GHOST PORTAL (#1 GHOST PORTAL series)

FOUR

Despite the craving to investigate her accident now that she had more—and better—details of it, Jessamine heeded her mother's warning and stayed away from the news in general. Patrons at the coffee-shop did buzz about with the gossip—Amy was a bit of a local celebrity, having lived not far, in San Francisco. But for the most part, Jessamine steered clear of any videos or any photos that might have triggered her again.

Her sleep pattern had been off, though. As someone who normally slept soundly through the night, she kept waking in a hot sweat, throwing the covers off, getting up to check her air-conditioning—it worked—and fighting to get back to sleep. Three nights in a row she was plagued with ominous nightmares of the forest, and sinister flashes of that house—stark white against a black background, flaring with blue glows through the windows and a creepy red halo around it. That wasn't what it had looked like in Amy's video, of course; but apparently, Jessamine's mind wanted her to remember it that way.

Regardless of her moodiness—a disruption in her slumber caused her to crave more coffee than usual, which made her jittery, which pissed her off—she had to work, and she requested to not man the register until she could get a hold on her problematic nightmares. None of her co-workers complained—most weren't as keen on making the coffee as they were about drinking it during their breaks.

The shop went through a habitual afternoon rush on a busy Saturday, when the door's bell rang for what felt like the millionth time. Jessamine glanced up from the machine she'd been working with, grimacing at the prospect of another line of thirsty coffee-drinkers to serve. But her grimace melted at the sight of two well-built men, peeking into the coffee-shop with an air of intrigue.

Most of those who came to Common Grounds were regulars; she'd never seen these two before. They hesitantly entered, letting the door shut behind them, and stood staring about the place, taking in its mismatched tables, its rows of bookshelves on one end, the hustle and bustle of hipsters carrying coffee to their seats.

One of them had smooth, light brown skin that brought out a pair of big, baby blue eyes—noticeable from a fair distance, Jessamine realized. He smirked as he relaxed, accepting the scenery, seemingly okay with the busy location. He stretched out his long arms over his head; he was tall, probably around six foot one or two.

Curious, Jessamine continued to watch him as he spoke to the guy who'd walked in with him. The instant cockiness to his demeanor wasn't lost on her. She'd been acquainted with his type—good-looking and he knew it, he worked out and had no trouble flaunting it without being in your face about it. He was that guy who licked his lips when he flirted with you, rubbed his chin, looked at you in the eyes but was actually ogling your boobs; a skill he was proud of. Unfortunately, that was Jessamine's type—confident, borderline obnoxious, but knew what to say to subdue his prey. Not for serious relationships, but for one-night fun or friends-with-benefits situations... which she hadn't had in a while.

Whoa, am I that desperate and horny?

Jessamine snorted; she loved guessing backstories of newcomers to the shop, and was usually dead-on when they later spoke to her. Tourists were chatty, and Common Grounds was located in a frequented tourist spot.

She switched to the other guy, who wasn't much her style; lighter skin, big and burly, the bearded, man-bun sporting, plaid-wearing type that every girl in the country fawned over. He wasn't bad-looking at all, but a tad too large for Jessamine, though not fat. His muscles were certainly larger than the other guy's, but his shirt was a looser fit; he wasn't trying to show off, like the darker-skinned one.

"They're totally a couple," she whispered to herself as she resumed her tasks, but kept an eye on them.

They approached the line of patrons waiting in front of the register, and skimmed the menu above her head; but they hadn't noticed her. The steam from the massive coffee-machines kept her hidden; now she'd be able to listen to them without them ever knowing. Most customers had no inkling how much baristas could hear.