Nothing but the Ghosts

Chapter 1-2

I’m not sure how many pots of coffee I’ve brewed. Thousands, certainly. On most days, I do it without thinking. Unless we’re up against a truly powerful ghost, I don’t need to pay attention to the particular blend (although Kona works best to eradicate ghosts) or how precisely I measure the water.

This morning? My hands tremble—just a bit. I’m in Malcolm’s tuxedo shirt. The tails skim my knees. Even with the cuffs rolled, the sleeves knock against things with a sweep of my arms. When I sprinkle coffee grounds all over the counter, I set down the scoop, close my eyes, and try not to cry.

“Hey.” Malcolm’s voice is gentle in my ear. He moves behind me, wraps his arms around mine, and then cradles me against his chest. “Don’t worry. I think it’s impossible for you to make a bad cup of coffee.”

“I could if I tried,” I insist.

“That’s just it. You gotta try. Just toss in some Kona blend. You could make brewed mud this morning. Trust me. I wouldn’t notice.”

“You sound like you’re in a good mood, Mr. Armand.”

“I’m in a very good mood.” He turns me in his arms and places a kiss on my nose. “I’ve never been in a better mood.”

Something inside me loosens. Tension drains from my shoulders. I eye the coffee scoop and vow to make Malcolm the best damned cup of coffee he’s ever had.

Only now I realize that it’s okay if it isn’t.

By the time the scent of Kona blend fills the kitchen, and Malcolm has two cups and the half and half ready to go, I feel like myself again. We’ll drink our coffee, clear our heads, and then we can tackle the big problems left over from last night. We can do this, I’m certain.

Just as I think this, footfalls sound above our heads. Malcolm and I glance upward and then, at the same moment, our eyes meet.

“Belinda?” he says.

I give my head a little shake. “I didn’t hear her come in last night. Did you?”

He opens his mouth as if to answer, then shuts it tight. I take that as a no. Because treading above our heads is more than one pair of feet. We could make a dash for the stairs, but we’d only meet whoever is on their way down. We could hide in the living room, but that seems cowardly.

Malcolm studies me, then he glances down at the T-shirt and boxer shorts he’s wearing. His lips twitch. Before I can say anything—or toss him one of my grandmother’s old aprons—Belinda charges into the kitchen.

“Okay, okay.” Her words come out rushed, like she’s trying to convince me of something she knows is wrong. “Before you say anything, I just want to say that I’m not...”

She stutters to a halt. Her gaze flits to Malcolm and back to me. For a brief moment, her mouth hangs open. But this is Belinda Barnes, so the shock is quickly replaced by an impish grin.

“Well, it’s about time. High five?” She holds up a hand. “I think this deserves a high five.”

Malcolm snorts. I scowl.

“There will be no high fives,” I say, willing my cheeks not to flame. They do, of course. My entire face is on fire. Even my knees feel hot.

This only makes Belinda laugh. “Fist bump?”

I tilt my head and glare. It’s then I noticed her attire, remarkably similar to my own. The man’s dress shirt is a pale blue, and since she’s six feet tall, hits her mid-thigh.

Then the shirt’s owner clears the kitchen doorway, and the whole situation goes from slightly awkward to fairly mortifying.

Jack Carlotta stumbles over the threshold, not that there’s anything on the floor to trip him up. To his credit, he swallows his shock almost immediately. Maybe that’s a lawyer thing. Before he does, I see a flash of ... something in his eyes. I can’t tell if it’s regret or guilt or simply shame.

Once upon a time, Jack, Belinda, and I attended high school together, and once upon a time, Jack and Belinda were the couple. You know the kind—star athlete and homecoming queen. That was also before the ghosts started tormenting Belinda, before the drinking, before Jack left for college.

And before he started asking me out on a regular basis. By text message. I still have one on my phone from only a few weeks ago. I’ve never said yes. He’s never stopped asking.

After last night? I’m guessing that might change.

Along with the warm scent of coffee, the air is thick with embarrassment. It’s my kitchen, which I suppose makes me the one responsible for starting a conversation, offering my guests breakfast. I glance at Malcolm, but his brow is clouded with a low-grade glare aimed in Jack’s direction.

They’ve never really liked each other.

“I have Kona blend!”

I blurt the words, and they ricochet in the tiny space. Then Belinda tips her head back and laughs. The sound of it slices through the embarrassment to the point where even Malcolm cracks a smile.

“Pour us some coffee,” Belinda says, pulling on one of my grandmother’s aprons. She winks at me. “And then get out of here. Jack and I will make brunch.”