“No, it isn’t.” She stared at the mess like it was taking every ounce of her willpower not to lean inside and clean it up.
Bending down, he gathered everything back into the box with quivering hands, then set it on the kitchen counter. Ximena stared at the pepper on the floor, her eyes watery. Micah stepped outside, then pulled her in a gentle hug. “It’s okay.”
“I’m sorry, mijo.”
Ximena was sweet and wouldn’t do anything to hurt him, but the fear came anyway. Had it been past-her dropping lightbulbs everywhere, he wouldn’t have panicked.
It made no damn sense, and he couldn’t keep living like this.
“I need help.” He walked into the living room, planted his feet firmly on the carpet, and said, “Will you step back in? Just stand over the threshold and–”
“No!” She waved her hands and backed into the balcony railing.
“If you do it a few times, maybe I’ll get used to it and won’t panic.”
“No! I’m not going to hurt you a second time.” She sniffed and wiped her eyes, then hurried across the balcony and down the stairs.
Damn it. It might not have worked anyway, but he was never going to know without someone to assist him.
He shut the door, walked back to the bedroom, and dropped into the desk chair. Hopefully the mall had gift baskets, because Ximena deserved one. Something from the cooking store.
If Everett was here, he could practice with Micah, but it probably wouldn’t work. It was Everett, so Micah wouldn’t panic to begin with. And Everett would have to take time off of work and fly in, and Micah couldn’t put that burden on him.
Maybe what he needed was the help of a beautiful ghost.
He opened his phone, hesitated, then typed,
After a moment, Cosmo replied.
He started to type his request, then thought about Cosmo speeding down the stairs after Micah’s awful outburst, only returning because Ximena threatened him. He hadn’t known Cosmo long enough to ask him for something so big, especially if it might scare him away for good.
Instead he wrote:
Micah laughed.
His heart fluttered, and he leaned back in the chair. Saturday couldn’t come soon enough.
A crash came from the kitchen. He gripped the armrests, the breath snatched from his lungs. What now? Leaving the comfort of his knife below the desk where it was taped, he crept down the hall and told himself a little old lady would be much more frightened ofhimappearing out of nowhere while she was trying to watchMurder She Wrote. That thought didn’t slow his pulse, however, and it took all his effort to peek into the kitchen. The box he’d set on the counter lay on the floor; ladles, egg beaters, wooden spoons, and spice tins were strewn across the tile.
“Hello?”
Something brushed against his leg, and he yelped.
