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He cleared his throat and stood straight. “Do you, um, maybe want me to stay the night in case anything else happens?”

“Yes, please.” I couldn’t answer fast enough.

Bastian nodded. “Then I’ll stay.”

I wondered if it was too soon to ask him to stay forever.

CHAPTER 8

Bastian

It was the heart in the window that did it for me. I already thought Marco was one of the most amazing men I’d ever met, and that was before he’d given me the best blowjob of my life. Seeing a sign of approval from Josaiah Fairfield or another ghost who inhabited his house sealed the deal. I wanted to be with Marco. I wanted to get to know everything about him and make him a part of my life.

Staying the night—for the ghosts, of course—was the best way I could think of to get started down that path.

“Here I am cooking for you again,” Marco said once we were back downstairs in his warm, cozy kitchen. “I wish it was something fancier.”

“There’s nothing wrong with chicken fingers and fries,” I said, removing my coat and suit jacket and draping them over the back of one of the chairs at the kitchen table. “Especially since you’re making them from scratch.”

“I never eat anything frozen or out of a box,” Marco said with adorable dignity as he breaded a strip of chicken, then rested it in a pan of oil. The sizzle that followed and the delicious scents that filled the air felt like a great big hug.

I was never going to take the feeling of being welcomed into someone’s home for granted. Not with the way I’d been treated for most of my life.

“Are you using herbs and things from your shop?” I asked rolling up the sleeves of my dress shirt as I walked over to where Marco stood by the stove.

“Yes, but it’s more like I decided to stock this particular mix because I use it in my own cooking all the time,” he said.

I breathed in the mouthwatering scent and smiled. Come to think of it, Marco always smelled like fresh herbs and delicious food. It was better than the fanciest cologne.

I watched him bread another chicken strip and place it expertly in the pan before saying, “You should teach cooking classes at Provisions. I bet people would line up for blocks to take them.”

Marco’s smile sparkled. “That’s an amazing idea! I’d love to do that. I’d have to figure out how to fit a kitchen into the shop, but cooking classes are a wonderful idea. They would be a great way to make more friends in the neighborhood. I’d love to meet people who aren’t⁠—”

Out of nowhere, his cheery expression dropped. Something about the way he looked at me sent horribly uncomfortable feelings down my spine.

“Who aren’t?” I prompted.

Marco hesitated, a look I could only describe as guilty coming over him. “Um, never mind. Could you chop some veggies for the salad?”

“Sure.”

I grabbed the knife from the cutting board where Marco had set out all the salad veggies and started chopping. The mood had shifted entirely from just half an hour ago, when we were upstairs and I’d had the feeling Marco wanted to skip dinner and go straight to the point where I spent the night protecting him from ghosts. Horizontally. Possibly naked.

That heated exuberance was gone now. In its place was an uneasiness that I usually felt from people who were dealing with too many things that they hadn’t anticipated would happen when a loved one died.

Except no one in Marco’s life had died.

“How have you been doing with your efforts to meet more of the neighbors and win people over to your business?” I asked, going back to the last topic that had felt safe to see if I could figure out what had soured Marco’s mood.

“I wish it was going better,” Marco said, shrugging one shoulder. The flush that accompanied those words felt significant.

“I can’t imagine you’re having a hard time making new friends,” I said with a wistful smile. “That’s something I could never do, though you seem to be a natural.”

Marco laughed weakly and glanced at me, but he didn’t say anything. That wasn’t like him at all. What was going on?

“Sometimes when I’m sitting at my desk doing paperwork, I look out the window and see you walking from shop to shop with plates of samples for everyone.” I tried another way to spark conversation. We didn’t usually have a problem talking at all. “You’ve got to be making a ton of friends that way.”

“I think I’m getting there.” Marco started to loosen up again at last as he breaded the last of the chicken strips, added it to the pan, then moved to the sink to wash his hands. “Glenside isn’t the same as New York.”