Chapter 17
LIZA
Iwake to the scent of coffee. For a moment, buried in my pillow, I smile, convinced Cassian is brewing it—until I remember he never adds cinnamon.
My eyes snap open, and I see Cassian fast asleep beside me.
The apartment is silent, sunlight spilling through the blinds onto an empty pillow.
A faint clink draws me toward the kitchen.
Barefoot and wrapped in one of Cassian’s shirts, I follow the sound with a calm certainty—and stop cold.
At the counter stands a man: tall, thin, dressed in a charcoal frock coat and waistcoat that might belong in a museum. His dark hair is perfectly combed, his posture immaculate—and he is very, very dead. Then he turns and smiles, warm and familiar.
“Good morning, Miss Morales.”
I laugh—not because it’s funny, but because after weeks of being haunted by a Victorian ghost, this feels completely normal.
“Teddy?”
“Theodore, technically.”
“You’ll always be Teddy to me.”
He sighs dramatically. “I feared so.”
I laugh again as the apartment seems to lighten, as though a tension I haven’t noticed finally releases. By ghostly magic, he pours coffee into two mugs. I decide not to question phantom physics.
“You can finally see me.”
“I can.”
“I was beginning to think I’d have to start throwing furniture.”
“You repaired my furniture,” I remind him.
“I preferred a subtle approach.”
I lean against the counter and study him. He looks younger than I expected, but sadder too—wistful rather than haunted.
“You scared the hell out of me, you know.”
He winces. “My apologies.”
“At least you left coins.”
“You like shiny things.”
“I do.”
“The flowers were Emily’s idea.”
At the mention of her name, the kitchen shifts gently, like a breeze through an open window. A woman appears beside him—soft-eyed and beautiful in a pale blue dress, with a smile that reminds me of blossoms.
“Hello, Liza.”
I blink, then wave, because apparently this is fine now.
“Hi.”
Emily’s laugh rings out, bright and musical. Theodore gazes at her as though she is the only person in the world, his love-struck look undimmed by death.
“The blue flowers were her favorite.”
She rolls her eyes. “They still are.”
Their tender exchange makes something ache in my chest—not sadness, but a sweet ache of hope.
“You were trying to bring us together?” I ask.
Theodore clears his throat.
“Well—”
Emily grins. “He was.”
“I merely made suggestions,” he adds.
“You left pastries.”
“You seemed stressed.”
“You watched me.”
His expression softens, and suddenly I understand—not just the haunting or the gifts, but him.
“You thought I was lonely?”
Theodore nods. “So did Emily.”
My throat tightens. He isn’t wrong. I had been lonely—before Cassian, before all of this—before someone looked at me as though I were the best thing that had ever happened to him.
“You looked how I felt,” Theodore says quietly, “and after a while, I couldn’t ignore it.”
Emily reaches for his hand, their fingers lacing together.
“I missed my chance,” he admits, eyes drifting first to her, then to me. “We missed ours.”
“At least while we were alive,” Emily says gently.
His smile overflows with love. “We were fortunate enough to find each other again.”
Emily squeezes his hand. “And we didn’t want you two making the same mistake.”
We fall silent. The apartment is warm and peaceful as Blackthorn Bay wakes outside. Inside, something at last feels complete.
Theodore glances toward the hallway.
“I believe your werewolf is awake.”
Footsteps sound from the bedroom.
Emily brightens. “Oh good.”
Theodore groans. “We are not staying to watch.”
“We absolutely are,” she insists.
He mutters something scandalized; she laughs, and I join in. For the first time, Theodore doesn’t seem lonely—and for the first time, neither do I.
They begin to fade, slowly, like morning mist.
Emily lifts a hand. “We’ll check on you soon.”
Theodore points at me.
“Take care of him.”
I blink. “Take care of him?”
A voice comes from the hallway.
Cassian, in sweatpants and rumpled hair, narrows his eyes.
“Who are you talking to?”
The kitchen is empty except for two coffee mugs. I smile, pick one up, and sip as I look at the man I love.
“Just some matchmaking ghosts.”
Cassian blinks, then sighs.
“Of course.”
And somehow, that answer makes perfect sense.