Chapter 27
As a person with a body, Annabelle snored.
Loudly. She also hogged the bed, drooled, and twisted the sheets into a hopeless tangle around her legs.
The room was still mostly dark when I woke, but my body’s clock told me it was early morning.
Despite the chaos of sharing a bed with a former ghost, I felt good.
I wouldn’t say refreshed, that would be taking things a bit far. But I felt—good. Whole.
My hand was numb from where it was wedged under Annabelle’s body, but I left it where it was, resolving to live with pins and needles for as long as necessary to not disturb the beautiful slumbering woman beside me.
Annabelle woke with a start. She swiveled her head around, taking in the morning sun coming in from the bedroom window with wide eyes. Her hair was an unruly mess; it looked like a chaotic blonde cloud surrounding her head.
“Hi,” I said. “We missed the eclipse.”
“Oh! I was—” She wiped the drool drying on her chin. “I was sleeping.”
“That you were.” I reached out and tried to smooth the curls on her head, but only succeeded in making certain spots stick up even more. She stared at me, looking confused and beautiful. “How was it?”
“Perfect. I don’t really sleep when I ... normally, I just go away.” Annabelle’s face dissolved into a smile as she seemed to realize where she was and what had happened. “I dreamed I was a cow.” Then she smothered me in kisses.
I ran my hands down her side, savoring the solid feel of her in my bed.
“Oh!” She pulled back, her mouth round with surprise. “Gibson, I ...”
“Everything okay?”
She looked amazed and excited. “I ... need to use the toilet! I haven’t had to do that in so long.”
“Perils of owning a body, Marley,” I replied, chuckling. “Comes with pros and cons.”
I stretched my arms and legs while Annabelle used the bathroom, shaking out morning stiffness and feeling all the aches I still had from my brush with equine disaster.
Glancing down at my naked body, I grimaced at the bruises that had turned from bright purple to a sick green color.
They painted my right side like a canvas splashed with the worst colors in a watercolor set.
My ankle was back to its usual size but still bruised and stiff.
I wasn’t exactly at my sexiest, but thankfully Annabelle hadn’t seemed to mind.
I marveled at the fact that although she had seen the worst of me, she still came back to be with me.
In the bathroom, Annabelle spit into the sink, then ran the tap for a while longer.
She hummed a little tune while she washed up, and though I couldn’t see her, I could picture the way her hips would move along to the music in her head.
I’d seen her do it several times, swaying in the kitchen while making me coffee, or as she sliced onions to add to a dish for dinner.
I loved her nonsense songs and her terrible dancing. I—
Oh shit, I really did love her.
Annabelle peeked her head out the bathroom door but otherwise kept it shut. Her curly hair had been tamed with water and her face glistened, freshly washed.
“Gibson, I have a problem.”
I did too, I thought. I was in love with a woman who might disappear any minute.
“Yeah? What’s your problem?” I said out loud.
“I’m starving!” She pouted, sticking her lower lip out as far as it would go. “And I don’t have any clothes!”
She crossed her arms over her chest to try to cover herself, but it just emphasized the shape of her breasts.
She did a little awkward jog before jumping back in bed and covering herself with the sheets.
Her chest and thighs jiggled a little as she hopped into bed, and it was the best thing I had seen in recent memory.
I couldn’t help the grin that spread on my face. “I don’t see a problem with that second thing.”
And it was so easy, then, to kiss her. It felt entirely natural to take her in my arms, to lay her down and worship her. Between Annabelle’s thighs, while she grabbed the sheets with one hand and my hair with the other, I was home.
***
We cobbled together an outfit for Annabelle since all she had was a nightgown from the 1800s.
My shirts were too tight for her. I didn’t mind this at all, but she didn’t find them comfortable enough to wear, so she picked one of Yasmin’s flowy white blouses.
It was so similar to what she usually wore in her ghost state that I did a double take when she emerged from Yasmin’s closet with it on.
Nate’s jeans were approximately the right size, and my shoes were a fit.
“Ta-da!” Annabelle did a little twirl when she’d assembled her outfit for the day.
I smiled but said, “I’ll take you shopping if you want, Marley.”
