Page 21 of Coffin Up Love

Still, something about this room feels off. I can’t put my finger on it, but it feels like there’s something vital missing. It’s not until I’m toweled off and drying my hair that it hits me. There’s no mirror in here. And I guess that would make sense. What use does a vampire have for a mirror if he can’t even see in it?

I shrug my shoulders, accepting that my hair may look a little rough, and get dressed. It’s probably for the best. I’m sure I look like a sleep deprived zombie right now. I walk out to the smell of coffee and eggs. It hits me like a truck, and my stomach loudly proclaims how welcome it is.

“Hungry?” Emile asks. “I hope so because I can’t eat this.”

“Yes, please. Thank you.” I take a seat at his table and bite my lip, feeling awkward as Emile continues to be the most polite and welcoming person I’ve ever known. He slides a plate of scrambled eggs and toast in front of me before sitting down with a large cup of something red for himself.

“Protein shake,” he says before taking a swig. I try not to think about what the protein actually is.

“This is so much,” I whisper before taking a bite.

“It’s nothing, actually. I love cooking, but I rarely get the chance to, so you’re doing me the favor.” Emile winks at me. That slightly helps the awkwardness go down easier. “So, once we’re done eating, we should head down to Harlan’s Hardware. We’ll need a tarp. I have enough rope. Do you have any heavy-duty work gloves?”

I pause halfway through taking a bite of my eggs and slowly shake my head.

“Well, you will now. Roofing nails, shingles…” Emile takes out his phone and starts typing down a list. “We can use my hammer. I think I have enough tar paper…”

“I insist on buying everything,” I say quickly after swallowing. “I don’t want you to waste your supplies on this. And any tools, too. I should probably have some of my own anyway. Independent women need to plan ahead, right?”

Emile looks up at me. I can tell he’s considering whether or not to argue with me. But then he shrugs and goes back to his list.

“Agreed.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes, you should have a hammer and stash of nails for yourself. However, I’m going to insist on letting me use my own circular saw. There’s no need for you to buy one yourself unless you plan on making roof repair a new hobby.”

Emile’s lips quirk up into a sly smile, revealing the slightest hint of one of his fangs. It’s an amazing sight, and I have to look away and hope he doesn’t see the blush on my cheeks.

“Alright. If you’re done, we can head out.” Emile reaches for my plate, but I pick it up myself and walk it to the sink.

“I insist on at least washing the dishes,” I state firmly.

“Letting my guest wash the dishes, what would my mother think?” Emile says with a chuckle.I kind of appreciate that he at least brushes my offer off instead of acting like it’s obvious I, the woman, should do the dishes. I do them anyway, of course, but I like the gesture.

“Alright!” I announce when I’m done. “Now we can go.”

It’s a short drive to the hardware store that’s only just opened. The owner, Harlan, greets Emile like a very old friend, and Emile is quick to introduce me.

“My new neighbor here got the short end of the stick last night. Well, tree.”

Harlan whistles. “The trees out here are pretty old, you gotta watch out when them storms roll through. It ain’t even hurricane season yet.”

“Hurricane season?” I ask quietly.

“Oh, you’re in for a treat when you get invited to your first hurricane party,” Emile says. My head starts swimming with thoughts of how, exactly, that will work. “But don’t worry, we’ll have that hole patched before the first category two starts forming in the Atlantic.”

I grab a shopping cart and follow Emile through the store as he grabs seemingly random items off the shelf and tosses them in. We stop now and then when old men in overalls come over to say hello and offer unsolicited advice on how to fix the roof.

It’s all very overwhelming. There’s an entire aisle dedicated to just nails. No screws or bolts, not even hammers, just nails!

“I had no idea there were so many kinds of nails,” I say. Emile grabs a pack labeled roofing nails and tosses them in.

“Most people don’t. You’re very lucky to have me,” Emile says.

“Yeah. I really am.”

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