© 2026 Vampires Love Garlic. Ashley Chapman. All rights reserved.

23

Sweet Savannah Smooth

McKenzie

She’s done it again.

One of these days, she’ll have to show me how.

My house is transformed. Louis Armstrong jazz floats through the entire mansion like the house is breathing it. The smells coming from the kitchen are making my mouth water. As I walk down the stairs, my hand runs over a railing covered in feathers and flowers. She’s found a way to dim all the lights, giving it a yellow, almost smoky feel.

I make my way to the kitchen and there she is.

Heather’s standing at the counter, placing delicate cucumber sandwiches on a glass platter.

And I swear to God, I can’t help it.

I look over her, and for the first time, I see her as the woman Narcissa’s tried to convince me she is.

Her brunette hair is in loose curls, pinned to drape over her left shoulder, streaked with scarlet.

She took my advice about the red, and I find more satisfaction in that than I probably should.

She’s wearing a faux emerald-and-diamond headband across her forehead, and pretty scarlet feathers rise above her left ear. Her gown is a thing of beauty, all emerald and sparkles, fringe hanging from her thighs down to her calves. I’ve never actually seen her legs before. She’s always in jeans. And daaaaamn. Even without heels, even in those worn black Converse of hers, she’s a picture.

I slide up behind her and reach around her, snagging a piece of shrimp and dipping it in cocktail sauce before she can turn around.

Vampire Rule Number 18:

We’re wicked quiet.

We have to be. Look at all the other rules.

Heather jumps, startled, and spins. Her eyes are wide, and I’m left nearly speechless by how green they are tonight. They usually lean on the bluer side, but with the smoky shadow she has, they’re emerald and stunning. I study her expression and frown, realizing that her startled look is more than merely startled. Something has her troubled, afraid even.

“I didn’t hear you!” she gasps, a hand over her heart.

“Heather, you look… amazing,” I compliment before popping the shrimp into my mouth.

She blushes.

I could watch her blush every day, all day.

“You don’t look too bad yourself,” she says, reaching up and straightening my tie. “Pinstripes look good on you.”

Her fingers are trembling. I can feel them against my chest as she smooths my tie. She won’t meet my eyes, and I find it unsettling. Something has her feeling down. Maybe I can cheer her up.

“I managed to find a fedora, too,” I say, stepping back and plopping the hat on my head. “What do you think?” I hold my arms out and cock my head to the side. “I look like a regular twenties kingpin, don’t I, Sweetheart.” I work my Boston accent just for her. The light in her eyes dims, just for a second, as she looks me over. I’ll give her credit. She’s really good at stowing her emotions quickly.

“You look nice.”

Her voice is a whisper, and she clears her throat.

“Your guests are starting to arrive. They’re using the outside door. Take these downstairs, won’t you?” She hands me the platter of cucumber sandwiches.

Her fingertips brush mine. They’re cold, like she’s had her hands in ice. Her skin is usually so warm, and I frown.

“Hey. Is something wrong?”

“No.” She shakes her head a little too quickly. “I think I’m just excited about your party.”

“Your heart rate’s spiked.”

“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” she sighs.

“Do what?”

“Listen to my heart.”

There’s a note of sadness in her voice. I don’t know why, but I hate that it’s there.

“You’ve put together an amazing party,” I say, trying to comfort her, hoping it’s just nervousness making her sad. “I can’t believe what you’ve accomplished. I should hire you as my assistant, just to keep my papers organized.”

She smiles, but it doesn’t meet her eyes.

“Thank you.”

“Heath. Heath, what’s wrong, baby?”

Oops. Hell, I just gave her a pet name. Shit.

“Nothing’s wrong,” she tries again. I can hear her breathing. She’s doing her best to lengthen it, to fool me into thinking her heart isn’t racing and she’s not struggling for air. “I guess everything’s led up to this, so I’m a little overwhelmed.” She laughs lightly.

I’m not buying it.

So I go for teasing instead.

She’s wearing dangly earrings made of black and green beads.

I may as well go all in.

I lean forward, catching her earring between my teeth, and gently tug.

The sound that slips between her lips isn’t a laugh. It isn’t a gasp of surprise or a cry for me to stop. No. No, this is a sound I would never have expected from her. It’s a soft breath of air, a gentle exhale. Her entire body relaxes. Her head falls back against my shoulder, and I can hear her tears landing softly on the wood floor.

“Kenzie.”

My name has never sounded like that.

I had just been playing with her. I should have known I was playing with fire. After the other night, after I was so close to her neck, it was cruel of me to play with her earring.

To play with her heart.

But I’m not playing. Not really.

For this heartbeat, for these quiet seconds in this kitchen, I want to give her just a taste of her vampire fantasies. I want to protect her from hurt, but I also can’t resist the pull she has on me. The other night was never about her being possessed to give me her blood. It was about her consuming my soul, about her blood seducing me and her… her… making me feel things I shouldn’t. The experiment in the living room wasn’t about testing my vampire limitations. It was an excuse. An excuse for me to get close to her, to breathe her in.

And here, she’s relaxed, leaning back against me, crying, perhaps because she wants more.

Damn it.

I can give her more. Just a taste.

I nuzzle my nose against her ear and wrap one arm around her waist, pulling her back against me. I move slowly, carefully. Her scent. God, it’s intoxicating. Juniper and butter, Bonaventure Cemetery and River Street, coffee shops and hidden tunnels. There’s a whole adventure simply in the way she smells. Her body, slender, soft, fits against mine like Spanish moss draped over an oak limb. I can feel every inhale and exhale, rising and falling against my chest, a steady lullaby that draws my heart into its rhythm.

