I didn't know what to do.

I didn't know how to make Matt understand how scared I was.

I didn't use to be so scared.

When I'd moved here, offered to rent this house and take care of the...unique...museum it houses, I'd thought it was amazing.

At the time, I'd just learned that there was so much more to this world than I'd ever imagined—more magic, more mystery—incredible, wonderful, dangerous things, and I felt honored to be a part of it.

Then Matt joined me, and I'd been afraid ever since.

Because, while I know I did a bad job of showing it, he was my life.

He was my everything.

When I met him, I was in a dark, lonely place, and he lit my world like a million fireflies—like a fucking miracle.

He also had zero sense of self-preservation, trusted everything and everyone, and thought spiders were cute. Fucking spiders. The jumpy, fuzzy ones with the big eyes. Urgh.

Taking care of him was like chasing a happy puppy through a minefield.

I loved him and he was adorable, but he'd be the death of me someday.

And nothing seemed to phase him.

He'd bounced back from being electrocuted like a kid with a scraped knee who is up and running again after a band-aid and a few tears, injury forgotten. He'd laughed and joked with the technicians while they ran tests on his heart to make sure it hadn't been damaged, and asked questions about all the wires being attached to him until a nurse brought him some jello to make him shut up ("Hospital jello, Ben!").

Meanwhile, I'd sat by in a cold sweat, imagining the worst.

I needed to relax.

In the following days, things seemed almost normal. The activity in the house was oddly quiet, and Matt was disappointed he hadn't seen anything since the faces in the windows (shudder). He seemed quieter than usual, though, and that had me worried almost as much as his new "I see dead people" shtick. 

I just couldn't win.

He'd left for work this morning, but for me, Saturday was a day off. Usually, I caught up on housework or went for a run, but this time I had other concerns. My parents were coming for a visit the next day, and I needed to make dinner reservations, get the guest room ready, and shop for groceries.

Normal, everyday, mundane things—no paranormal abilities necessary.

Around mid-morning, though, I decided to visit Matt at his bakery. I still hadn't decided where to take my parents for dinner, and he always had a good sense for that kind of thing, even if he did have more adventurous tastes.

Happy Tails Cafe was located on a quaint, touristy side street that ran up a steep hill perpendicular to the bay. The front was painted pink and white, with trim that looked like frosting, and a wide-open patio in the front. The seating was widely spaced, and the tables all bolted down—not because of theft, but so that the cafe's nonhuman patrons didn't knock them over.

Happy Tails was a 'dog cafe.'

Matt served human treats, too, of course, and I had to admit that, despite my reservations about the whole idea, he had talent.

He was self-taught, and yet he'd received praise from a number of professionals and glowing reviews in local and regional publications.

His cafe was popular—beloved, even—and in no danger of going out of business. The problem was that (along with any other kind) Matt lacked business sense.

He poured everything into his cafe, made sure every last detail was perfect, and insisted that if you gave people a memorable experience, they'd keep coming back to relive it. He was right, too. On the other hand, he barely broke even each month, and he was perfectly fine with that.

I made enough to support us both, and was glad to do it, but sometimes I couldn't help wondering what exactly I was getting out of him living his dream.

And then I'd see how happy it made him when some random dog enjoyed a treat he made (I mean, dogs enjoy eating shit, too) and then I'd remember.

He made people happy. He made me happy. I just worried I didn't do enough of the same in return.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

As I walked up the steps to the patio, I recognized a particularly large, fluffy white, wolf-like dog sitting with statuesque patience while several little kids pulled at its ears. Beside it at the table sat Ari Lorenfield, glancing nervously at the children (according to legend, the monster that was currently masquerading as his dog used to eat them) and smiling as Matt leaned over to show him something on his phone.

I paused unconsciously at the sight. I was no longer in love with Ari, and yet I still loved him in the way I loved my favorite pieces of music or art. He was something to admire from afar.

He'd changed a little in the last year—letting his hair grow a bit longer, becoming more confident and, oddly, developing a stronger feminine vibe. He'd done some sort of soul-bonding thing with his grandmother and godmother last year, and he carried the essence of a goddess in him, so I guess it made sense.

It's not that he was effeminate, just...feminine—like a lioness or something. He moved with unconscious grace, was effortlessly gorgeous, and carried subtle, but undeniable, power and strength. 

I stared for a moment, and then Matt looked up and caught me gawking, and I felt myself blush.

He understood that I wasn't comparing the two of them, but I knew it still wasn't fair.

"Hey, lover," I said as I approached, and gave Matt a quick kiss before greeting Ari as well.

We caught up for a minute or so, and then I asked Matt which restaurant he thought my parents would like.

"But I was going to make something, remember?" he answered, frowning. "That Julia Child recipe."

Shit. I did remember now. He'd bought all the ingredients a week ago at some specialty market.

"Babe, I don't want you to have to cook, is all," I said rubbing the back of my neck.

"But I want to, babe," he returned looking at me in a way that told me I wasn't fooling him at all.

"You're supposed to take it easy," I argued, scrambling. "Isn't that French stuff a lot of work?"

"Ben, I'm fine," Matt said, hands on his narrow hips. 'Stop fretting. You'll give yourself an ulcer."

Ari looked between us, his mess of black curls framing a face full of open curiosity.

"Did he tell you what happened?" I asked, a little more sharply than was probably needed.

He blinked and shook his head, dark eyes widening at my tone.

"Your house-ghost almost killed him, that's what."

"Ben!" Matt snapped, slate-blue eyes flashing. His already sharp jawline always sharpened more when he was angry, and it looked like I could cut myself on it now.

"Sorry," I said, though it didn't sound like I meant it. "But Ari's our landlord, Matt. He should know if we're having issues with pests."

And fucking do something about it, like get rid of them before someone got hurt.

"I don't think pests are what we're having issues with, Ben," Matt replied, and I hated myself when I saw the telltale sparkle in his eyes.

Wonderful.

I came to his place of work intending to have a nice talk and make plans for dinner with the folks, and instead I embarrassed him in front of our friend (who happens to be my ex) and made him cry. Husband of the fucking year, right here.

"Shit," I pinched the bridge of my nose and looked away with a sigh. "I'm sorry, Matt. You too, Ari. Sorry. I'm just...a little stressed."

At least this time I managed to sound sincere. Turning back, I forced myself to smile.

"Babe, do you have everything for your recipe? Need me to pick anything up?" I asked, deciding I better make my exit and give Matt a chance to cry on Ari's shoulder for a bit.

Matt shook his head, not quite meeting my eyes.

"Alright. I'll see you later, then. Love you." I leaned over and gave him a quick peck on the cheek, which he held still for, but didn't return.

Then I headed to my car, refusing to look back, and wondering why I couldn't open my damn mouth without starting a fight these days.