When they returned home, Wyatt helped her bring in all the bags just as she had teased him about earlier in the day. Once everything was stashed in the den, he encouraged Emma to finally explore the upstairs of the house. While he had nothing to do with building it, Wyatt still held a sense of pride and ownership that swelled with every smile and word of praise from her lips. No other tenant had expressed as much love for the details as Emma. She truly enjoyed the odd shapes of the roofline, and since she barely cleared five feet, the low ceilings didn't bother her.

Wyatt was most amused when she asked what room he would prefer, and Emma felt a bit silly for checking, but perhaps a ghost needed his own space as well. Regardless, she was delighted to have her pick, and for the first time in years, Emma felt like she had a place to finally call her own.

Around eleven, Emma made another meal Wyatt considered gourmet. She told him it was chicken piccata, and he tried to recall if he had ever eaten a caper in his life. After dinner, Emma cleaned the kitchen, thanked Wyatt for his assistance, and put in her earbuds. Guessing she needed time to herself, he watched as she scrubbed one room after another.

"The house of a king is never dirty and sometimes that's as close as we can get, right Momma?" she muttered without noting if he was nearby. She most likely thought he had gone off to do something on his own.

From what he had seen, Emma was rather compulsive about cleaning, but when she knew someone was coming to the house, a dust mite turned her into an anxious mess. By her private monologue, he assumed this was something that started when she was young and no doubt continued with her ex.

When she finally finished, Emma took a long shower, and he smelled the same lavender cream she used every night. It was quickly becoming his favorite scent. This was the first time she didn't walk out in only her underwear, choosing, in his opinion, an equally sexy tank top and pajama pants that hung low on her hips. Emma knew he had to have seen her practically naked for the past several weeks, but her humiliation didn't allow her to ask, and he didn't mention it.

Wyatt had grown accustomed to Emma's routines, so when she woke the next morning, or afternoon as it was, he kept to himself as she completed her yoga and meditation, followed by a quick shower and dressing in clothes that he considered fancy for hanging out at home all day. Emma was still thrilled to not bother with stockings, heels, and a full face of make-up. The corporate look had always made her feel like a fraud, but there was something reassuring about dressing for work even if it was only down the hall. She prepared an easy Greek omelet, her preferred americano, and headed to her new office.

Wyatt mulled over her complete lack of interaction with him. She hadn't addressed him at all, and he wondered if that was another trained habit from life with her ex. Maybe he wasn't a morning person. Despite the hour, Emma definitely was. Each day she woke with little fanfare and hit the ground running. The woman was dedicated, seemingly honest to a fault, and could really use a little fun. He would have to find ways to bring that to her. All he could think of at the moment was setting up her new speakers and projector. She had mentioned he could watch games in the den, so he brought up an old sideboard that he had stowed in the basement back when he bought the place.

He stored it knowing it wasn't Lisa's style, but he had a hunch it was something Emma would like. The piece was understated with a small cabinet on each side and two narrow drawers in the center. One look at the brass knobs made him think they were original. Wyatt placed it between the two windows on the back wall and set about connecting the cables for Emma's new home theater system.

A little after two, a truck pulled in the drive, and Wyatt popped into the small office, knocking to avoid startling his jumpy little bird.

'Your furniture is here.'

"Oh, thank you."

Noticing the slight tremor that went through her, he typed out another message.

'I'll be with you the whole time. Nothing will happen.'

"Stranger danger," she mumbled under her breath.

Emma opened the front door and saw two men hauling her new queen mattress out of the back of a large delivery truck. Her nerves skittered at the thought of making conversation, possible difficulty in getting it upstairs, needing to instruct them where to place it, and allowing strangers into her home. Was she supposed to tip them? Did they expect her help? Something so simple for anyone else was a series of alarm bells in her mind. This right here was why she allowed Todd to do everything even if she wasn't a fan of the result.

Two soft knocks on the wall beside her was the courage she needed to step out and take control of a mundane situation.

"Hey, are you... Emma Porter?" a rotund man asked after glancing at a clipboard.

"Yes, that's me," she confirmed softly.

"Sign here," he said, handing it over.

She did as he asked and then followed them inside.

"Upstairs please, the first door on the left. If you could just set it on the floor by the back wall."

One of the men grunted, a sound Emma took for understanding and acquiescence before they hauled the bed up and dropped it exactly where she had asked. She ran back down ahead of them, her nerves skipping again until two soft knocks came from the wall directly behind her. Taking a deep breath, she stood on the porch and waited as the men brought two tall boxes inside.

"You can just leave them there."

"Do you want us to unbox them?" the smaller guy asked.

"Oh, um, if that's not a problem..."

"Part of the job, lady," the stout man grumbled, and Wyatt wished he could smack him in the head for being rude.

