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“Then what does happen, smartass?”

“He dies.”

His fingers reflexively squeeze a little too hard, and our flowerpot becomes a candy dish. I snort, my head flopping back to his shoulder. “That’s why it’s calledGhost. He’s a ghost.”

“But… They don’t do it?”

I stifle a laugh with my forearm, and he heaves a sigh. “I really thought they did it.” When my snickers subside, he slants his head back, smiling at me. “Can we still do it?”

He’s impossible, and it’s impossible to say no to him. “Not here.”

He kisses me, dragging his hands up to my wrists and forearms, painting me with wet clay. I scowl at him. “Now we’re definitelynotgoing to do it.”

“Famous last words,” he murmurs into the slope of my neck, and he’s right.

I’ll give in. I probably always would.

Which is exactly the problem.

“You ever make a sculpture?” he asks as I stop the wheel to clean up.

“I’ve tried. I’m not very good at it.”

He makes a curious sound. “Okay, but what if you, like, make a copy of something?”

I put the clay away and wipe off my hands. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

“You know how famous people put their hands and feet in the sidewalk at that theater in LA?”

“Yeah.” I smile. That was on an episode ofI Love Lucy. One of my favorites.

“Can you do that?”

“I guess.” I shrug, standing, and he follows me.

“You should make one of your tits for me.”

I slug him in the shoulder, and he chuckles, rubbing at it.

“It was just a suggestion.”

“I’m not making a mold of my tits.”

“But they’re so nice. They should be immortalized.”

“I can’t stand you.”

He snakes his arm around my waist, towing me into him, his grin doing more to soothe my weary soul than hours at the wheel. “You love me.”

“I don’t,” I say, even as my heart clangs around in my rib cage.

He strokes my cheek with his thumb. “You got a bit of clay on you.”

I lean into his touch, my breath hitching slightly. “Because you made me a mess.”

He smiles, his thumb tracing a path down to my lips. “I like messy.”

Before I can respond, he leans in, capturing my lips in a soft, slow kiss. I melt into him, reaching my hands up to tangle in his hair as he glides his down my sides to my thighs, squeezing, urging me up. I wrap my legs around his waist so he can carry me to the house. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”