Page 20 of Baking With A Ghost

I run a hand down my face. The hardest part about living with a ghost is you never really know when they see and hear things. Obviously he heard me speaking to Dallas.

"I'm not going Simon. I was being polite. I wouldn't do that to you."

I work to clean up the flour and wish like hell I could look him in the eyes and tell him… what exactly? That he's the only one I want, even though I've never actually touched him or talked to him? That he's perfect for me and I'm struggling not being able to hold him in my arms every night?

With my now sullen attitude, I connect my phone to the speakers and hit shuffle on my playlist. Once the dance tunes start, I flip through my recipe book and find my notes before scribbling out the new combinations and amounts I'm going to test tonight.

Mary had suggested I used too much orange. Tonight I'll try a lemon rind instead and see if it helps. It might pair better with the anise, as that flavour seemed to be working out.

I hum along to Aqua's Barbie Girl and get in my baking groove, but my heart just isn't as into it as it normally is. Those words written in the flour keep floating in front of my eyes and I'm mixed up more than the ingredients in the dough. Baking makes me happy. I always feel most like myself when I'm coming up with recipes and trying new things.

The reward of seeing people eat something I created out of my head? There's no bigger thrill than watching their faces contort with delight as they eat it.

But… this feels off, like I've tainted my own kitchen and I don't know how to get it back.

Placing the filled pan in the oven, I set the timer as I clean up the mess, intending to mix the dough for my cinnamon rolls and leave it overnight, but I can't concentrate. I'm staring in the empty bowl, forgetting what to add first and how to proceed and I've made these so many times I can't count that high.

"Get a grip, John."

Shaking my head to clear the fog, I get back to it, determination just to get it done so I can go upstairs for the night, pushes me on. I hum to the music until it abruptly stops.

"Ugh, my phone probably died on me. Dang it. Of course something else had to go wrong."

Quiet time it is then. The ovens hum and the scent of my trial loaf fills the air, lemon and fresh bread with a hint of pepper, and I focus on the excitement of a new creation to taste.

As I move to the sink to wash my hands, my wireless speakers crackle to life with static and old scratchy music. It reminds me of listening to vinyl records with my grandmother as a child. I stand still listening to the words of a song, I know for a fact I don't have on my phone, fill the room.

The lyrical words of Patsy Cline, saying she's sorry, surround me before shutting down as fast as they came.

My chest heaves and goose bumps cover my arms.

"Thank you." I speak to the empty kitchen. "But you don't need to apologize, Simon."

The timer rings and I remove the loaf from the oven, letting it cool while I continue to clean up and talk out loud.

"I understand, you know. I just want you to know, I'm not going anywhere." With extra conviction lacing my words, I add, "I like having you here with me."

I turn the bread out of its pan and let it cool while I clean up. My movements are rushed and filled with an anxious energy I've not felt before. There's something I need to do tonight and I want to do it soon. Slicing off a piece of the loaf, my excitement grows, hoping that perhaps I've finally nailed the right taste. The flavours dance on my tongue. While the lemon is an improvement and the sweet is coming out ok, the savoury isn't. There's too much of a sharp transition and I'm once again disappointed.

"I'm so close. I just need something a little less harsh with the flavours. It needs to be an easy transition from sweet to savoury. This is too pronounced. But it's promising."

"I wish you could taste this Simon, I'm so close."

After making my notes, I jog up the stairs, eager for the rest of my night.

FlippingMike'sbusinesscardover, I stare at his contact number. My eyes keep bouncing from his card to my computer screen and back again. Am I really wanting to try to talk to a ghost? Pages and pages of information I've read about things I can't even pretend to understand.

Case studies! Stories from people who've done this and… are happy with the outcome. All of them run in tabs across my browser in a single line. Their neat and tidy order is a complete opposite to the kitchen junk drawer state of my mind.

"This is so crazy."

Shoving away from the table, I rummage in the fridge for a beer and pop it open before returning to the couch with renewed courage to call Ivy on facetime.

"Heyyy my friend! How… " She frowns when my face comes into view. "Johnny, what's up? I know that face and it's thinking hard. Are you okay?"

I chuckle. She never misses a thing, this one. It's why I haven't called her about all this yet, as I knew my face would give everything away.

"I'm… okay… but… " I exhale and she leans closer to her screen. "Are you alone?"

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