Kiss Me Hello by L. K. Rigel

Author:L. K. Rigel [Rigel, L. K.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Women's Fiction, Contemporary Women, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Fantasy, Magical Realism, Contemporary Fiction, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, General Fiction
Amazon: B00BMTWXN0
Publisher: Beastie Press
Published: 2013-02-24T16:00:00+00:00

- 13 -

Snowdrops In May

THE POND WAS STILL there in the eucalyptus grove, fed by the little waterfall from the stream. This time of year so many kinds of flowers were in bloom. Irises, tulips, daffodils, narcissus, lilies, and more. And snowdrops, which should be impossible. The middle of May was far too late for snowdrops.

The slate rock jutted over the side of the pond as if put there by design, a place to sit and watch the fish go by. Sara sat down and wrapped her arms around her knees. No fish. Maybe they’d show up when the water was warmer.

And then it hit her: she would be here when the water was warmer. She’d be here all through summer—and beyond. Every summer from now on, if it was true Turtledove Hill would be hers. Her problem with the district had flipped on its head. Instead of being devastated by a RIF notice, she was actually relieved to get it. She wouldn’t have to write a letter of resignation.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Sara. Wait until you see Aunt Amelia’s lawyer.”

She rested her head on her knees and closed her eyes, listening to the stream and the birds in the trees. It was strange to think of not being a teacher. Stranger still to realize she wouldn’t mind, not if she had Turtledove Hill.

All at once, the birds stopped their chatter. The only sound was of water flowing from the stream. Sara looked across the pond and gasped. He was standing among the snowdrops, watching her.

She scrambled to her feet, never taking her eyes off the man on the other side of the pond. “Are you real?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you?”

“My name is Sara Lyndon—Blakemore.”

“My name is Joss Montague.” With a worried expression, he took a step forward. “Don’t disappear.”

“That’s my line.” She stepped down from the rock and moved a few steps closer to him. He was dressed the same. Among the trees and flowers he was even more like a romantic poet—or a Mr. Rochester. “Are you…are you a ghost?”

“I don’t know what I am. I think not, if you can see me and hear me.” He smiled and stretched his hand out to her. “And touch me.”

Sara recoiled inside, but he looked so vulnerable and hopeful that she couldn’t be afraid. “Promise you’re not an axe murderer?” she said.

His laughed and ran his hand through his hair. “Promise.”

She returned his smile. He was surely something ghostly, but he struck her as all muscle and hard angles, good bones, soulful dark eyes—something human. He had quiet charisma. Inner beauty. There really was such a thing.

“I’ll try to touch you,” she said.

The corners of his eyes crinkled. “Touch away.” His sleeves were rolled back, exposing his forearms. “I doubt you’ll have a problem.”

“If I hadn’t seen you disappear on the stairs,” Sara said, “I’d think this was a joke. You seem so real.”

“I seem real. I guess that’s a comfort.”

She gripped his arm, but her hand made a fist and went through.

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