She clapped her hands together and said, “Yes, please.” We both ignored the fact that she wouldn’t need to keep them for long.
Annabelle insisted on making breakfast. She relished the turn of every knob on the stove and she couldn’t resist sticking her fingers in the scrambled eggs just to feel the gooey mess on real fingers instead of ghost ones.
At the table in our usual chairs, our legs pressed together, and she played footsy with me.
She looked so satisfied eating buttered toast that I flushed, recognizing the face she’d made last night.
To distract myself from Annabelle’s orgasmic breakfast bliss, I checked my notifications, then wished I hadn’t.
Seymour Anderson filled my email inbox and my texts with increasingly unhinged pleas for a response.
That wasn’t a surprise since I had ghosted him and then he walked in on an occult ritual in the house he was trying to buy.
The text I didn’t expect to see was from Babs.
“Saw the band last night. Not as good w/out u. New song sucks. Hope ur well, call me when ready for more work, there’s a shit ton.”
I started typing a long response about Brooke, the band, my new song and how I needed to take a break from the scene since I hadn’t found a place in it, then erased it all. “All good here but wont be back for a little while, not sure when. Will call soon.”
Brooke texted a few times, asking if I was okay and then giving me shit when I didn’t reply.
I stopped my thumb before I could swipe over to Instagram or YouTube to watch the band play without me.
They weren’t my band—they never had been.
For years, I wanted to belong with them.
But being on this stupid island put me together with a bunch of new weirdos who, like it or not, gave me a place to belong.
And it made me write my own song. It wasn’t finished yet, but it was mine.
“Oh good, you’re here. I have an idea,” Yasmin announced as she entered the kitchen. She looked refreshed and relaxed, with her ever-present notebook of ideas in her hand. “But you need to leave.”
Annabelle looked affronted. “Excuse me? I just got here!”
“What I mean is, Gibson, you take Annabelle out for the day. Go see the world outside this house.”
I put a hand on Annabelle’s shoulder, and she laced her fingers through mine. “I did promise you a day out, you know. And I think you wanted to play games on my phone?”
She laughed. “That seems less important now.”
“It’s settled.” Yasmin herded us toward the foyer. “You guys go have a day, and when you get back, we’ll have a feast. I will cook for you to make up for all the meals you cooked for us.”
I squinted at Yasmin as she shoved me out of my house. “Can you cook? Have you ever cooked for us? Is this your sneaky way of getting rid of me? Through poison?”
Annabelle swatted me. Both of us were surprised when she actually made contact—she hit harder than I expected her to, and I rubbed my arm.
“Ow,” I said. “I’m just kidding. Dinner sounds nice.”
Yasmin shut the door behind us, saying, “Do not come back to this house until six thirty!”
Annabelle and I looked at each other and shrugged. I took her hand as we walked down the front porch stairs and into the front yard.
“So, Marley, the island is your oyster. What do you want to do?”
***
The clothing stores on Mackinac Island did not live up to Annabelle’s standards, but the fudge shops exceeded them.
When we arrived at the third T-shirt shop, the former ghost actually stamped her foot in protest of the quality of the wares inside.
The stores were full of mass-printed goods made overseas stamped with same-looking logos on brightly colored jumpers and shirts.
I held up a bright orange vest with a stylized anchor to her chest to check the size, and the look she gave me made me think I was in danger of being slapped.
We found a store inside a resort that sold overpriced clothes to visiting golfers, and Annabelle sighed. “Finally, something that isn’t horrid.”
I walked around the shop with my hands shoved in my pockets, trying to look like I belonged there. I didn’t.
After trying on half a dozen outfits, Annabelle found one that satisfied her.
I enjoyed watching her try on clothes but didn’t enjoy ponying up two hundred bucks for her final choices.
She picked out a jumpsuit in a shade of cobalt blue that perfectly accented her eyes.
And it was low-cut enough to perfectly accent her cleavage.
I handed over my credit card and laughed as she tried on a series of increasingly ridiculous-looking pairs of sunglasses from the rack next to the counter.
But the smile on her face as we left the store, her old clothes in the shopping bag on my arm, made the injury to my wallet hurt less.
With Annabelle properly outfitted, I followed her lead as we wandered the island, my hand never leaving hers.