Almost as though he’d sensed she was coming over today, Elliot was driving past her mom’s house as Gabriella was pulling into the driveway. He slowed down as she stepped out of the car and then waved.

She waved back, wishing she’d done something to cover the circles under her eyes and again maybe worn something a little nicer than the old jeans and tee-shirt she’d chosen for today’s painting job on the porch. “Hi!” she called.

“Hey! What are you doing today?”

“Painting,” she said, walking over to where he was pulled over at the end of the driveway.

“Want some help?”

He seemed to mean it when he offered, and she wanted to take him up on it. But it felt rude. Besides, he had his own work to do, right?”

“Seriously,” he insisted, noticing her hesitation. “I want to help.”

“Um, if you’re sure,” she said, heart rate suddenly picking up.

“I’m absolutely sure. Are you starting now?”

“In a few,” she said. “I don’t think Mom’s home yet. As soon as she’s here, we’ll get started.”

“Oh, so you’re home alone.”

Now her whole body was blushing. Before she could stammer something else out, he seemed to realize how that had sounded and turned red too. “I mean, just that, um…”

He was floundering, so she threw out a lifeline. “She’ll be here any minute. Do you need to go anywhere first?”

“Nope.”

She stepped aside, and he pulled into the driveway, parking his truck beside her car and getting out. As he got out of the car, she couldn’t help eyeing his long legs. How did torn jeans look so good on him while she just felt sloppy in hers? And why was she being so shy? They kissed like three nights ago.

As if on cue, he smiled, and she knew he was thinking of the same thing. “I had a good time the other night,” he said.

“Me too.”

“We should do it again. When are you free?”

“I’m not sure,” she admitted. “This is my last free day for a couple weeks.”

He opened his mouth to ask something, and she was dreading it being what she did for work. But the moment was broken as her mom’s car slid into the driveway behind her own. She could see Mom behind the windshield, hair up in a tight bun and sunglasses over her eyes, even in the fall. As she saw the two of them standing in her driveway, she waved and got out of the car.

“Hello!” she exclaimed, coming over to give Gabriella a hug.

She turned to Elliot with a knowing smile. “And hello to you,” she said.

He smiled nervously and Gabriella felt something flutter in her chest at how cute and uncertain he looked in that moment. “Hi, Mrs. McManus,” he said.

“Will you be joining us for painting?”

He shot Gabriella a glance, and she nodded. “Yeah,” she said. “I told him he didn’t have to.”

“No, of course not. But I won’t say no to another set of hands.”

Her mom picked up the shopping bag she’d left on the ground when she set it down to embrace Gabriella. “I picked up cinnamon rolls,” she said. “If you two don’t mind a quick delay, we can have some cinnamon rolls and coffee before we start.”

They smelled amazing and Gabriella hadn’t had breakfast yet. So she eagerly followed her mom into the house. Elliot followed a little ways behind, admiring the house as they walked into the kitchen.

“This is a beautiful home,” he said.

“Thank you, sweetie,” Mom said.

He stepped aside to look at a painting on the wall. It was clearly something her mom had gotten at the antique shop in the past few days. It showed a little girl holding a gray cat in her lap. She was dressed in a puffy dress and seated in a plush chair surrounded by deep red drapes. It was a picture that should have been sweet, but Gabriella couldn’t help finding it a little creepy.

“You like it?” Mom asked, popping open the container of cinnamon rolls. “I found it at the antique store up the street. Flanagan’s?”

“Oh, yeah, my friend’s grandmother owns that store,” Elliot said, tearing his gaze from the painting and walking fully into the room.

“No kidding?” Mom said. “She’s a sweetheart. I’m liking this town more and more.”

Gabriella felt a little awkward underneath the happiness of seeing her mom and Elliot chatting like old friends. But he didn’t believe in ghosts. A year ago, that wouldn’t be a deal-breaker. But now it was, and the thought of it was so ridiculous that it made her want to laugh and cry at the same time. He was sweet, kind, fun, and got along with her mom. And he was hot as hell.

