The man nods from inside the diner and flashes a smile as white as the snow-lined walkway. I wave before realizing he was nodding at the pretty redhead hopping up on the curb. She rushes into the diner to get out of the cold, and I plunk down on a metal bench facing out into the deserted street.
I've never been good with men, with dating... or the sweaty romping that goes with it. Awkward and overeager used to be my main problems, though I have been told I look like a young Faye Dunaway. Don't know the name? Yeah I didn't either. I guess that gives away that my biggest compliment came from my grandfather.
Death hasn't improved me. At least, I can hope that guy in the diner didn't see me make a fool of myself. Most people have trouble seeing me, even around midnight, which it is. I came out hoping for... I don't know, something better than Grandpa's stuffy apartment. Don't know why I bothered. I'll just wake up back there tomorrow night.
In the meantime, all I can do is embarrass myself.
Not that I did any better when I was alive. There was one guy I clicked with. Though thinking back, maybe the chemistry was all on my side. He didn't even tell me his real name.
"So what's your name, Special Agent?" I inspected the amazingly uninformative card the gorgeous man had handed me. He was in the middle of a stream of questions about Grandpa's death. All really weird questions, but I hardly heard them. His dark skin and curls had me captivated.
"My friends call me Fifty-seven." He winked as if this was some sort of inside joke.
Like an idiot, I pretended to be in on it and smiled.
Then he went on to say a ton of things I didn't hear because I was watching the way the little scar at the corner of his mouth pulled, making his expressions charmingly uneven. If I'd listened, I wouldn't be in this mess.
I probably sound really callous, going all batshit for some guy right after Grandpa offed himself. My guilt over the flirtation was severe enough that I sat down to have tea with Grandpa the next night, despite burying him that morning.
"Try that one. It'll relax you," Grandpa's voice was throaty, raspy. Honestly, terrifying.
I added some powder from the jar to my tea.
I know. I should have listened to Mr. Fifty-seven the self-proclaimed 'paranormal expert' but, considering he said his name was Fifty-seven, I didn't give a lot of clout to his words. Still, Mr. Fake-name said some creepy things before he left.
"People change after a violent death- become fixated on the last thing on their mind."
"Look, Mr...Fifty-Seven...I can handle myself."
"You staying here? I should come check in on you..."
"What agency are you from?" I flipped his card in my hand. "This would be more helpful if it had something other than a phone number." Maybe a picture.
"I'll come back."
He didn't add 'when you're more reasonable' which I appreciated. A guy claiming to work with ghosts doesn't have a right to be condescending.
The point is, I didn't listen to him. When Grandpa pointed to that jar, I measured some into my cup like a good little lamb. It did relax me and made talking to a man with rope marks around his neck less upsetting.
"What were you thinking, Pops?" I asked.
"Tired of being alone. Wanted some company."
"Alone? I came over all the time. Are you going to guilt trip me even after-" I stopped as my lungs desperately struggled for air.
"You always left. You don't know what it's like, Kiddo, being alone, after your grandma died..."
I missed the rest as I convulsed on the ground. But threaded in my mind, along with 'Oh God, it hurts,' was a bitter response. At least he had Grandma. I had one sleazy boyfriend in high school. Even the crazy agent had given me a fake name. He'd said he'd return... but someone in the ghost hunting business seemed unlikely to want to date a dead girl.
Now, I have escaped the house, again. I do most nights. I don't like being there with Grandpa. Who would? Sitting here on this street corner, tracing my socked foot in the powdery white. I can't help but obsess that I never really lived at all.
"Here." He wraps his coat around my shoulders.
I look up and am not surprised to see Fifty-seven. He came for Papa's ghost, why not mine? Fabulous. All I have to do to get attention is die. Of course, he just wants to kill me again and more permanently.
He adjusts the coat around my shoulders.
"I don't feel the cold," I say, seeing the goosebumps on his lower arms where his white button-up is rolled back. He looks great in white. It's that chocolatey skin. I wonder why anyone else bothers to wear the color.
"You still deserve a little respect." He lowers himself beside me on the bench.
I hug the coat around me. Despite my lame protest, it's comforting. It has a warm spicy smell like him and Chinese food mixed together.
"From the guy here to force me to stay dead?"
His eyes meet mine. They are an odd color like chai tea with a little milk and honey. Oh, I know honey doesn't change the color but it does change the taste and his eyes give off a honeyed sensation.
"It isn't the ideal way to see you again."
"Wait? What?" I say. That sounded oddly like he wanted to see me again.
"Kat, right?"
"Yeah. It was, guess it still is."
"Well, Kat, in my line of work, I don't get out much. Certainly I don't meet many people I can be honest with." He touches my hand. "And you may not have believed a word I said, but you never treated me like I was crazy. It was nice. I wanted better than this for you."
"Honest? Mr. Fifty-seven?"
"Jake."
"Great, and all I had to do was die."
"I tried to warn you."
We sit in silence for a while, with the snow falling around us. It melts slowly on Jake's lashes and falls through me except where the flakes gather on his jacket.
"Your grandfather's gone now. Sorry... I really am. I came back that night. You'd gone, and I assumed you'd wisely decided to stay somewhere else. I should have made sure."
I dare to glance at Fifty-seven...Jake. His name is Jake.
"I'm next? I mean... I'm not ready to go."
"You shouldn't have to," he says, quietly. He reached into the bag at his side and pulled out a cup. The cup Papa had put out for me, the one I put the powder in.
"This is your tether," Jake explained.
"Figured. You going to break it or something?"
"Is that what you want?"
"I don't understand."
"You dying... that's on me. And you don't seem dangerous. The moment you do, I won't hesitate. Which means the cup stays with me. Also, you go with it...so you're stuck with me until you are ready to move on."
"You're saying..." I laugh. "I get to haunt you?"
"I wouldn't call it haunting. You can use my guest room."
A temptation to say his bed would do fine swirls inside. I resist. I may be bad at dating but I'm not stupid. Or not that stupid.
I lean over the bench toward Jake. A snowflake flutters down, passing through my nose. My lips brush against his cheek.
Yes, apparently I'm just stupid enough to kiss the guy offering me a chance... even though I'm pretty sure his 'job' is to get rid of me.
A slightly crooked grin touches his mouth. "Is that a yes, Kat?"
"I could be clearer," I say. God, his mouth is gorgeous.
"Really?" He laughs. "How-"
His voice cuts off as I hook a hand around his neck and pull him closer. His breath smells more like Thai food than Chinese. My thumb strokes the little scar on the corner of his lip before I press my mouth to his. Warm, so warm and unlike the cold of snow this heat spreads through me.
His breath steams white as I pull away.
"Maybe... Maybe, it's not appropriate for you to stay with me."
"You worried about my honor? I'm dead."
"Still..."
"I want to stay with you." I smile, because I almost said 'live' with you. I never did live with a guy. Guess it's too late for that. The thought chips away at my smile.
"I want you with me too," Jake stands and offers me his hand.
The smile makes a triumphant return.
*Please comment/vote if you enjoyed. I don't write romance often, so this was a bit of a challenge for me, but I enjoyed it.