Page 17 of Ghosted (The Ravenwood #1)

FIFTEEN

A few days later, I finally decide to give Aunt Clarissa’s idea a try.

I close the shop down for lunch and evaluate the space, trying to figure out where to install the “Medium’s Meeting Room.

” I came up with the name last night. Anxiety had kept me awake most of the night anyway.

Once the sun dusted the sky in periwinkle dawn, I gave up on sleep and got moving.

I skip my eyes over the library corner, chock full of books, the shelves holding all sorts of oddities from taxidermied bugs to rune stones.

Then I scan the small antique section, filled with clothing, herbs, and crystals from local artisans.

For the first time, I truly see just how stuffed to the brim this store is.

“Well, shit,” I say aloud. I need a spot that can offer a bit of privacy.

My gaze catches on the smaller supply closet where we keep all the cleaning junk.

I tilt my head and stride over to it, instinctively hopping over the curled edges of the antique rug at the center of the store.

I pull open the door and assess the space.

It’s probably about six-feet deep and five-feet wide.

It would be a little tight, but if I took out the shelves lining the walls, it would feel bigger.

I flick on the overhead light and step inside, trying to envision the space fully cleaned out and outfitted to look mystical, matching the rest of the shop.

“What are you doing in the closet?” Dean asks from behind me.

The only sign that he surprised me is a slight inhale through my nose.

Other than that, I try to avoid giving him the satisfaction of making me jump.

I don’t want to encourage that; I’ve had a few too many ghosts make a habit of startling me.

“I’m going to start helping people talk to their dead loved ones, but I want some anonymity.

I was checking out the closet as a potential space for it,” I explain, turning toward him, keeping my tone even.

“Are you going to wear a veil? That could be very sexy. Like one of those birdcage ones, but in black? Ohhh, or maybe a mask. Have you seen the masked dudes online? I bet there’s a niche for masked women, too,” he says, staring intently at the contours of my face as though he’s going to place a custom order for me.

“Um, probably not,” I say, marveling at the way his brain goes off in a million unexpected directions with the smallest push.

His shoulders sag with disappointment. “Oh.”

I change the subject, hoping to point his attention away from sexy veils and masks. “You’ve been gone a while, Dean. How are you?”

“Have I?” he asks, twin lines of confusion forming between his immaculately groomed brows.

“Almost a week,” I reply with a nod .

“Damn. Time flies when you’re dead. Sorry, I needed rest, and then I was practicing staying in one place for a while.

I got pretty good at it, so prepare to be sick of me,” he says with a grin that makes my stomach feel funny.

He steps closer until I can nearly count every eyelash and looks into my eyes before lowering his attention to my mouth.

Stop it, I chastise myself. Having a crush on a dead guy has heartbreak written all over it. It’s difficult to leash the desire because I’ve kissed the man, and it was a damn good kiss. I really need to throw up some boundaries for my own sake.

“Look, Dean. I’m happy to help you, I am.

I want you to move on and find peace. But I can’t deal with the flirting, okay?

It’s confusing and makes my job harder.” I take a step back so there’s more space between us.

Even though I can breathe normally again, I feel a little like I’ve just given up something precious.

“What’s there to be confused about? I thought we had a good time,” he says with a small pout of his plush mouth.

“We did. If we weren’t in this scenario,”—I gesture between us—“I’m sure we would have gone on many more dates and gotten a dog or something eventually.

But that’s not our reality. So, no matter how much we liked each other, we have to keep things friendly.

Anything else will just end up causing pain.

There’s only one way this ends, and that’s you going to wherever spirits rest, and me here.

Alone,” I say, my voice scraping over the last word.

He searches my face and nods. “Okay. I’m sorry. I’ll keep the flirting to a minimum.” After an awkward beat, he clears his throat and says, “Why the new business venture?”

I’m grateful that he takes the lead in changing the subject.

I explain our upcoming money troubles again, feeling like I’m reciting a script at this point. You’d think repeating it over and over would make it less anxiety-inducing, but no such luck. Once I’m done, he hums and asks, “So, this whole medium for hire thing, you’re okay with it?”

I’m surprised at the question, because he’s the first person who’s asked me that. Not if I could do it, but if I wanted to. He’s the first to understand the nuance between the two.

I surprise myself even more with my answer.

“I am. I wasn’t at first, but a new friend helped me see that just because I view it as a duty doesn’t mean I don’t deserve to get paid for it.

I’m still not sold on attaching my face to it, but if I can remain anonymous, I think it might be nice to help people.

There’s also the hope that it would attract customers year-round, which would help with the money issue. ”

He nods thoughtfully. “I hate to ask this, seeing as how you’re stressed over your job, but do you think you can still help me figure out what happened to me?” There’s a vulnerability in his tone. A gentle crack in his voice over the question, and I’m slammed with grief and anger all over again.

When I talk with him like this, it’s easy to forget that he’s dead.

It’s easy to shove the heartbreak down and dwell in the pleasure of having him here, now.

But I have to force myself to remember the reality of this situation again and again until it sticks.

He’s dead and in need of my help, so he can move on and be at peace. He deserves that.

“Yes. Of course I will.” I look up into his eyes, and it’s only then that I notice how close I’ve gotten—like a supplicant drawn to a deity. I take a small step back again, feeling his energy buzz along my body like a feather drawn down my spine .

He grins at the movement. “Where do we start?” I might be imagining it, but I swear his voice went a little husky.

I clear my own throat and say, “We should probably go to your house. Sometimes returning to the site of death helps jog a person’s memory. Have you been back to your house yet?”

He shakes his head, saying quietly, “No. I haven’t. It’s been too… Difficult, I guess.” He shrugs and runs a hand through his hair, clearly agitated at the thought.

“Would it help if we went together?” I ask, hoping that he has a spare key hidden somewhere.

He nods again, so I say, “Alright. After I close the shop for the night, we’ll go.

You should probably rest until then. I know you say you’ve gotten good at hanging around, but it’s better to conserve your energy so you don’t blink out without wanting to. ”

“Off to get my beauty rest then,” he says, pantomiming a giant yawn. “Will you yank me back into existence like you did the first time?” he asks, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

I feel my cheeks heat. “Yes, but I’ll try to be more gentle this time.”

“Oh, don’t do that on my account,” he says with a wink before disappearing.