“I’m trying to imagine what you’re doing at my door. . . . Did you roll down a very steep hill and land here?” “Baz . . . ,” he says again. And I wait for him to get it out. “You’re—you’re wearing jeans.” I tilt my head. “I am. And you’re wearing half the countryside.” “I had to walk from the road.” “Did you?” “The taxi driver was afraid to come down your drive. He thinks your house is haunted.” “It is.” He swallows. Snow has the longest neck and the showiest swallow I’ve ever seen. His chin juts out and his Adam’s apple catches—it’s a whole scene. “Well,” I say, pointedly lifting my eyebrows.
...more
