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“Don’t question the man with the tongs,” Ian called back, snapping the utensil playfully in their direction before flipping a few dogs.

“I would never,” Cam said, wrapping her arms around him from behind. His neck was dotted with beads of sweat from the heat of the grill, and only a strong sense of propriety kept Cam from licking them up. Ian craned his neck around, and they kissed. As always, Cam felt the world around them disappear—until she was yanked back into reality.

“God, you two are just freaking adorable,” Paige said. Cam knew the young woman was actually happy that she and Ian were together. They’d had more than a few heart-to-hearts about it over the last few months. But Paige treated sarcasm like it was her job. Or maybe her passion. At least with a job, you took days off. “Yo, Cam, if you’re done sucking face with my dad, we’re out of that punch stuff.”

Cam reluctantly gave Ian a parting squeeze and peeled her arms away. Then she took in the inventory behind the tables. It looked like her little flourish had been a big seller because the pitchers they had brought over of the fruity concoction were empty. She figured she should make more since the formal programming hadn’t even started yet and the crowds would probably linger for a while. She watched Roxy Shipman stride up to the microphone stand that had been set up at the town square’s gazebo, a scarf floating around her as she moved, and Cam figured she had a few minutes to restock the supplies. She set about mixing the punch, pouring a liter of ginger ale into the pitchers, and topping it off with pineapple juice and a generous shake of cocktail bitters…

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

ADA

Pleased as punch! Isn’t that the expression? Well, whatever they say, that’s what I was. Cam making my little drink recipe had summoned me again for one of my hauntings even though I thought I was done with all of that once they found my manuscript and my cookbook was nowhere nearby.

And what did I find when I found myself back in ghostly form? Why, it was the most glorious party Silver Cove had ever seen! There were young people everywhere clutching copies of my book—MY book, it said so, right there on that gorgeous cover in gold lettering in a size you’d have to be blind to miss. I wanted to give each and every one of them a kiss. (Or a fist bump, isn’t that what they did now? I had managed to watch a few videos on something called TikToks that was confusing in the most delightful way and that seemed to be a feature.) Some of the young people were wearing shirts with my photograph on them, and I couldn’t have been more pleased, especially because my hair looked particularly good in that photo.

But enough about me. (Who would have thought I would ever utter that phrase?) It was Cam I focused on. Who knew if I would ever get the chance to see her again? I didn’t think I’d be haunting her regularly, and now that my business here in Cam’s time was done, I couldn’t see myself just hanging around. No one wants to be that last guest at the party who lingers too long. I figured I could rest now or go back to whatever it was us dead folk were supposed to be doing. But it seemed like I was being given one last chance to see her. Maybe to say goodbye? And suddenly, a thought came over me.

I needed to thank her. To tell her how much it meant to me that she and her friends had shown everyone in the world I was the author of Stormy. Where were my manners? Marshall always did say that unmannerliness was an unfortunate quality in a woman. But then again, who cared what he thought, anyway. It gave me no end of pleasure to know my husband had been revealed as the big, fat fraud that he was.

And perhaps I also needed to tell Cam I was just a little bit proud of her? I’d never had my own daughter, of course, but as I looked at her while I floated above the crowd, I couldn’t help but feel a little bit… Well, I don’t know what! She was arm in arm with that delicious carpenter, her name was on the cafe on the square, and she was about to publish a book under her own name. That had taken gumption.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Coleman’s band was positioned behind the gazebo, and after Roxy’s introduction, with a few taps to the bandleader’s upright bass to signal them, they struck up a tune. Cam spotted Francine and her husband dancing, her friend’s full skirt twirling as she spun. Avery—who couldn’t keep her eyes off Coleman—and Marcus were on the makeshift dance floor, too. So were Birdie and Davis, who her grandmother had clearly been tasked with babysitting.

Cam stirred the pale-pink drink mixture—it was the color of the dress she had first found that eventually led her to Ada—with a long wooden spoon. As she swirled the punch, she suddenly felt a gust of wind at her side, and an unseasonable warmth creep up her arms. And then she heard a familiar whisper.

