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Nobody answered.

“Lakelyn?”

I moved closer until I was standing right beside him.

Wrong homeowner.

He couldn’t hear me, but the closet door slowly started closing again.

Yonas grabbed it before it could shut. “Nah.”

He pushed it all the way open, and I pushed it halfway closed again. He shoved it back, so I pushed against him a second time.

That made him stop.

I stopped too, leaving the door suspended between us while he narrowed his eyes at it like he had officially entered into a disagreement with a piece of furniture.

I damn near smiled myself into another lifetime.

Yonas shoved the door open hard.

I slammed it closed.

BAM!

He jumped backward. “The fuck?!”

I nodded approvingly.

Now we’re making progress.

For several seconds, he stood there staring at the closed closet like he was waiting to see what it planned on doing next. When nothing happened, he walked over to his suitcase, grabbed the rest of the clothes he had taken out, and started putting them back inside.

My entire mood improved.

That’s right. Fold that shit back up.

He tossed in another shirt.

Uh-huh.

A pair of jeans followed.

Those too.

Then came his toiletries, another pair of shoes, and some other shit he had apparently thought he needed for his weeklong vacation in another man’s house.

Excellent decision.

By the time he zipped the suitcase, I was damn near supervising.

Yonas stood upright and rubbed a hand over his jaw, giving the bedroom one more slow sweep before his attention eventually settled on the closet. The doors stayed shut this time, but I could tell he was waiting for them to move again.

For somebody who had spent the last few minutes trying to convince himself that everything happening around him had a logical explanation, the nigga sure was watching that closet like he expected me to come strolling out of it.

After a few seconds, he straightened his shoulders.

“Aight,” he said into the quiet room. “I don’t know what the fuck is going on. I don’t know if I’m tired, stressed, seeing shit, losing my damn mind, or hell… even dealing with a ghost.” He looked around the room, his eyes moving over the walls, the closet, and the doorway before he let out a short breath. “Wouldn’t surprise me in this big mothafucka. But if you are a ghost, you picked the wrong nigga to scare. I don’t scare easily.”