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I hauled myself up into my cross-legged position again and turned to face him. “I am perfectly capable of looking after myself,” I said, folding my arms.

He smiled. “Of course you are.”

“First you spy on me and now you patronize me!”

He sat back. “You’re a hotheaded little thing underneath it all, aren’t you?”

“Don’t you dare say it’s because of my hair. And stop with the patronizing!”

“Whoa! Emily.” He held his palms up again. “Hold your horses. It’s just an observation, not a criticism.” He tried to hide his amusement.

I’m arguing with a ghost, and he’s laughing at me.

The idea was so absurd and his green eyes dancing with such repressed humor that I had to swallow my own smile.

“That’s more like it,” he said. He moved and sank to the floor with unexpected ease and crossed his legs, facing me. He tipped his head to the side, regarding me with an expectant look.

“Now, what other questions did you have?”

He looked solid. Alive.

Is he really a ghost?

He didn’t fit my preconceived idea of what a ghost should be like. I fought the urge to reach down and touch him just to check if he was real.

“Beauchamp?”

“Oh, yes. Um… You said you’re nineteen or twenty-one?”

“You remembered.”

“You’re not easy to forget.”

Emily! I clenched my fist, beyond embarrassed.

Tristan grinned, revealing perfect white teeth and a dazzling smile.

All the breath from my body evaporated.

He. Is. Gorgeous.

“You were saying?” he prompted, amusement etched on his beautiful face.

It was just that I’d never seen him grin.

“Emily?”

I focused my train of thought. “Why two different ages?”

“I lived until I was nineteen, and that was around a year and a half ago, I think.” His mouth dipped.

Oh no.

“So why are you still here?” I asked to bring him back to the moment.

“I told you, I used to live here. In fact, this was my room.” He glanced around with approval. “I like what you’ve done with the place.”

“Oh.”