She pushed to her feet, crushing the pillow to her chest as she stepped cautiously inside.
“It's ghost-free. I swear,” I said, snapping on the light. The muted glow illuminated the edges of the room. Closing the door, I watched as she wandered like a restless cat, fingers trailing over the dresser, the neatly folded stack of shirts, and the half-unzipped duffel.
I crossed my arms. “What exactly are you doing?”
“Investigating,” she said, tossing back the same line I'd used on her the other day. She picked up my shaving kit and sniffed the cologne bottle before setting it down again. “You might be in league with the spirit. The hauntings only seem to be happening to me.”
“I saved you from that painting.”
“Because you were following me.”
“Strategically shadowing.”
Her smirk tugged at something deep in my chest before she turned away, moving toward the window.
“You saw him?” I asked.
She nodded, jumping when the floor creaked as I stepped behind her.
“Zero out of ten. Would not recommend. He’s huge—like a yeti in an overcoat. And there’s a swirl of snow around him when he moves.”
“Didn't you see his face? Any discernible features we can use to identify him?”
“I don’t know, Detective Does Nothing But Judge. I was too busy being chased.” She thrust her arm toward the door. “You’re welcome to go next door and conduct an interview. Maybe do a composite sketch. But I'm not going back in there.” She folded her arms, glancing at the rumpled sheets. “I guess I’m sleeping here. There’s only one bed.”
“I noticed.”
“I can take the floor.” She scuffed her bare foot over the wood. “It’s a step up from the hall.”
“I would never let my wif—” I caught the word halfway out, heat flashing up my neck.
Her brow arched. “Your what?”
“My… guest. Sleep on the floor. I’ll take it.”
“Smooth save, Delaney.” She grabbed her pillow, tossed it to the far side of the mattress, and slid beneath the quilt. “It’s a king bed. Which means there’s room for little old meandyour giant ego. But here are the rules: stay on your side, if the ghost shows up, you take the hit so I can run, and if you snore—”
“I don’t snore.”
“Doubtful.”
Her tone was light, but her eyes tracked me as I moved closer. I lifted the edge of the quilt and slid under, careful to leave a stretch of cool sheets between us.
“Goodnight, Spells,” I murmured.
A quiet sigh. “Can we keep the light on?”
“Yeah,” I said, voice low. “All night.”
Her breathing evened out faster than I expected. Either she was exhausted or listing rules was her version of counting sheep. The silence settled heavy, and the faint scent of herhair—vanilla and something floral—hung in the air. I stared at the ceiling, every nerve tuned to the space between us.
I told myself to sleep. To remember why I came here, and not fool myself into thinking we'd walk away from this case together.
We'd been enemies, rivals, whatever label fit that week—it didn't matter. I hadn't been Prince Charming. Hell, I hadn't even been decent most days. But lying here beside her made me wish I had been.
Maybe I really was the grumpy division leader starring in his one-man Christmas Carol. And the ghost next door was meant to show me what had been in front of me all along.
Chapter 17
