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Cain spoke behind her. “Tired?”
She turned and leaned on the rail. “A bit.”
“Happy?”
She didn’t hesitate in her answer. “Yes.”
“But always a bit sad, too.”
Only her dad would understand. “Happy and a bit sad,” she agreed.
“If you’re too tired, you can stay over. Your room is always ready.”
“Thanks, but Bob is alone at home.” She gave him a hug. “Thanks for the party.”
“Did you enjoy it?”
“It was perfect.”
After saying her goodbyes, Alice went downstairs to find a driver and a car waiting. Cain was always considerate with her that way.
The ride to her place didn’t take more than thirty minutes. At that hour, Manhattan was more navigable. She considered asking the driver to stop for comfort food but couldn’t be bothered. She never ate the cocktail food at parties. Social nerves always robbed her from her appetite, and at the end of the evening, she was starving.
She blew out a tired sigh as they pulled up to her building. The week had been long with late-night recordings and meetings. She couldn’t wait to kick off her shoes.
“Hey, baby, I’m home,” Alice called after unlocking her door. She dumped her keys on the table in the entrance and pulled off her heels. “I’m exhausted and hungry. I’m going to have a midnight snack, and you’re keeping me company.”
She walked down the hallway and popped her head around the doorframe of the living room. “I don’t care that you hate sitcoms. I can do with a cuddle, tonight.”
Meow.
“There you are.”
Bob, her cat, was stretched out on the couch, not even lifting an eyelid at the sound of her voice.
“You’re a sack of lazy bones.”
She walked over and scratched his chin. He stretched out and flopped over to the other side, turning his back on her.
She shook her head, laughing. “Sometimes, I wonder why I keep you around.”
In the kitchen, she topped up Bob’s bowl with kibbles and poured herself a glass of milk.
“Mind sharing the couch?” she called as she made her way back to the living room.
“I don’t,” a voice replied.
Alice stopped dead. The glass dropped from her hand, bouncing off the carpet as milk splattered on the wall and over the floor. Her hands shook.
That voice.
It hurt to breathe. Her chest felt too tight.
Cautiously, she walked to the end of the corridor. She paused, afraid of what she would see but more afraid of what she wouldn’t see. Was it all in her mind? She pinched her eyes shut and opened them, again. Taking a deep breath, she rounded the corner.
Ivan leaned in the frame of the door on the other side with one shoulder braced against the wood and his arms crossed. His dark hair fell low over his forehead, and his beard was trimmed short, just as she remembered. He wore a faded T-shirt and his favorite torn jeans with his black boots. She stared at his handsome face, unable to process the image in front of her. She’d wished for it for so long, and now that it was happening, she feared she was losing her mind, that he’d vanish, and she’d be left with only hurt and disappointment.
“Ivan?” she whispered.
“Hey, Princess.” His voice was soft, his eyes tender. “You look … amazing.”
“Am I dreaming?”
He uncrossed his arms and walked over to her slowly, staring down at her face for a long time before finally fixing his gaze on her lips. “You’re not dreaming.”
She’d almost given up hope that his spirit would ever find her. Somehow, she’d imagine she would see him in the bloodied shirt he’d died in, but then she remembered what he’d said about spirits being fussy about their clothes. The outfit he wore was so Ivan.
“You–you look…”
He walked past her, heading for the kitchen. She followed sheepishly, watching him return with a roll of paper towels. He went down on his haunches and dabbed up the milk from the carpet. It took her a moment to register what was happening.
“You…” She pointed at the paper in his hand. “You’re touching it.”
His eyes held hers even as he continued with the task.
“You can’t touch it. You’re—”
“I’m not dead.” He straightened and carried the soaked paper to the kitchen.
She went after him, not sure what to make of anything. “I don’t understand.”
He dumped the paper in the trashcan and turned to her. “Come here.”
She advanced slowly, frightened of what she’d discover.
He held his hand out to her and gave her an encouraging smile. “Touch me.”
She reached out, uncertainly, until the tips of their fingers pressed together. Just like he’d said, his skin was warm and real under her touch.
She pulled away as if being burned by a flame.
“I don’t want to scare you.” There was a plea in his eyes. “I should’ve eased you into this, but I couldn’t stay away.”
“How is it possible? You died. I saw your body.” Tears at the memory flooded her eyes.
