I jerk back. “What’s wrong with Taylor Swift? When I’m depressed, she’s my go-to. As you’ve noticed, my mental state has been baseline terrible for a while now.”
The muscle in his jaw leaps. “She’s fine. Perfectly mediocre. But why not try a little variety?”
Perfectly mediocre?TheTaylor Alison Swift? Forget how hot he must’ve been when he was alive. This guy’s a moron. “It’s not like I knew anyone else was here. I was blastingmymusic the wayIlike to listen to it because I assumed I was alone.”
“Now that you know you’re not…” he trails off, a clear plea for me to give him what he wants.
“Fine,” I huff, taking a spiteful bite of my breakfast. That’s when I realize this is a negotiation. If he wants me to stay, then I can toss out some demands of my own. “But you need to stop spying on me. I don’t want you listening in on my phone calls, or peeping on me in the shower–”
“I’m a married man,” he interrupts, with a hand over his heart. The silver wedding band is still on his finger, after all these years. “I would never do that.”
“Your desire to spy on women without consent shouldn’t have anything to do with your marital status, just FYI.” He rolls his eyes as I continue. “Swear on your wife and child that youwon’t be a total creep and I’ll take your word for it.” It might be a cruel thread to pull, but it’s the only leverage I have. Based on the way his voice cracked when he first mentioned them and the tortured look he’s giving me now, it’ll work.
“Done. Can you clarify your terms? I don’t want to make assumptions and unintentionally cross a line.”
Now we’re getting somewhere.
“No more judgmental comments about Mark. I was weak and horny, and that’s why I invited him, but I don’t care about him enough to defend him. When you mock him, it feels like you’re mocking me. So drop it, okay?”
He dips his chin in agreement. “What else?”
“This is the important one. If I’m behind a closed door, you need to knock before entering. I don’t want to worry about being watched while I’m sleeping or doing anything else. No floating in and scaring the shit out of me or coming in without me seeing you,” I tell him. “I assume that’s how you’ve stayed hidden until last night?”
He nods. “Yes, I can make myself invisible. In your presence, I no longer will. I swear it. On Susanna and Daniel.” His eyes look wet as he says his son’s name, and I wonder if ghosts can cry. If they can, do the tears actually fall? Or just disappear? “But in the presence of anyone else, I will not show myself.”
“Right, and this whole deal is in an effort to keep your presence a secret from Lindsay, correct?”
“Mm. As long as she doesn’t know I exist, she will continue to think of this as a dusty old house she wants nothing to do with. She’ll let you stay here, and nothing will change for me. That’s what I want.”
I don’t feel comfortable lying to Lindsay, especially since she’s trusting me to keep the house in order until she decides what to do with it. However, until I get a job and start makingmoney, this is the only rent-free housing I’ll be able to get, so it benefits me to keep Winston’s existence hidden.
“Anything else?” he asks.
“When the door is open, you can come in, as long as you’re visible. Obviously, we’ll share the common areas.” A thought occurs to me. “Where do you sleep?Doyou sleep?”
“The attic is my room, and it’s off-limits. That’s where my personal items are kept. I don’t require sleep, so most nights I will read in the study, or I will roam the property, checking to see if repairs are needed anywhere.”
“Got it. I’ll stay out of the attic.”
“Then, we have a deal?” he asks, his lips curving with hope and showing off a large dimple in his right cheek. A dimple I want to curl up and take a nap in, and will no doubt keep picturing for the rest of the day.
I hold out my hand, then pull it back. “Oh, right. You can’t shake.” The scene fromCasperplays in my head, when Kat and Casper’s hands float through each other. Is that how it would be with Winston? “Or can you?”
He chuckles softly. “Hold out your hand.”
When I do, he outstretches his much larger hand, and it crosses right through my skin and blood and bones, and the only thing I feel is a cold, tingly sensation. Like sticking your hand into a snow pile and getting pins and needles.
“I can dothis,” he says as I start to giggle, “orthis.”
His translucent hand retreats, and when it inches back toward me, I notice a difference. Color. His rough fingers wrap around mine and grip as he shakes. An earthy scent fills my nose, and as I breathe it in, I realize it’s his. Pine and woodsmoke. A comforting, alluring smell that reminds me of autumn.
The rest of him is still that misty gray from before, but from his elbow down to his fingertips, there’s a real hand. It’s cold,but it’s firm. His skin is a light tan, his fingers are thick with trimmed and clean fingernails, and soft brown hair covers the corded muscles of his forearm.
“Wow,” is all I can say. We’ve stopped shaking, and now we’re just holding hands. “This is crazy, but it’s real, right? I’m not imagining it? Or you?”
Winston lets go and guffaws loudly at my question. “I’d hope your imagination could do a lot better than a stubborn asshole like me, Natalie.”
Normally, I’d be quick to protest such a comment. I’d say, “Oh, you’re not so bad,” even without knowing much about him. I’d still want to make him feel better. But something about Winston makes me want to push back.
