“Nice PJs.” Alex staggered and gripped the back of a chair.
My jaw dropped as he grinned like a kid at Christmas. “What in the world are you doing in my kitchen in the middle of the night?”
He held out the paper in one hand and the gift bag in the other. “I wrote something. And it’s the best something I’ve ever written but I won’t be able to use one word of it. I can’t fictionalize this. It’s too real. Too raw. Too…us.” As he straightened, he stumbled, laughing to himself as his eyes locked on mine. “This is how you make me feel, Evie. All of it. Every word.”
He shoved the paper into my hand.
What the hell was he talking about? Too raw? Too us?
“And this.” Alex rattled the bag, then handed it over. “This is for you, too.”
“Are you drunk?”
“On you.” His gaze skimmed my face, then he pointed to the crumbled paper in my hand. “And that. Oh, and whiskey. I did drink too much of the stuff, it seems. Total accident.” He waved a hand as if to erase that truth from the record. “Open your gift.”
I peered into the bag, shifting a metric ton of tissue paper out of the way to find…
…socks.
Many, many socks. White ones. Pink ones. Striped ones. Printed ones.
“So you won’t slip and fall anymore.” Alex reached in to pull out a pair. “See? They have grippers on the bottom.”
Shaking my head, I took the bundle. Sure enough, rows of rubber paw prints on the sole would ensure I never hit the ground racing for the door again. “This is ridiculously sweet—and weird—of you.”
Emphasis on ridiculous.
I pulled out a chair and helped him into it, then scrubbed my hands over my face to chase away the cobwebs sleep left behind. “But did you really need to break in at…” I checked my phone. “Three thirty in the morning? Alex! What were you thinking?”
He stood right back up and frowned. “I have a confession to make and I’m afraid you’ll be very, very mad at me. I don’t want you to be very, very mad at me. I like it when you like me. But if you’re gonna be mad, I’ll just go.” He jerked his thumb toward the backdoor and stumbled that way.
My heart thundered a warning. The last time someone had a confession for me, my life flipped on its axis. Though, Drew hadn’t been nearly as worried about my reaction as Alex seemed to be.
I bit my bottom lip. “I’ll do my best not to be angry with—”
“I’m the ghost.” Alex turned and wiggled his hands at his side. “Tada!”
“Come again?”
“The ghost. The one that haunts your house. That’s me. Tada!” Once again, he wiggled his hands beside his face, though with decidedly less enthusiasm. “This went over better when I practiced it,” he finished as he plopped back into the chair next to me.
“Maybe it’d go over better if I understood what you’re talking about.”
I listened as Alex explained that my Aunt Ruth gave him a key the month before she passed. “She said, ‘I don’t know my niece all that well, but if she’s anything like me, she’ll need some nudging to get her ass over here. The house’ll probably be vacant for a bit.’” Alex spoke in a trembling falsetto, then smiled, dropping his voice back to his normal register. “Which was true, apparently.”
“I definitely needed some nudging.”
Alex picked at dog hair on his pants, utterly oblivious to the leaves caught between his toes. “So that’s what I did. Took care of the house. Kept it clean. Made sure everything worked. That kinda stuff. But then, I realized how great the light was here at this table.” He patted the object in question. “And I could see the story and hear the characters better when I was here, so I started coming over to write.”
“And people started seeing you…”
“And thinking I was a ghost…”
“And you just let them?” The idea was so preposterous, I didn’t know what to do with it.
“I mean…” He shrugged, grinning wider than I’d ever seen him. “They seemed so excited to have something to talk about. I didn’t want to let anyone down.” Alex gave me a charming grin, laced with heat and intention. “Do you forgive me?”
Adrenaline spiraled through my system and tangled with the realization he’d been in my house without permission at least twice since I’d moved in. “Why didn’t you stop breaking in once I started living here? You have to admit, that’s really creepy, Alex.”
He dropped his forehead to the table, then rolled it to the side and peered up at me. “The first time I just wanted to make sure I hadn’t left anything here. The next time? You’d just kissed me and I couldn’t sleep and I couldn’t write and I couldn’t stop thinking about you and it all made perfect sense right up until you woke up, so I ran away like a coward and promised I’d never come into your house without permission again.”
“Then why are you here now, Alex? It’s the middle of the night and you’re drunk.”
He plucked the paper out of my lap and ran his hands down the page. “I wrote this and couldn’t wait ‘til morning to show you.” He lifted his gaze. “Couldn’t wait ‘til morning to see you. I should have kissed you today, Evie. I shouldn’t have let you run away.”
Our eyes locked.
He licked his lips, his gaze on my mouth. “Evie…”
My name, dressed in his rasping voice, was sin.
It sent chills down my spine and warmth pooled in my belly.
Mustering all the restraint I’d ever been given, I slid my chair back from the table and stood, purposefully avoiding eye contact. This whole thing needed further discussion, but not while he was too drunk to do the conversation justice. “Come on, Boss. Let’s get you back