At the sight of their box knives, Emma excused herself and scurried out to the patio. She noticed the front door swung slightly back and forth and realized Wyatt was staying where he could see both her and the men. That simple reassurance had Emma breathing easier.

"Have a good day, ma'am," the nicer of the two delivery men said as they left with their arms full of cardboard and plastic wrap.

"Yes, thank you. You too," she rushed, stepping back in and locking the door.

'See. Not so bad. You did great.'

The disgraceful snort that left her had Emma whipping her spine straight and covering her mouth as red creeped up her cheeks. That was the second time she had done that in front of him. Emma had broken the habitual response years ago. Why was it coming back now? Because he was a ghost?

"Sorry," she mumbled, biting the inside of her lip.

'Why would you apologize for laughing? Actually, you say that word far too often. For the next twenty-four hours, I challenge you to not say you're sorry for anything, no matter what.'

"Then I would be rude!"

'I'm fairly sure you're incapable of that.'

Wyatt typed with his own snort of disbelief. This girl really needed to loosen up.

"We've known each other all of twenty-four hours. Dropping my manners now would be insulting and poor taste," she said contritely, as if she had already done something wrong.

"Actually, I've been getting to know you for weeks," he muttered.

Emma returned to her safe space, going right back to work without even looking at the things she had bought. Having nothing better to do, Wyatt took the new stools back to the kitchen, and then he found some fresh linens in a box Emma had taken upstairs the night before and made up her bed.

It was nothing but a mattress on the floor, but it was a huge improvement over her pile of blankets. He went down to the basement and switched out the laundry she had started that morning. Then he dug around the shelves until he found some organic cotton curtains the hippies left behind. The couple had wanted an off-grid farmhouse. Wyatt had almost let them stay until they adopted a pet goat and brought it inside. The first wall it chewed through had him running them all out.

He mounted the black iron curtain rods over the two large bedroom windows, then hung the thick material. It was coarse, the rough threads highlighted by the afternoon sun, but the density and natural sandy color muted the light. Seeing as she slept half the day, Emma really needed blackout curtains, but these would have to do.

Wyatt started sifting through other things that had been forgotten in the downstairs storage. He found the natural wood venetian blinds he had custom fit for the living room and den stacked in a back corner. That was Mrs. Karen Zigley's doing. They were the worst buyers in his opinion. The woman wanted to gut the whole house and was the reason the master bedroom was a hideous shade of teal. Luckily, Emma had bought a light French gray to cover it.

Emma. That woman took up most of his thoughts lately. The way her eyes lit up when she said French gray and had daydreamed about French baking and something called a croque madame had him longing to see that joy in her as often as possible. She was much more of a romantic than she let on, and it seemed to sharpen her fear of being alone. Just short of a month with her, and Wyatt knew above all else Emma wanted to be loved. He hoped she found just that.

Wyatt did his best to focus on the house, fixing several things that had been waiting due to missing parts or supplies. Their trip to the hardware store was enough to give him a month's worth of work around the place. Emma's genuine gratitude and constant recognition of everything he did only made Wyatt want to do more. When she finished work, she would join him, painting edges and trim. Wyatt's fine motor skills continued to improve, but paint was less forgiving. Emma didn't mind in the least. She preferred the detailed work over covering the expanse of blank wall space.

Not needing to sleep or take breaks, Wyatt had painted most of the interior in a matter of days. He liked her choices but more so he was fascinated by her true happiness. It took so very little to make her radiate with joy and gratitude. Having worked his whole life to please a woman and never achieving it, Emma's enthusiasm did wonders for the battered pieces inside him. But Wyatt wasn't the only one getting stitched back together.

He may be a ghost, but Emma had never experienced such genuine friendship before. Wyatt didn't want anything more than the pleasure of her company, and that alone had her completely confused. No one had ever wanted to just spend time with her. As they worked together, Wyatt would play all kinds of different music, fully committed to finding things she liked. He often made her laugh until she couldn't breathe. When it wasn't paint and polka, they would stretch out on a heap of pillows in the den, and Wyatt patiently taught her all about football. She actually enjoyed the game, but it was his love for it that captivated her attention.

She could feel her world expanding, like everything around her was starting to breathe with new life. And for the first time ever, it was a life of her own choosing. Emma was thrilled with all the colors around her, finally seeing her vision of blush, creams, soft gray, and buttery yellow come to life. She loved being able to sit down for a meal and have Wyatt with his trusty tablet sitting right next to her. Even the bed she chose was delightfully comfortable. Each little step she took made Emma feel a bit more settled and a little more capable. And she couldn't help but realize Wyatt was a big part of that.

