“This is exhausting,” he agreed softly. “All of it. Pretending to be okay while the world changes around you and leaves you behind to sit with whatever loss you found.”
It did feel exactly like that. “But you got through it, so I think I can, too.”
“I know you can. You’re braver than I could ever be. I couldn’t do what you do. Helping ghosts like me move on. You have to say goodbye so often.”
“It’s different with them—erm, you—because Igetto saygoodbye. The last thing I said to Dad was...” I hesitated, trying to remember my conversation with him. Friday felt like so long ago, and the conversation was already a blur. Had I told him I loved him? I knew I did, but I kept second-guessing it. What if I hadn’t that once?
I couldn’t remember.
I blinked the tears out of my eyes and cleared my throat. “Anyway, I appreciate your help during the card game.”
He snorted a laugh. “Well, you do suck at spades.”
“I donot!”
“Oh you absolutely do.” He cocked his head, and a curl of black hair fell across his forehead. “But you know, that’s kind of what I like about you.”
“That’swhat you like about me? I thought it was my perfect breasts?”
The tips of his ears went pink, and he quickly looked away. “Yes, well, they’re not why I likeyou. They’re a bonus. Like a book sale. Buy two, get one free.”
I chewed on the side of my cheek, trying to hide a smile. “And that’s what I like about you.”
“My broad and very perfect chest?”
“It is very broad,” I agreed, and he laughed. It was soft and throaty, and I really liked it.
The last crisps of winter clung to the chilly evening air as a spring wind blew its way through the budding oaks and dogwood trees, and I felt the itch in my fingers to write this all down. To paint the sky in dark blues and purples and silvers and paint the sidewalk in shards of glittery glass, and wax about how it felt to walk quietly beside someone who enjoyed your company just as much as you did theirs.
I couldn’t believe that I was swooning over the bare minimum—decency.
Dana was at the counter when we came into the inn, and they smiled at me over another romance novel. This time Christina Lauren. “Evening, Florence.”
“Good night, Dana!” I greeted.
Ben walked me up the stairs to my room at the end of the hallway, where he stood and waited as I fished for the room key in my purse. “Your family is really cool.”
“Oh, you saw them on a good night.”
“I’ve seen them every day this week while dealing with the worst,” he reminded.
I winced. “True. Imagine us duringweddings. We’re a riot.”
“I’d love to see that,” he replied with a soft sadness. Because the chances were, he wouldn’t. I’d finish Ann’s book and release him from this weird half-life before any of that happened.
Trying not to think too much about it, I found my key at the bottom of my purse and unlocked the door. “Honestly, it’s notthatspecial—Ben?”
He’d gone pale, suddenly, and caught himself against the side of the wall to keep from falling. I dropped my key and reached for him, but my hands passed through his arm.
“Ben—Ben are you okay?”
“Do you hear that?” he asked. His eyes had gone glassy.
“I—I don’t hear anything.”
“It sounds like—like—” But then he winced. The lamp on the table began to rattle.
Dana called from downstairs, “Florence? Is everything okay?”