“Heather.”

I don’t recognize my voice. It’s coarse, rough, ragged.

One word slips past her lips, a quiet “please.” I can’t read the emotion in it. It sounds like there’s a trace of fear, but there’s a heady want covering it. I think she wants more.

“What do you need, Heather?”

“I need to feel safe.” Her voice is barely a whisper. “I am overwhelmed.” I don’t believe overwhelmed is the right word. The way she’s acting reads more as scared and distant, but okay. “Can you… would you please just…” She doesn’t know what to say, and that’s okay. I get the gist of it.

“Yes ma’am,” I murmur and glide my lips like a phantom breeze across her neck.

Her hands rest on my arm, not pushing away, just there. I can feel her pulse beating against my cheek as I rest it against her throat. I won’t kiss her. A brush of my lips is an entirely different sensation than a kiss, and I know if I kiss her, this friendship she values and desires will be over. She’s tried so hard to protect my engagement, and I won’t take that from her.

An upbeat jazz piece starts playing, and Heather gently moves my arm.

“That’s my cue,” she says, her voice quivering. She wipes a hand over the back of her eyes. “You need to get downstairs. The party games will start soon.” She hands me the sandwich tray that I had placed back on the table. “Narcissa needs you down there. I’ll be alright.” She smiles, but I’m not convinced. “Thank you for trying to make me feel better.”

What am I doing?

I’m questioning everything as I make my way into the basement and step into a completely different world.

There are fog machines strategically placed to make it look like there’s smoke rising above my head. Every vintage glass lamp is glowing, every decoration is shimmering. There’s an actual bartender behind the bar, dressed in a button-down white shirt with sleeve garters and suspenders. He’s wearing a bowler hat and looks like he stepped straight out of a black and white photograph. My guests are dressed to the nines in flapper-era clothes. Narcissa’s in all pink, fitting for her, and she’s alive with joy, bouncing from one guest to the next before she takes the platter from me.

Heather did this. All of it. She transported every guest to a time and place that no longer exists.

“Fabulous, isn’t it?” Narcissa asks, taking my hand as a small jazz band begins to play in a corner. “Heather hired a singer. She should be here soon. She’s going to give us a real taste of the twenties. I think you’ve successfully hosted the party of the year. Everyone’s going to be talking about this for months.”

“I know we’re the vampires,” I say quietly, moving toward the Mayor of Savannah, “but I’m pretty sure she has more magic in her left pinkie than I do in my entire body.”

Narcissa squeezes my hand, and I spend the next ten minutes intermingling with the guests.

Heather manages to slip into the basement quietly, unnoticed. She brings food, arranges table settings, and makes sure the banquet is ready. There’s a lemonade fountain burbling merrily on a table filled with champagne glasses. The whole setup screams of opulence and excess, and yet here she is, walking around in Converse, smiling politely, running the whole show, and trying her best to blend in with the walls.

Trying. It’s impossible for her to blend in.

Even the mayor is drawn to her light.

I watch her over the brim of my bourbon glass. She is magnificent in her own awkward way. She blushes and smiles politely as the mayor talks with her. That damn gorgeous blush. Her voice is soft, her mannerisms charming, and more than one man is interested in her by the time everyone is gathered together for games.

Apparently they used to play charades a hundred years ago.

I’m only partly invested in the activities. I can’t keep my eyes from Heather. I don’t even notice when Narcissa sits next to me.

“There’s something wrong, McKenzie,” she says softly as guests laugh and joke.

“What?” I frown, looking down at my empty glass.

“I think she’s trying to distance herself from us.”

“She’s allowed to take a break. She can’t spend every waking moment here.”

“I mean permanently.”

My eyes lock on hers.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“She hasn’t been answering my phone calls. She didn’t come here to work on the party until she absolutely had to, and you know she’s been coming every day just to sit downstairs and enjoy the ambiance. Something scared her, enough that she’s willing to stay away from here. Did she say anything to you yesterday, or in the kitchen?”

“No,” I say with a frown. “I know she was sad when I came in earlier.”

“Something happened.” Narcissa smiles politely at one of our guests.

“Is her grandmother alright?”

“I think she would have told us otherwise.”

I grimace.

“I could try and read what she’s thinking, but I’m pretty sure she’d hate me if she found out.”

“That’s invasive,” Narcissa says, shaking her head. “You’re good at drawing information from her. She can’t seem to help her awkwardness around you. All you’d have to do is look at her a certain way, and she’d spill.”

“Or tug on her earring with my teeth.”

“What?” Narcissa gasps. “McKenzie Kevin Bristol! What did you do?”

“Not now, Cissa,” I groan. “We’re the center of the party.”

“Did you scare her off?”

“Not yesterday.”

“What are you doing to the poor girl?” she demands.

“Oh, so now she’s a girl,” I grumble. “Nothing that would scare her off. I was trying to cheer her up in the kitchen and went a little too far. I let myself get close. That’s all. The men are about to start a drinking game, and I need one. Excuse me.”

I join the other men at the bar counter and sit on a stool. There are shots lined up across the whole length of the bar, and I stare at the amber liquid in each crystal glass. My heart just isn’t into this right now. I feel like Narcissa’s concern has sucked out any joy I might have found this evening. I’m going to have to bury myself in work after this.

I get a trivia question wrong and toss back a shot.

I wish I could get drunk.

I don’t know why the idea of Heather trying to stay away bothers me so much. I think it’s because she’s become a fixture of Savannah for me. Deep Southern hospitality and charm all rolled into one blushing, peaceful, beautiful girl… woman.

She catches my eye and offers a smile.

I can’t return it.

Damn it.