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“Sunday night?” I asked. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had a Sunday dinner.”

His delight was immediate. “Ah, she’ll be thrilled. She loves a Sunday roast. Ye eat meat, don’t ya?”

“I do,” I reassured him. “I am more than happy to eat anything Moira decides to cook.”

“Oh, don’t say that. She’ll make enough to feed the town. No allergies?”

“None,” I said, touched that he’d even thought to ask. “I’m looking forward to it.”

And I found that, for once, it was not a lie.

I was looking forward to it. Tommy was a nice man. If Moira was even half like him, I was at a real risk of being taken by them both.

Before I left, he surprised me with a book from her own collection, a woman with a ripped bodice on the front and a man in a low-slung kilt, muscles greased until they shined.

Falling for the Irish Lord.

I thanked him profusely, stuffed the book in the bag full of my groceries, and headed back to the castle. I recognized a few faces as I passed and I found myself saying hello first, offering a hesitant smile and scurrying away.

“It’s been a long time since you’ve been able to talk. Don’t you miss it?”

NO.

That gave me pause. “Oh.” I opened and closed my mouth twice, words failing me. “I’m—I’m sorry. I should have at least asked if you wanted to…” I trailed off.

Wolfe’s energy grew quiet, contemplative. Watchful, almost.

“I’m projecting, aren’t I? You didn’t ask for this. For me. I’ll stop. I’m sorry.”

Silence. Heavy footsteps from the corner. I wondered what he saw. If the world looked different on the other side of the veil.

The tiles on the table moved and I looked away, unable to stomach the answer.

I wouldn’t cry. Not over this. Not over someone who was lost to the other side but god, I was so tired of being alone.

So tired of never having anyone to talk to.

So tired of not having someone to share things with.

Good days, bad days, days that just were.

I handled them all on my own, locked in my apartment and staring out over the city. Somewhere out there, there was someone just like me, wishing that there was a connection to a faceless stranger in a sea of millions. Someone waiting for me. Wishing for me, too.

A ghost wasn’t the answer, but right now, Wolfe was all I had.

The thought hurt, cutting deep through my heart.

I wrote romance for a living and right now, I was convinced there wasn’t anyone more lonely in the world than me.

“Stupid,” I whispered.

I should change my flight. Go home early. Beg my publisher and Marissa to understand. To give me more time or let me down easy.

The tiles stopped moving. A slow vibration ran down my arm and I imagined if he could, he’d be trying to turn me around right now.

“Really, it’s fine.” The buzzing grew until it sparked against my skin, like I’d shocked myself. “Ow! Hey!” I turned, staring at the tiles on the table.

I blinked twice, daring a step closer.