Soul Searching: A Sweetwater Peak Novel

by Lyla Sage

I’ve never loved my family more than when I wasn’t living in the same town as them. Boundaries worked a hell of a lot better when there were thousands of miles between us.

“Collins Cartwright,” she said. “Fuckup extraordinaire and indiscriminate pepper-sprayer.”

Part of me was realistic enough to realize that judging her based on her appearance, or worrying about what it would be like to live with her just because I thought she was pretty, was fairly lizard-brained. I refused to let the lizard brain win.

She opened the passenger door, but I reached over her shoulder and pushed it shut before grabbing the handle myself and pulling the door open.

“I’d rather be alone with an open petri dish full of an airborne flesh-eating virus than listen to my own thoughts.” Collins sighed. “Good for you.”

“This town is held together by grudges—grudges and chewed-up gum, Brady. It’s part of our weird little ecosystem.”

“I don’t even think I have candles?” I rolled my eyes. “Not even one? What if you brought a guest home and wanted to set the mood?” “With a singular candle? I think I’m better off setting the mood without a fire hazard,” he said.

“I’d rather get thrown off a cliff than live to be a hundred, and if it’s all your fault because of your insistence on the damn hugs, I’m bringing you with me.”

“Takes one to know one, Brady.” Collins looked up at me. “But it sounds like we could both use a little soul searching.”

where we wanted to be. “You are bad for my blood pressure, trouble,” Brady grumbled.

“So accidental decapitation, falling through a floor in an abandoned church, and seeing ghosts is all fine, but you draw the line at spiderwebs?”

“It took a few months,” I said. “And I had to steal most of the equipment, too.” “Oh.” Brady’s sarcasm was fully shining now. “Trespassing and robbery. Lovely.” “Sorry you hired a criminal.” I bumped his shoulder with mine. “I grew out of the stealing thing, at least.” Mostly, anyway. “So you don’t have to worry about that.” “Comforting.” “I thought so.”

“Wh-what?” I stammered. “Closing, remember?” Right. Of course. Brady wanted me to lock the door because we were leaving—not because he wanted to take me on the couch. Bummer. No, not a bummer, Collins. Get a fucking grip.

“I would rather dig a five-by-five hole to build character than lock this goddamn door,” I said. “Is that a Holes reference?” “Nothing gets past you,” I responded with a pointed look at Brady, who just smiled at me. He really had to stop doing that.

“I read those books long before Orlando Broom or whatever the hell his name is starred in the movies. I’ve still got my original paperbacks somewhere in the house. I stole them from my hometown library.”

“And throwing a bowling ball into my balls doesn’t count. You have to win, and you haven’t done that yet.”

“God, this town is like a creepy game of Candy Land,”

“I didn’t know being in love with you would come with a built-in ghost alarm,”