Ada was back, Cam realized with a start, and she was immediately flooded with relief. She had feared she would never hear from her again. How had the ghost managed to appear here when the cookbook she had lived in was currently being combed over by preservationists and archivists and book producers who would replicate it for print? But she was glad Ada had made it to her own party.

Instinctively, Cam pulled her phone out of her pocket. “Follow me,” she surreptitiously whispered to Ada, hoping to draw her away. There was something Cam had to say to the ghost, and she could hardly do it in front of all of Silver Cove.

“Paige, I’ve got to make a quick call. Mind the shop again for a few minutes, okay?”

Cam didn’t wait for an answer and walked to a quieter spot away from the crowds.

“Ada?” Cam whispered to the empty air around her. She put her phone up to her ear, pretending to be making a call, so if anyone spotted her, it would look like she was having a normal conversation. Not, you know, chatting with the ghost of the woman who everyone in Silver Cove had turned out to celebrate. “I’m glad you’re here. I hope you can see your book. They did such a great job with the new cover. It took convincing to get some people around here to believe your story. Some of the old guard had a hard time accepting Marshall Merriweather wasn’t the great gentleman author who they had been revering all these years, but it worked! And they’re going to publish the sequel, and your cookbook, too.”

Cam pivoted around, hoping for a sign that the ghost was still with her and was relieved to hear a rustle and a blast of warmth nearby confirming that Ada was, in fact, there. Cam suddenly realized she might not ever feel Ada’s presence again. She wasn’t sure exactly how these things worked, but if ghosts were souls with unfinished business left on this earthly plane, it would seem Ada Poulson wouldn’t have much reason to stick around now that the world knew about her books. Cam felt a little apprehensive. Ada had been a muse to her. She was the reason, not that she could ever explain it, not even to Birdie or even to Ian, that she had decided to make her home in Silver Cove, to buy the cafe, to insist that her cookbooks bore her name, and to take a chance with Ian.

She would probably always have Ada’s voice in her ear even if it was the product of her own imagination and not a literal haunting. She pictured herself with a bumper sticker asking WWAD? She knew the answer would be to reach out and grab what you wanted in this life because who knew how long you had.

“Anyway,” Cam spoke into her phone but fervently hoped Ada could hear her, “I just wanted to say thank you. For showing me how to stand up for my own work. How to stand up for myself, too. And for making me realize how much I might regret it if I didn’t take a chance with Ian—and with everything, really.

“Another thing you should know,” Cam continued. “Coleman never forgot you. He wrote a song for you called ‘Ada, My Love.’ The band is playing it now!”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

ADA

Oh, Coleman! What a lovely present to get on top of everything else. I strained to hear the music. It was fast and jazzy, something you could dance to, but with a sad sweetness to it. I knew, as soon as I heard it, that he had truly loved me—maybe never stopped loving me.

And suddenly I knew it was time for me to go. I thought about how to use that one little phrase I could utter into Cam’s ear. I could say “you’re welcome,” of course, which would be the polite response. Mother would have been pleased with that. Or “my pleasure,” which sounded silly and formal. But it would hardly convey all I had to say to that young woman before me, who was so bright and lovely. Somehow, all that light she had inside seemed to shine out of her eyes now instead of being bottled up and held in the way it had been when I first met her, like her very spirit was wearing the worst of those whale-boned corsets that used to torment me so. Now she was practically glowing, which probably had something to do with what she and that dreamy carpenter had been up to earlier this morning. I had spent all this time in this dazzling, modern year thinking mostly about myself, but the idea that I might have helped Cam was a little cherry on top of this wild adventure.

I could, of course, thank her right back for telling the world about Stormy, for making me a celebrity, and for finding out about Coleman, for reassuring me that he did still love me. But that didn’t seem enough, either.

“You’re a star!” I said right into her ear. And I meant it.

And just as the words exited my lips, I suddenly felt myself swirling upward with a dizzying sensation. I resisted a little bit, trying to take in the last images I could because this, I knew, was my grand exit. This town, after all, had held my sorrows and my nightmares and my joys. At my lowest times, it had felt like a jail, but it was also like a dear friend who knew me better than anyone.