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That wasn’t what really caught my attention, though. One of the room’s curtainless windows was fogged over. Fogged except for a large, slightly off-kilter heart that stood out in sharp relief as soon as I flicked on the lights.

“Holy sh—” My jaw dropped. “Polo, did you do that?” I asked, knowing full well he couldn’t have.

I scrambled for my phone in my back pocket, snapping a pic of the eerie heart, then jabbing my finger on the phone to find Bastian’s number.

“Hello?” Bastian answered curiously.

“Bastian!” I all but shouted. “The ghosts are out! I need you to get over here right now.”

He could have laughed at me or questioned me and generally not taken me seriously. Instead, he said, “I’m on my way,” and ended the call.

I was too spooked to stay in the room. I rushed back downstairs and into the kitchen, the one place I knew I could find comfort. I turned up the thermostat and turned on the oven, even though I had no plans to cook anything. The faint whoosh of the gas oven turning on was a comfort in and of itself.

Bastian really did rush right over. He must have left work in a hurry, because he was wearing his funeral director suit instead of black jeans and a t-shirt. He did have one of his more formal, calf-length coats on, and I will admit the flare of the hem in the wind as I threw open the front door as soon as he knocked sent heat pulsing through me. His looming presence in the doorway against the blowing autumn leaves and slight dampness of the evening fit the mood entirely.

“I’m here,” Bastian announced, stepping into my house.

I was so relieved I could have thrown myself into his arms and climbed him like a tree. “Thank god!” I gasped. “It’s the ghosts. The house is really haunted. They just proved it.”

“Show me,” Bastian said, moving deeper into the house.

I pointed to the staircase, then scurried up. Bastian mounted the stairs two at a time, and Polo, who had been keeping me company in the kitchen gamboled with us.

As if he already had a sense what was going on, Bastian marched straight to the front bedroom. He saw the flashing EMF detector and went straight for it, pulling out his phone. He crouched, checked the app, then hummed and said, “The activity in here is off the charts.”

“It’s not that,” I said, looking at the window. “It’s that!” I pointed at the heart.

For whatever reason, the fog had condensed into more of a streaky wetness. The heart was still faintly visible, but only if you squinted and used your imagination. Bastian blinked as if he wasn’t sure he saw anything, so I pulled my phone out and showed him the pic I’d taken earlier.

His eyes went wide. “Interesting,” he said, then looked right at me.

I felt a burst of something that filled my insides. The way he studied me was just so…comforting. As long as Bastian was with me, everything would be alright.

Except, would it? Was dating the town weirdo really good for business?

I shook my head to clear away the stupid thoughts. I wasn’t going to entertain them. I wasn’t going to let people like Stanley and my dad whisper in my brain for the rest of my life and keep me from something genuinely wonderful.

“It’s going to be okay,” Bastian said, like he could read my mind. “Malicious ghosts don’t generally tend to leave heart messages in people’s houses.”

I blew out a breath and let my shoulders drop. “You have a point there.”

Bastian smiled. That didn’t seem to be enough for him, so he rested a comforting hand on my shoulder. That wasn’t enough either, so he moved his warm hand to cradle the side of my face, then leaned down to kiss me.

I loved it. I loved the way he could calm my frantic energy with just a touch of his lips. The man really was magic.

“Let me take a look,” he said in his warm, comforting voice.

I wasn’t happy when he stepped away from me, but it was all in the name of investigation, so I didn’t protest. He walked over to the window, staring at the wet glass with a curious frown. When he reached out and touched the spot where the heart had been, I swear I felt something in my balls.

“It could be a message from Josaiah,” Bastian said, still studying the window. “Or it could be the remnants of some sort of adhesive heart sticker that was attached to the window a long time ago.”

I deflated at the pedestrian explanation. I liked the idea of my house ghost trying to tell me something so much more.

“What about the fog?” I asked. “That was the only window with fog on it. The other one is perfectly normal.”

Bastian shifted to the other window, touching it’s less-damp surface. “Could be drafts,” he said, then glanced back at me. “Or it could be the original owner.”

“Do you think?” I asked, taking a step closer to him.