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"I'm a venture capitalist," I say. "I invest in local businesses every week. If you need money to open a bakery, you can just ask me."

"That's very generous of you to offer," she says. "But now is not the right time. And when it is, I want to be able to do it on my own."

She doesn't like depending on other people.

I was quick to make assumptions about her. But the more I get to know her, the more I like her.

This girl has a sick grandmother, a psychotic stalker, and fifty-seven dollars in her bank account. She has every reason to be miserable and sulky. But instead, she finds little pockets of joy throughout the day. Things like cookies and shopping for Halloween decorations.

But there's more. She has this light that radiates from inside her.

It must be the reason I can't take my eyes off her.

"You're watching me," she says.

"I'm trying to figure you out," I say.

She shakes her head, but there's a small smile on her face.

"You're probably the only person I know who says exactly what's on their mind every single time," she says.

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

"I'm justmaking an observation." She shrugs.

This moment between us feels so simple. It feels so natural. I don't always enjoy the company of other people, but it doesn't take any effort at all to be with her.

The moment shatters with the sound of the kids coming home.

Like me, they make a beeline to the kitchen.

"You made cookies?" James asks, looking at Emma in awe.

"Yes, but I need your help," Emma says.

Rosalie and James gather around the kitchen island, their eyes lighting up at the sight of all the cookies.

"Go wash your hands first," Emma says.

The kids do as they're told and then come running back to the island. Even Rosalie looks like a kid for the first time in a long time.

"I want the pink frosting," Rosalie says.

"Here you go." Emma hands her the pink piping bag.

"Ghosts aren't pink." James wrinkles his nose.

"Are too," Rosalie counters, her piping bag hovering over the cookie. "How do I start?"

"Apply light pressure to get the icing out and let your hand flow freely," Emma instructs.

Rosalie looks up at Emma.

"What if I mess up?" she asks.

"Then we'll eat the cookies with our eyes closed," Emma says. "I'm kidding. It doesn't really matter. Just do your best."

"I want it to be perfect," Rosalie says, eyeing the rest of the cookies. "Like yours."