Page 49 of Paws & Order

"It was a hell of a night."

"Which part?" she asks. "The unresolved ghostly trauma or the third cup of coffee after ten p.m.?"

"Both." She smiles.

The sight of it lands somewhere directly beneath my ribs.

For a second, neither of us says anything.

Neither of us moves away.

Then Gomez climbs directly onto my face.

The moment dies a swift and furry death.

Liza laughs so hard she nearly falls off the couch.

An hour later, we're both in the kitchen pretending to be normal people.

Neither of us is particularly convincing.

Liza leans against the counter clutching a carton of oat milk like an emotional support beverage.

I'm making coffee because it gives me something to do besides stare at her.

The silence isn't awkward. Not exactly. Just new. Different.

The kind that comes after something changes.

"The thing about hauntings," Liza says eventually, "is that everyone wants a dramatic story. Most of the time it's just leftovers."

I glance up.

"Leftovers?"

She nods. "Stuff people couldn't let go of."

Her gaze drifts toward the blue tulip. The evidence bags. The coins. The collection of impossible things spread across her table.

"I think Teddy just wants to be remembered."

The nickname still makes me irrationally annoyed.

Not because it's wrong. Because she sounds fond of him. Which is ridiculous. I'm not jealous of a dead Victorian. Probably.

I slide her coffee across the counter.

"You've gotten awfully comfortable with our ghost."

"I've gotten comfortable with the idea that he isn't trying to hurt me."

Fair. Still annoying.

She wraps both hands around her mug.

The morning light catches in her hair.

I look away before I do something stupid. Or smart.