Out in the hotel parking lot, I glare at Bo while chucking my luggage into the back of his black Escalade rental, but based on his relentless grin he seems to be enjoying it. Without breaking eye contact he closes the back hatch and pulls the sunglasses from his hair.
"Have some fun Emma," he says, sliding them over his eyes. "I dare you."
I've learned throughout the years, it's better to humor him in these little escapades because otherwise, it only gets worse. So, after climbing into the passenger seat, I take a deep breath and decide to take him up on the dare. The last few days have been hell on earth and I could use a few moments to let go and enjoy the ride. So, I spend the forty minute drive to Salem trying to fight off a grin as I watch Bo. His hand draped casually over the bottom of the steering wheel, belting out the lyrics to New Found Glory's, Dress to Kill, his hair tossed by the wind pouring into the window side.
I've never quite understood my fascination with him. Yes, he's hot…It used to be the fresh faced boy next door look that got me, but now he's got me right in the weak spot with the poetically long hair, looking like a free bird artist who's fingers should be stained in charcoal as he madly sketches his next master piece. But-the guy drives me fucking crazy. In a bad way. I'm almost convinced his ADHD has bipolar. Which is fine if it didn't result in the near annihilation of my career almost every time I see him. Not to mention his massive lack of impulse control and his moods shifting from cartoon adventure, to the melancholy mindset of Poe.
But…there's this innocence about him. The fact that he loves the work he does but has no interest in the attention it brings. I've never met anyone more reluctant about their own fame. He's sweet and genuinely kind. But it's laced in cynicism and hard hateful edges. But overall, the guy knows how to have fun and at least half the time there's not a shred of an idea of where the hell the next move will take you.
We arrive after sunset and I'm nearly breaking my neck trying to take in the beauty of the historical architecture lining the streets as we pass through the heart of Salem.
"You'll see It all in the morning," Bo smiles, watching out ahead as he drives.
"Why did we come tonight?"
"For this," he said, turning into a small cobble stone lot. Facing us is an adorable, narrow, two story building that's every bit as charming as the rest of the town. The wooden sign hanging from the post at the entrance reads: Little Witches Inn. Parking the car, it falls silent and he looks over to me. "Rumor has it-it's haunted as shit."
"Yeah-I'm not sleeping here."
"Emma," he laughs gently. "Come on, it's gonna be awesome. Plus, let's be real. We know there's no ghost in there. It's just an attraction kind of thing."
My eyes go wide. "Are you telling me you don't believe in ghost?"
"Are you telling me you do?"
"My grandmother's house was haunted. Yes I believe in them."
"Okay Emm," he turns towards me in the driver's seat, mouth twitching as he strains to control his amusement. "What happened? Did you feel a cool breeze? Sense a presence?"
"Yes asshole. I did. Right before my covers were snatched off of me."
He throws his head back as he laughs. "Come on, it was probably a pet or something. Did she have a cat? I'm telling you… Cat's do some shady shit."
"She owned four," I snapped. "But they all slept in her room."
"Nope," he shook his head. "You're done Emma. Cut OFF. Get your stuff, let's go."
My luggage bumps over the cobblestone as I follow him towards the entrance. "They better have the good complimentary soap," I warned.
"They don't."
"Well the beds better be nice."
"Nope."
Upon our entrance a bell rings to announce our arrival. "This is like Hogwarts," I say as we walk into the big open room with wood floors and deep purple walls. It's filled with a mix of pretty strands of lights set behind various museum like displays of cauldrons, brooms and shelves lined with dusty old books and best of all, a black cat scurrying through the maze of it all.
"Oop, there's your ghost Emma" Bo says as the cat jumps onto the nearby desk.
"Welcome!" A cheerful middle aged woman walks down the stair case tucked in the corner, opposite of the entrance. She looks totally out of place among the dark and magical setting, with her local sports team shirt and a bleach blonde pony tail jutting from the back of her pink baseball cap. "Do you have a reservation?" She asks making her way behind the desk where the cat sits, now licking it's paws.
"Yes, it's under Burnham."
"Ah, yes! Tabitha!" She calls up the stairs. "I have a little teen daughter that demanded I let her know when you arrive. She's a huge fan. Hope you don't mind."
"Not at all," Bo shrugs. From upstairs the sound of heavy footsteps bounds across the length of the second floor and appearing on the stairs is a cute girl with a wildly dark frizzy mane and a raging overbite.
