Page 14 of Before the Summer He Found Her

“Spock Must Die,Killing Time, andStrangers From the Sky,” he muses, naming my favoriteStar Trekbooks—the only three books resting on top of the shelf instead of in it. “You most certainly have great taste. If we had more time, I’d probably be spending it getting into a deep conversation regarding your thoughts on these books.”

A dead guy with hauntingly beautiful eyes who breathesTrek.

Bless my fluttering heart.

Enough of this.

“Who are you?” I ask. “And why are you here?”

“Right, that is a loaded question, isn’t it?” He stops looking around the room, and we lock eyes. He’s gazing at me like he knows me, which is so bizarre and confusing and intriguing all at once. I know I can’t see him completely clearly, but from what I do see, and the distinct sound of his voice, I don’t recognize him. We’ve never met before.

“Not really loaded.” I shrug. “Most dead people feel comfortable with at least sharing their name.”

“Ah, dead people. Yes, right, that’s me. Very, very dead. So dead. Uh, I’ve never been dead before. Can you explain to me how I look? Translucent or solid?”

…what the actual fuck?

“You look like pure energy,” I say. “Like, waves that make up a very loose recreation of a body.”

“Now, that is quite cool.” He pokes himself, smirking. “It’s bizarre because, from my perspective, I feel as if I’m my normal, solid self. But I’m no quantum physicist who can explain that one. And the woman I can ask isn’t here at the moment.”

I scrunch my brows. For a dead guy, he’s acting weird. Even the ones in denial don’t talk like him—and he’sacknowledginghe’s dead. Then again, I’ve never connected to someone like this, seeing them so clearly. Is his quirky behavior why we’re able to do this?

“Why don’t we start with your name,” I say. “We can go from there.”

“My name. Yes. Uh… well…” There’s a sort of thought process marking his expression, as if he’s considering whether to tell me. Then, he smiles brightly, as if he’s made up his mind. He takes a step closer, holding out his energetic hand and arm. “I’m Tom. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Tom,” I murmur his name, reaching out my hand. “I’m Channah. But we know you already know that, yeah?”

“Yes.”

When our fingers connect, there’s a soft, warm buzz that shoots up my entire arm, filling me with energetic joy. I glance up at him to see his blurry mouth opened slightly, at least from what I make out, and his eyes staring at our hands in wonder. The touch is soothing as if touching a close friend who knows me at the core of my soul. I’m alone right now in this world—that is true—but suddenly, from one little touch, I don’t feel so alone anymore. And I can’t explain it.

It's simultaneously loving and frightening.

Frightening because I can sense that there can be no hiding from him. Whoever he is.

“Did you feel that, too?” I whisper.

“Yes,” he breathes, voice full of shock. “I felt it.”

And as he continues gazing at our hands, I feel so much conflict inside of him. Like on the one hand, there’s a sense of comfort and familiarity when it comes to me. On the other, he wants to run.

Doing us both a favor, I pull back my hand and scoot back on the bed. The angle causes me to flinch ever-so-slightly, which I try to mask with a soft smile.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

Yeah, I shouldn’t have been so stupid. Masking shit with spirits never works—especially this guy who I seem to have some strange, instant bond with. Spirits in general can feel me even through all my lies. It’s so much easier when I can play Channah, the cheerful, happy-go-lucky woman with the normal family and life. But I already know I won’t be able to play at anything with this dude.

“Just peachy,” I groan, realizing that this dead guy has arrived to help me through my most recent life crisis, and this guy is going to pull all my shit out of me until I’m “cured.” Oh, fucking loads of bubbles and joy. I so did not want to deal with this tonight. Sighing, I say, “Is this why I can see you? Is my life going so obviously badly that the angels above sent in one of the big guns? Were you my guide in a past life or something?”

“What?” he asks, slightly laughing as if I’m making a joke.

As I lean back fully on the bed and wince again, his laughter abruptly stops. I sense his presence draw closer, his glowing hand gently touching mine. His eyes flash with concern.

And it’s that look that causes my wall holding myself together to crumble.

“It’s not as bad as you must think,” I choke, tears starting to brim my eyes. “I’m really fine, I promise. Andrew’s scummy sometimes, but youknowhow I act. You know how needy I can be in relationships. I…” The words become lodged in my throat. Stuck. I force out the rest and say, “I do this to people. I bring out the worst in them.”

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