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“Why do you say that?”

“Because it’s true. Have fun.” And he disappeared.

“Tristan!” I called, but I knew he’d gone as his wonderful fragrance had vanished too.

Doubt reared its ugly head.

Should I go?

Am I ready for a party?

Is Tristan jealous?

Maybe he’s just jealous of Dylan. But why?

Sitting down on the edge of my bed, I put my head in my hands.

Why am I worried about Tristan’s feelings?

What did this beautiful, sweet ghost mean to me?

Too much.

I cared for him too much. He was my friend. He’d said so.

Emily, friends don’t kiss like he does.

He was more than my friend; he was a wonderful distraction, and he kept me away from the darkness of my grief. And he liked me too. But he was right. What kind of future did I have with him? My heart sank. He was such a mystery, a mystery that was caught up in something that brought trouble to Dylan and this house.

Downstairs, Dylan and Lulu were sitting at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, talking quietly and reading the Sunday supplements from yesterday. Dylan glanced up when I walked in, and his brow furrowed. A tall, young woman with long blond hair tied in a ponytail wearing latex gloves was dusting the door handle of the utility room.

“Has she found anything?” I asked.

Dylan shook his head. “What is it, Emily?” he asked gently.

How did he pick up on my anxiety so quickly?

“Jack called. He’s invited me to a party.”

Lulu looked up, surprised.

“Jack?” Dylan frowned.

“From France, Dylan,” Lulu interjected.

“Oh, yes. Do you want to go?”

“I don’t know,” I whispered.

Dylan rose and ambled toward me. He had changed out of his cricket whites and now wore jeans and a black T-shirt.

“Where’s the party? Do you want me to take you?”

“Near here. Jack said he would pick me up.”

Dylan rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Are you up to a party?” His voice was deceptively soft, but his eyes radiated concern.

“I don’t know. Jack doesn’t know about, you know, Mum and Dad and Billy. It feels odd to think I could go out and enjoy myself.”