Groom Wars

7. Totally Not A Date (1)

When Leandro ran out of tasks to occupy his mind, he often pictured the limp, emancipated body of the poor woman lying in the grass, a gaping wound in her head, blood and brain matter covering the soil. Alongside the image and foul metallic scent of death, he often heard the cruel laughter that had accompanied the murder.

Leandro pushed the dead body, foul odour, and laughter from his mind as he parked his red Mercedes-Benz in the driveway of the ghost's estate.

Leandro's breath expired, and he hurried to think of something else.

Throughout the week, he and the ghost had exchanged texts.

The unnamed boy had mentioned craving cheesecake, so Leandro had bought some from a nearby bakery to surprise the ghost. Leandro could already imagine the bright smile that would possess the boy's face once he saw the present.

A smile that had the innate ability to brighten the darkest of days.

Leandro beamed as he imagined the ghost's grin, then caught himself smiling like an idiot and stopped immediately. Though no one could see Leandro within his car, his embarrassment remained, and a light blush crossed his cheeks. Leandro cleared his throat, removed his key from the ignition, and opened his door. Stretching behind him, he picked up a bottle of vintage wine from the back seat and the box of cake. With both hands full, Leandro climbed out of the car, planted his feet on the paved driveway, and kicked the door shut. The car beeped as he pressed the keypad hidden in his pocket. As he approached the front porch, he cradled the cake under one arm, protecting it from danger.

The ghost's circular driveway held a fountain, water flowed out of a lion's mouth as if the stone beast was drooling. Leandro thought it a strange choice of decor and wondered what sort of people the ghost's family members were.

Were they all odd and playful like the son?

He walked up the front steps, stood on a stiff-bristled doormat in front of a red oak door, then, somewhat nervous and antsy, fixed his hoody, so it didn't bunch at his waist.

After a deep breath, he rang the doorbell. The purple curtain draping the bay window that overlooked the garden shifted, and he sensed someone watching him. He cleared his throat and glanced at the garden flowers; the white, rice-shaped clumps of yarrow, the purple trumpet-like blooms of foxglove, and soft-petalled orange roses.

Leandro's throat tightened.

Beads of sweat slid down his warm back.

Why did he feel so nervous?

Leandro chided himself internally. He wasn't taking a woman out for dinner. He was visiting one stupid boy, taking him out to swim, maybe having lunch, then dropping the ghost off at his home, saying goodbye, and returning to the library to study. The outing wasn't anything to stress about. It was a simple, everyday maneuver, but why did Landro's chest squeeze like this?

Why did it tighten and refuse to release with every breath he took?

After a moment, the door opened. A slender girl who shared the same golden skin tone as the ghost opened it. She had a square, angular face and a flat chin; there was a slight blush on her cheeks as she gazed at him. Leandro encountered a problem. He didn't know the ghost's name.

The girl said, "Hi, can I help you?"

"Yes. I'm here to see...."

'Ghost' didn't seem appropriate to say. A moment later, a man appeared behind the girl. He was tall and shared her square face and golden skin tone. Dark curly blonde hair brushed his forehead, and his calculating blue eyes examined Leandro. Something about him screamed 'father', and, once again, Leandro wasn't sure how to ask to see the ghost.