confident this time.

“Well, I suppose that’s just fine, then,” Mrs. Cross said with a nod. “Both of you are good-looking and about the same age. Same socioeconomic status too, I’ll wager.” She nodded again and then moved forward, forcing Tessa and Silas to leap apart or have their feet tromped on by her cane as she elbowed between them.

For the second time in a ten-minute span, Tessa found her jaw dropped open. Mrs. Cross certainly wasn’t up on political correctness, with her talk about them being attractive and all that. She glanced at Silas, who grinned back at her and gave her a wink. Tessa had been right—there was definitely some jealousy there.

“Silas, dear,” Mrs. Cross grabbed his elbow to steady herself, “my showerhead is dripping. You’ll need to come by and fix it this afternoon while I’m at my hair appointment. I don’t want to have to listen to your tools making a big noise in that echoey bathroom.”

She let go of his arm, and Silas rushed forward to open the door for Mrs. Cross just as she arrived at it. “You bet, Mrs. Cross. I’ll take care of that showerhead while you’re at your appointment. It’ll be good as new when you get back.”

The elderly woman reached up and patted his cheek. “Such a good boy,” she said as she disappeared into Mist River Manor’s lobby.

Silas turned back toward Tessa. “She sure is a pistol, isn’t she?”

“That’s one word for it, I guess.”

He shrugged. “Yeah. She’s rough around the edges, that’s for sure. I just try to keep her happy. At her age, she deserves that.”

Tessa crossed her arms and gave him a mischievous look. “I really don’t think that meeting the unreasonable demands of old ladies is part of your job description.”

“It’s not just the old ladies I try to keep happy. I want everybody to enjoy living here.”

“I seem to remember you giving me a hard time when I couldn’t make rent on time every month,” she teased.

He widened his eyes to look innocent. “I don’t own this place. I’m just the landlord. When it comes to the accounting, my hands are tied. Besides, I always tried to give you a few extra days whenever I could.” He tipped his head. “But you seem to be making enough at this new job that it isn’t an issue anymore.”

Oops. Too late, Tessa realized her mistake. The conversation had steered away from her job as a grim reaper, and here she’d brought it right back around to the same spot she’d been trying to avoid.

“Hey, do you want to have dinner tonight?”

Shew! He hadn’t taken the opportunity to question her more about her job. This time. Tessa knew it would come up again, though. She was going to have to practice not imitating a tongue-tied fish every time he did if she wanted this relationship to work.

“Dinner sounds great! You should come to my place.” Wait. What? Why in the world had she said that?

“Oh, wow. I’d love a chance to try your cooking. How about I come by around six?”

“Six is perfect!” She smiled through a wince. Aargh. It was as though her mouth was not attached to her brain at all. Why did that happen to her so often? She should really talk to a doctor about it.

“Okay. Well, I’ll see you then.”

With a heart-stoppingly gorgeous smile, Silas leaned in and kissed Tessa’s cheek before allowing her to step through the open door.

Her heart started pounding again as she crossed the lobby. Why had she invited Silas to her place? That was the worst possible idea. The most obvious reason for that being she was a terrible cook. Her mind raced through the dishes she knew how to make, and she grimaced.

She couldn’t make him ramen—they weren’t broke college students. Mac and cheese was out too because it didn’t always

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