Page 23 of Ghostly

“About that.” Gabriel put a box, displaying pictures of a tacky orange device, on the counter. “I may have invited some people over for dinner.”

“You have?”

“I know it’s unexpected, and I know we didn’t talk about it—”

“That’s great!” She hopped to the kitchen. “Are they nice? Interesting? I haven’t seen more people in so long. There are so many things—”

“Ida.”

“Right. Overwhelming talking.” She calmed herself down before she’d pass through food accidentally. Too bad she’d spoil the taste—that cinnamon roll looked delicious. “What are you cooking?”

“Oh, I’m not cooking. It’s not that type of dinner. I’ve got wine, I’ll prepare some cheese and why are you looking at me like I’m the one that’s not human?”

“I am human. Just dead. And that’s not how a dinner is supposed to look like.”

“Of course it is. I’ve been to tons of them with my firm. It’s always the same. A bit of fancy alcohol, hors d’oeuvres, you walk around and charm people.”

“Maybe on your fancy lawyer parties. But people will expect actual food here.”

“The point of such dinner is to do business. You don’t need spectacular food.”

“And the point ofthisdinner is to make friends and enjoy yourself.” Why couldn’t he let her live vicariously through him? “Now, what did you get?”

He raised a stack of blue cheese.

“Anything other than cheese,” she said, unimpressed.

“I have at least two pounds of chicken.” A bag of mixed chicken pieces landed on the counter. “They didn’t have any pre-made dishes.”

“Your loss is your guests’ victory. Open a website with recipes, please.”

“Fine. But I’m not cooking anything insane.” With more grumbling, Gabriel brought the laptop to the dining table and opened up a page. He turned to her. “Well?”

“You don’t know how to cook.”

Gabriel crossed his hands over his chest. “So what?”

“Nothing.” Shrugging, she glided to the laptop. “Don’t worry, I’ve got this.”

“Oh, I’m not worrying. I can cook, if I choose to. It just so happens I don’t choose it often.”

Ida only gave him a knowing smile and disappeared into the laptop. Did even recipe websites have a slight taste of food? There was something meaty about it, besides the usual metallic, electronic zing she felt every time she haunted a computer. She popped back out. “Here’s the deal. I say we make some gorgeous marinara, put a little of citrus zest in there, soak it in real well, throw it in the pan until it gets that lovely, lovely char, top it up with some sautéed veggies and a dash of spiced rice. Yes?”

Gabriel stared at her.

“What?”

“You’re speaking like a TV chef.”

“Well, yes, I did just haunt an entire recipe site. So…” She tapped her foot. “Are we going to do this? Or is it above your skill level?”

Gabriel opened a cabinet and grabbed a pan. “Don’t worry. I’ve got it.”

Three pieces of badly charred chicken and one burned pan later

“Surely it can’t be that hard to make chicken.” Ida glided up and down the kitchen.

“The recipe must be faulty.” Gabriel waved a wooden spoon around, spraying the counter with bits of marinade.