His closed mouth smile spreads upward. “That’s what I was thinking.”
There is definitely something happening here.There were moments before—small, very miniscule moments that I could easily misconstrue—but this is more than a moment. This is an era. Something has shifted between us, and I no longer feel like the one in control.
I was supposed to be the one helping Theo break out of his shell. But right now, it feels likehe’scompletely abandoned that shell and is standing on dry land.
No more thawing of his icy exterior. Just Theo, warm and inviting.
“Have you eaten?” Theo asks, piercing through another one of my spirals.
I barely shake my head. “Not since breakfast.”
He turns and walks to the dresser, bursting our bubble and leaving me breathless. “I also wanted to get some food for you to have here at the house.”
“Food?” I repeat.
“It’s your favorite,” he says confidently, andit’slike he knows me.
I thought I would bemissing out ona human experience by not being able to eat, buthe’sright,it’sbigger than that. I loved food when I was alive. I loved trying new things and learning new recipes. Food was something that brought my small group of friends together, and it comforted me when I was sad. It pushed me outsidemy comfort zone, and it was always therewhen I needed it.
Ihadn’trealized it before, but somehow with just my mention of blueberry pancakes, Theo has managed to discern all of that.
And then it hits me: Idon’tneed to know how I died. Because itdoesn’tmatter. The only thing that matters is thatI’mhere, and all the things that made life beautiful are still within reach.They’rejust a little different now.
I clear my throat and brush my hair behind my ear. “How are you going to get food? Are we going shopping?”
My underlying question iswhetherTheo is going to leave the house, buthe’salready got an answer for me.
“I found a loophole,” he says. “I tested it yesterday.”
“A loophole?”
Theo starts absentmindedly rubbing his hands together, somethingI’venoticed he does whenhe’sdeep in thoughtor feeling anxious. “I traveled…through the void.”
I scrunch my face. “Where did you go?”
He places a hand on the dresser, and I notice the index finger of his other hand running circles around his thumb. He grips the edge of the dresser tightly, his knuckles turning white.
“I was looking for Aidan,” he confesses, “so I navigated my way to the movie theater, using the void.”
Theo was at the movie theater yesterday?
How did I not know this? The elusive ghost of Vanderbilt House finally shows his face in ShadowHillsand no one is talking about it?
But then I see the bigger picture.
“Theo!” I shriek with jubilation. “You left the house!” He tries to hide a smile, but I rush over to him and grab his shoulders. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!”
His chest rises and falls with shallow breaths as he wets his lips.Maybe it’shim showing vulnerability. Ormaybe it'smyproximitymakinghim nervous. Whatever it is thathashimleaninginto me, or his gaze drinking in the shape of my mouth, Ican’tlet it slip away.I take the leap and press my lips tohis.
Istay still, only applying the smallest amount of pressure. Idon’twant to scare him, and I need him to want this as much as I do. Finally, after what feels like a hundred years of waiting,I feel his soft lipsbegin to move against mine.
He feels so real.Thisis real.
We’remere ghosts channeling our physical bodiestotouchand yet I feel more alive than ever before.
It’sno longer just a tingle that sparks between us.It’spure electricity. A lightning strike.
Theo presses against me and turns us so my back is against the dresser. His hands are light against my sides, and I desperately want to feel more pressure, but Ican’trush him.And everythinghe’sdoing feels so good.