"Omigod," she seems to say to herself as she walks down the stairs and towards where we stand. Bo smiles warmly at her approach. "Hi Bo," she smiles sweetly up at him and the stars in her eyes are enough to get me in the heart.
"Hey Tabitha. What grade are you in?" He asks quickly realizing she's gone speechless. Her mother behind the desk, who's nametag reads Laura, slides some papers onto the desk and hands Bo a pen.
"Ninth," she says bashfully.
"Nice, you like high school?" Bo starts signing the papers.
Tabitha shrugs. "It's okay. Some of the girls are really mean though."
His head snaps up and he slides the papers back across the desk. He turns and kneels down, eye level with Tabitha. "Have you ever found a stray animal Tabitha? Like a cat or a dog and they hiss or bark and act like an asshole?…er…" he glances up at Laura and back to Tabitha. "or jerk or whatever?"
Tabitha giggles, "Yeah?"
"They're just scared. They don't know you, they don't understand you. That's the only reason those girls are mean. You're way cooler and they feel backed in a corner. So, take it easy on them. Keep being kind and they'll find their way eventually."
Tabitha nods, "Okay, I will." The way she looks when she says it, it's obvious she needed the words. She needed a reason to cope with it, instead of turning bitter. And just like that, Tabitha and her mother aren't the only ones with stars in their eyes as Bo rises back to his feet.
Laura hands Bo two sets of actual door keys. Not key cards, just metal keys.
"Rooms 3 and 4," she smiles. "Tabitha and I leave around 9pm every night but my emergency number is on the bedside tables. If you don't get in until after hours, there's a key to the front lobby in a fake rock by the bush at the entrance."
"Thanks." Bo takes the keys and we head to the staircase.
"Oh, also you have to really jiggle that key for room 3. It gets jammed up and it's way worse during the summer," she smiles apologetically.
"Got it, jiggle the key," Bo smiles. We start up the stairs and he turns suddenly. "Tabitha…remember what I said."
Her face lights up. "Got it…be nice to the strays."
Bo laughs, "Yes, absolutely."
"That was so sweet of you," I say at the top of the stairs.
"The second part of that advice is to always use their hair and hoop earrings to fuck em up. I should go tell her that," he says playfully turning back around. I grab his arm with a laugh and we head down the narrow hallway with deep purple carpets, stark white walls and natural finished wood doors. It isn't nearly as eerie as I imagined.
Coming to a stop in front of room 3, Bo works tirelessly to finagle the lock. "Five stars," he grins. Finally it pops open and we enter the room. It's impossibly tiny with brick interior walls, one window with white sheer curtains that meet the floor. The bed is covered in a fluffy white comforter, with purple and pale yellow pillows, set in a black wrought iron bedframe. It's well-kept and only a little kitschy, with all the witch related figurines covering any surface they can stand on, and various oil paintings of black cats on the walls.
"I don't…hate this," I say, looking around the room. The bedside lamp flickers. "Okay…I hate this."
Bo smiles, "Let me go put my stuff down real quick, we'll go grab dinner."
He leaves for room 4 next door and I settle on the bed, picking up a copy of 'The History of Salem.' Eventually he returns and we head out, landing at a diner a few blocks away where we hover nearly head to head over our phones, planning our stops throughout the town tomorrow. Obviously it's going to be a stream of history museums and tours but I'm a fan of history and a big fan of Salem's history, so I'm pretty excited to explore.
"How did you even know about the little Inn?" I ask on our ride back from the diner. "It didn't even pop up with all the others."
"I grew up in a neighborhood sixteen minutes from here," he says. "I've passed by it a million times and I always wondered what it was about."
"Omigod. I totally forgot you're from this area."
"Yep. Home sweet home, I guess."
Deciding to get an early start in the morning, Bo helps me break into my room and then we separate to go to bed. Everything's fine, until I begin to doze off. Creaks in the wood floor, like footsteps move closer and closer to the edge of my bed. Just when It seems like the sound is close enough to touch me it stops. I'm afraid to look but after a moment I whip my eyes out over the room, washed in the glow of moonlight filtering through the window. Nothing. Before I can even sigh in relief a loud thud sounds from the dark void of the bathroom and I scream. Jumping to my feet, my heart pounds in my ears and I reflexively bring my fingers to my neck to check my pulse, staring wide eyed into the darkness.
