Page 4 of A Midsummer Night's Ghost

“I guess I should have lined up some friends to help. I didn’t think we had this many boxes.”

“I told you to plan on at least fifty. We should have booked the movers for more than just the furniture.”

This was a suggestion I’d made twelve times in the last month, each one ending with a Marner “we’ll see” which meant no. He thought he was right, I thought he was insane, and here we were—drowning in boxes both inside and out.

“Who reads this many books?” Ryan asked. Considering his idea of reading when alive had been to open text messages, I didn’t exactly value his opinion.

“You go. I’ll figure it out,” Jake said, which meant he’d be unloading boxes until midnight, too stubborn to admit he might have made a miscalculation.

Part of me felt like I should roll up my sleeves, put my hair back into a ponytail, and get in the trenches with my man, schlepping box after box until I collapsed in a pitiful heap of pale skin and frizzy curls.

The other part of me that lived in reality knew that my noodle arms had reached their max lifting capacity for the day. Kenny Rogers had the right of it—you had to know when to hold ‘em and when to fold ‘em.

There was no more holding ‘em for this girl.

“Just lock the truck if you can’t get it all done,” I said.

“We’ll see.”

I rolled my eyes when he wasn’t looking.

“I’ll pick us up something to eat on my way home.”

“Don’t get me anything. I don’t want to stop to eat.”

Because that was smart. Just starve and haul boxes until you dropped.

“Okay,” I said cheerfully, already knowing I was going to pick him up something to eat or he’d be ordering a pizza at midnight the minute the last box was in the house.

“This house is seriously ugly,” Ryan said.

It was. I couldn’t even lie. But I was still offended.

“It’s a tight market,” I protested. “There’s lots of potential.”

“What?” Jake asked.

“Potential for a sledgehammer.”

“Stop,” I said.

“Stop what?” they both said.

It’s really darn hard to have simultaneous conversations with two men who can’t hear each other.

If anyone tells you being a medium is a gift, they haven’t had two stubborn men in their ear at the same time.

“I’m leaving,” I said to both of them. “I’ll be back later.” I leaned over and gave Jake a kiss. He was sweaty and practically reeked of dehydration but he was hard-working and adorable and the best man I knew—alive or dead.

Sorry, Ryan. It was true.

“I love you,” he said, kissing me back, hand fisting in my hair.

“Gag. Gross. Totally unnecessary,” Ryan said.

I waved my hand back at Ryan and really gave my all to the kiss. When I finally broke away, Jake was reaching for me again. He had two fingers on my T-shirt before I slipped away. “Gotta go. Oh, and your mother is stopping by in forty-minutes. Love you, bye!”

“Seriously?” he demanded. “You just set me up.”

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