But he didn’t believe in ghosts, so this might not work out. What the hell was her life, anyway? Gabriella turned to find a knife to cut the cinnamon rolls apart as Mom showed off her new coffee maker to Elliot.

That was when a drinking glass slid across the counter and over the edge, shattering on the floor.

All three of them jumped and Mom instinctively moved Gabriella away from the glass, even though she was an adult and already moving. The shards scattered over the linoleum as they all looked at each other.

“Did you see that?” Gabriella asked, going for the broom that was leaning against the cabinet.

“It was just Agatha,” Mom replied, but she looked a little shaken.

“Agatha?” Elliot asked, picking up the dustpan and bringing it over.

“Careful, you’re not wearing shoes,” Mom said as she went for the trash can. “And Agatha is just my resident ghost.”

Elliot laughed as Gabriella swept the glass pieces into the dustpan. “The ghost of the little girl from that painting?” he said, voice teasing as he threw the pieces in the trash.

He had to believe now, Gabriella thought, even though she knew it was foolish. But that glass had slid across the counter all on its own. They’d all witnessed it. If that didn’t prove that something was going on here, then she didn’t know what else could. A ghost coming in, shaking all their hands, and saying it was all real?

Not that it was out of the realm of possibility. She’d certainly seen similar things.

“Not as far as I know,” Mom said, pulling out the trash bag and tying it up. “Agatha seems to have been here since I moved in and I just got that painting a couple weeks ago.”

Elliot laughed again. “If ghosts did exist, I’m sure they’d spend their time throwing cups at people.”

Something faltered in her mom’s face and Gabriella knew she’d seen exactly what Gabriella had been worrying about. She glanced over and raised her eyebrows, barely perceptible. Gabriella nodded slightly.

“Gabriella, there’s a few more glasses down cellar,” she said, even though Gabriella could see the stack of paper cups on the table over by the door. “Can you give me a hand?”

“Sure. Right back.”

She smiled at Elliot and followed her mom out of the room and down the cellar steps, hoping they weren’t being too obvious. Mom waited until they were at the bottom of the creaking stairs, then glanced up to make sure he wasn’t there.

“He doesn’t believe in ghosts?” she asked, voice as low as possible.

Gabriella shook her head, stomach sinking with disappointment. “No.”

“How’d he take your job then?”

“I didn’t tell him.”

As the disapproving look appeared, Gabriella continued. “It was one date,” she said. “We just didn’t get to it.”

“But you will.”

“I know,” she said, glancing around for the cups she was now realizing didn’t actually exist. “But maybe he’ll change his mind. I mean, you saw what just happened. Which, by the way, I’m not going to ignore. Has that happened before?”

“You’re changing the subject,” her mom hissed. “It’s fine, sweetheart. And I hope you’re right. But I don’t want to see you get hurt when you can’t change his mind. It’s a fact that he’s refusing, not an opinion.”

“I know,” she said. “But it’s ghosts. That’s hard for people to come to terms with, right? So maybe he just needs a nudge.”

“We’ll invite James for dinner,” Mom said.

“No,” Gabriella said, her voice rising a little. She glanced up the stairs and lowered it again. “No, absolutely not. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Her mom laughed, then glanced around the empty stone basement. “I guess I don’t have any glasses down here,” she said. “I don’t really have anything at all.”

“Except ghosts,” Gabriella added. “Ghosts that are throwing glass.”

Her mom sighed, but said nothing as they went back upstairs. “No luck,” Gabriella called to Elliot, who was looking out the kitchen window toward the side yard.

He jumped and turned around. “No ghosts or goblins?” he teased.

Her smile felt forced. “Nope, not here,” she replied. “Just Agatha and Mom.”

Mom shot her a look, but then schooled her own face into a pleasant smile. There was tension in the air, and she needed to dissipate it quickly.

“I’ll cut the cinnamon rolls,” Gabriella said, hurrying over to the wooden counter. She spotted a magnetic strip where her mom’s knives were, so she picked one up and got to work, trying not to think about ghosts at all.

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CONTINUE TO CHAPTER 20