A sudden knock at the door causes me to yelp once more. "Emma?" Bo's voice is laced with amusement. "You good?" Opening the door, he stands there flashing a wide Cheshire grin in a lose white shirt and grey Lakers jersey shorts.
"Fucking ghosts," I say, turning from the door and sitting on the bed.
He saunters in, turning on my bedside lamp. "Want me to check under the bed for you?"
"Funny." Another creek in the floor sounds off in the corner of the room. "Omigod" I whimper, lowering my head into my hands.
"It's just an old building," he chuckles. "Do you want me to stay?" I nod. "Okay…but I'm not doing that respectful pallet on the floor shit. So…make some room."
My face burns red hot and I'm glad he turns the light off immediately. Just like a guy he settles under the covers and falls asleep in only a matter of minutes. Distracted from the ghosts, the sound of his measured breathing next to me lulls me into a soundless sleep.
The next morning I awake in the purple hue of dawn. Bo shifted at some point during the night and facing the brick wall I cover the giddy uncontrolled smile on my face with my hand, feeling him right up against me, his arm balanced between the zero space between us. Eventually he wakes and we separate once more to get dressed for the day.
Bo isn't aware that today is my birthday. I've never been one to make a big deal about them so I'm not going to start on my 30th. But, I do know that because it's my birthday, I'm going to enjoy the day and if I can help it, I'm not even going to think about work.
Our first stop is a charming little coffee shop in the heart of Salem. Joining Bo at a small table by a large open window, he gawks at the pile of marshmallows piled on top of my mocha latte.
"You're going hard today, huh?" He grins.
"Yep." I pop a marshmallow into my mouth. "And I already know what we're doing tonight."
"What's that?" Pulling the flier from my lap that I found at the front counter, I slap it on the table. Bo studies it for a moment, taking a sip of his black coffee. He raises his eyes under his lashes with a smirk. "Yep, there's my girl." It's not the response I was expecting and I raise my brows in question. "Like clock work," he smiles. "You always dig your heels in and pout and the next thing I know.. you're down for anything. Sometimes even calling shots better than me."
He takes another sip of his coffee and I ponder over his words leaving a bitter taste in my mouth despite another marshmallow. After the last few days I've had and now turning 30, it's a little hard to swallow.
He lowers the mug with brows drawn. "What's wrong?"
"Am I that predictable?"
"Hey," his face falls serious. " Do not take that as a bad thing Emma. Predictable doesn't always mean boring. Okay? I don't go rogue like this with anyone but you."
"Lucky me," I grin.
He smiles warmly before stealing a marshmallow and tossing it back.
It's a brilliantly beautiful day in Salem and after we explore all the major hot spots, we end it with a haunted graveyard tour at sunset. After that we head back to the inn to reset and change before heading out for my chosen venture. In a little black dress, casual but skimpy, I answer a wave of birthday texts and then meet Bo out in the hallway wearing dark denim jeans and a faded navy V neck. Six and a half feet of pretty.
It's a only a small walk from the Inn to a club called Moonies, and tonight is open mic night. Like everything else, the face of Moonies is charming but once inside it looks like any other decently sized club, apart from the large stage at the front. At first I'm a little worried because Bo is getting a wave of attention and I feel bad for him as he politely attempts to indulge fans left and right. Luckily after a while it begins to taper off and we get a table in the far corner towards the back. In the middle of watching another poetry reading, a tiny waitress appears at our table to get another order.
"Oh! It's your birthday," she chirps handing back my license.
Bo's eyes snap to me. "The fuck Emma?" It's your birthday?"
I smile sheepishly with a nod.
A smile slowly stretches on his lips. "Oh you are so screwed."
The burgundy haired waitress giggles," What's the order?"
"Don't go crazy, I'm already buzzed," I fuss.
Bo eyes me for a moment, tapping his lips and then looks at the waitress. "Can we get two shots of anything but just make sure they're on fire?"
"Omigod," I mutter.
"Yeah! Of course!"
"And then just go top shelf on bourbon, straight. And keep em coming."
"Sure thing." She flutters off.
He looks back to me. "We're about to get fuuuucked up."
Laughing into my hands the environment finally shifts gears when a girl appears on stage with a ukulele and a puppet. The waitress returns with exactly what he ordered, two shots on actual fire.
"Happy birthday Emma," he says, the flame casting a glow across his face. "Make a wish." We toast and toss it back.
