I sniff, tears slipping down. I kiss the paper and slide it with the money into the envelope, and drag my tongue along the edge to seal it. Just in time, the doorbell rings.
I grab the box and hurry from the staff kitchen into the hallway, my pace getting quicker until I reach the front door.
When I pull it open, the mailman is there, just as he promised. Eight in the morning, not a minute off.
“Good morning,” he says. “Do you have everything ready?”
“Here,” I say, pushing the box toward him, then the envelope. “They go to the same address.” The words come tripping over each other.
“Ugh.” My palm presses to my forehead. “I’m sorry. Good morning.” I let out a shallow breath. “That was rude.”
I reach into my back pocket, pull out the money, and hand it to him. “For your trouble.”
He presses his lips into a thin line, then nods. “Thank you. It should arrive in two days.”
“Thank you,” I say, already closing the door.
The latch clicks, and I lean back for a second, exhaling as I step further inside. My eyes move on the phone. The cord is loose, stretched longer than it was before, twisted from where he wrapped it around me last night.
I take another step and I stop in the middle of the hallway just as I hear movements above.
He comes down the staircase, wearing a white shirt, and black trousers. His hair is still wet from the shower, two strands slipping over his forehead. When his gaze finds me, his eyes look darker, deeper shade of blue.
“What,” I gasp. “What are you doing here?”
He lifts a brow. “It’s my house.”
Heat rushes to my face. My gaze drops to my feet.
“Are you going to do that often?”
“What?” He keeps walking down the stairs. “Take a shower?”
“No.” I let out a short laugh, though my heartbeat climbs higher with every step he takes. “I meant... are you going to come here more often?
He laughs.
“Uhm.” His jaw tightens. “Do you want me to go?”
“No,” I say too quickly.
As much as I hate admitting it, I have not seen anything. No shadows, no people, nothing I could call ghosts since he stayed here with me last night.
He steps closer. “I want the list, Kitten.”
I take a step back. “It’s not done yet.”
He takes a step closer. His hand wraps around mine, pulling me toward him, the other lifting to cup my cheek, then the other, holding my face in place. “Maybe you need a little motivation.”
My throat tightens as his face moves closer.
“Maybe,” I whisper, my eyes falling shut.
His scent reaches me. The smell of the ocean. The same scent I remember from the blazer at the hospital.
His lips press against mine.
Behind my closed eyes, images break through in sharp flashes. It comes back to me.