A couple of hours later, we're just north of wasted but still feeling good. Bo and I have just come off of a tear inducing discussion about some of our more grotesquely awkward teen days. The environment is sinking a bit with another couple of sad poetry readings, so after the last one leaves the stage I rise from our table.
"Where are you going?" Bo asks.
Looking back at him, I smile. "To embarrass myself." Heading to the stage I stop by the puppet girl. "Can I borrow your Ukulele?"
"Sure can baby doll," she hands it to me and I take a deep breath. I can play, I can sing, but I sure as hell have never done it on stage. Climbing the stairs on the side, I cross over to the mic. Looking out into the barely visible crowd past the bright lights I see Bo nearly sprint towards the stage, where he leans against the wall by the stairs, staring at me in a mix of shock and amusement.
"Hi, I'm Emma." The crowd goes nuts. I don't think they're used to new comers. "Uh-this is one of my favorite songs. So…here it goes."
Covering 'Leaving On a Jet Plane," I sing into the darkness trying to imagine the room isn't packed. But the intoxicated crowd is stoked, being lifted from two rounds of poetry.
Glancing only once at Bo, he shakes his head mouthing "What. The. Fuck." I'm pretty sure he's just floored that I even approached the stage. As I finish, the crowd cheers and I give a small wave and leave the stage, walking up to Bo by the wall. "Emma fuggin Woods," he laughs grabbing my shoulders. "I could have never predicted that in all of my life. I mean, apart from a white girl playing the ukulele but still! You're amazing!"
"Thanks," I blush. "You ready to get out of here?"
"Sure thing, nothings gonna top what just happened anyways."
We've surpassed drunk. Walking in damn near zig zags back to the inn, we laugh into near hyperventilation trying to find the fake rock with the key to the lobby by the bush that Laura told us about. But when Bo pops his head out of practically the middle of it holding his hands up in defeat, I collapse on the ground in a fit, holding my stomach. That's when I spot it, in plain view…in front of the bush.
Up the stairs we climb, down the hall we stagger until we arrive in front of room 3.
Bo grins, mumbling about wanting to buy everything in the vending machines down the hall and I lay back against the door in front of him, trying to keep a straight face while he attempts to unlock the problematic door that's hard to do, even when sober.
"I can't believe you grew a beard," I say, running my fingers across his jaw. He grins but continues rather violently to jiggle the key. I move my fingers into his hair, just above his ear. "And all of this." He still doesn't look up but his grin widens, rattling the key in the lock with no success.
"You're wasted Emma."
"So are you."
"Yes I am," he says, snatching the key out, only to put it back in. "And it's been a while for me so cut it out with that."
"Why?" I grin, tucking my fingers in deeper. "I mean, it is my birthday and all." The rattling of the key stops abruptly as his eyes flicker up to mine and I smile. "I dare you."
With one last violent rattle the door pops open, and my quiet laughter is silenced by his mouth crashing into mine. Grabbing me up in his arms, our feet dance clumsily across the floor into the room and he kicks the door closed behind us.
"Emma," he says breathlessly across my lips.
"What?"
"You can't hate me tomorrow."
"I won't."
Backing towards the bed my heel hits the bedside table, sending little figurines crashing to the floor. He snatches my dress over my head, eyeing me heatedly, up and down before his lips are back to mine and I learn that butterflies in great amounts can actually hurt, but in the best way.
"Swear to me," he says, again across my lips.
"I swear."
He pulls his shirt off and we fall into the bed. The full reality of the moment hits when I gasp from the feel of him and as we move, he tips his forehead to mine, the sound of his deep breathing setting my body on fire. The bed beats violently against the wall and he reaches out to brace it.
"Are we too loud?" I whisper.
"It's my room next door," he says, low and husky. " It doesn't matter." He moves in a way that makes me moan and then suddenly the light goes out next to the bed.
"What was that?" I ask.
"Old wiring Emma," he grins. "Just shut up would you?"
The rest of the night is a hot, steamy blur of the bed drumming on the wall, our ragged breaths present in the silence between it and the sheen of sweat dampening the sheets underneath us.
When I blew out the flame on my birthday shot, Bo told me to make a wish and I did. It was to simply feel as happy and alive as I felt the entire day. And I many many more.
But as our bodies give way to the swell of pure elation and I rest my head on his shoulder, feeling the rapid rise and fall of his chest under my hand, I think about everything that's been left unsaid, and a tangled web of reality begins to weave itself over us. Prepared to catch us both in the rise of the morning sun.