By the following Sunday, she was ready for a break from all things home improvement and spent the entire day in the kitchen filling the air with so many wonderful smells Wyatt questioned if his nonexistent form could salivate. It sure felt like he was. During the week, his little bird stayed faithful to a six-hour workday before coming out to help him, so he was happy her cooking extravaganza would guarantee she ate a regular lunch. He also took the opportunity to quiz her on exactly what she wanted for her dream library. As expected, she had an entire Pinterest board dedicated to just that.

Requesting specific things still made her nervous, and she was quick to defer to whatever he thought was easiest or best. She could hear the insecurity every time she said 'well,' 'if,' or 'maybe,' but she still couldn't bring herself to declare what she wanted. Emma had learned long ago to keep her expectations loose and broad, that way if the outcome was in the same ballpark as her original idea, she would still be happy. She told him to order whatever he needed from the hardware store and returned to rolling out the dough for her egg noodles. The cold weather was here, and nothing tasted better in winter than fresh chicken soup.

Wyatt had no intention of letting Emma settle for less with her dream library. He had watched and listened to her long enough to pick up on the way her eyes rounded or the right side of her lips tipped when she really loved something. If she spoke quickly or brushed over details, that meant whatever she was explaining was important to her. It was like she tried to hide her interest to protect the idea or dream. He noted every detail, photo, and style that caused these subtle reactions and headed back to start measuring.

That night he purchased all that would be needed while she slept. And even though he had warned her, Emma was still startled when the truck arrived on Tuesday afternoon.

'Tell them to leave it all by the door. There's no reason for them to come inside.'

"I don't want to be rude or create extra work for you," Emma sighed.

'Your comfort and safety are more important.'

"No one has ever agreed with me about that," she murmured with a hesitant smile.

"That's because no one was ever looking out for you before," Wyatt said, wishing he could push the errant caramel strand of hair behind her ear.

Emma signed for the order, and the two guys left everything by the door just as she asked. She was pleasantly surprised to see Wyatt had added a ten-gallon bucket of warm off-white outdoor paint as well. They had discussed the house needing a fresh coat, but she never would have asked.

'I got that light taupe you wanted for the trim work too.'

"Wyatt, this is too much."

'Shit, sorry. We can return it. I thought you didn't mind.'

"Not the purchases. The work. I can't ask you to do all this even if it's your house too. Maybe I can hire some painters."

'Nonsense. The snow and slush will come soon. I would like to get this done beforehand. I got everything for weatherstripping as well. I'll fill up the firewood too. There are a couple trees that need taking down.'

"Ms. Higgins had it all wrong. With you in the house, she should have raised the price instead of lowering it," Emma stated in blatant awe.

Wyatt laughed.

'You're funny, little bird. Get back to work, and I'll deal with all this.'

'Little bird?' Emma wondered, but she didn't feel comfortable asking about the nickname. Todd had always called her mouse, but he had used the term like a weapon. This didn't feel the same. Even without his voice, it sounded like a fond endearment.

"Wish I knew what to do for you," Emma murmured, stepping back into the house.

When she finished work for the day, Wyatt kicked her out of the office and got started on the project. He had brought in his old tools from a locked box in the back shed and moved all of Emma's things into the den to avoid making a mess of her workspace.

Wyatt had confiscated her tablet, and Emma could just make out the soft sounds of music coming from the other room between the buzzing of a saw. Not wanting to hear either, she put in her earbuds and decided to take a break from painting the baseboards and do something she loved.

One batch of cinnamon scones, two dozen peanut butter cookies, and a tray of vanilla cupcakes with chocolate ganache icing later, Emma decided her running shoes were necessary to burn off the calories she had licked from bowls and spoons. Just looking at the sweets had guilt and shame swirling in her chest.

Todd had always told her neither constituents nor husbands liked a fat wife. He had been very strict in monitoring both of their calories. Putting them on a gluten and dairy free diet was inevitably why she had given up baking. Changing into running clothes, she found the female violinist Wyatt had suggested and connected the music to her earbuds before heading out the door. By her second mile, she was completely in love with the music, and thought it was perfect for working out.

Wyatt knew she was entirely unaware that he was with her, and he was fuming. Running out here in the dark was dangerous, and this was the third time she had done it. Shelter Cove was relatively safe in town, but they were on the outskirts, off the main highway. There were no streetlights out here, and it was after ten. If she were attacked, he wasn't sure if the rocks he carried would be very effective, and feeling like he couldn't protect her had anger and fear swirling inside him.

When she returned, there was a delicious rosy color to her cheeks, and the endorphins had Emma feeling like a new woman. But the happy vibes disappeared when the tablet was shoved in her face.

'Buy a treadmill TONIGHT! And NEVER run down the highway in the dark again. This house doesn't need two ghosts.'

"Oh, I... I'm sorry."

'For once, I'll take that apology. I followed you the whole way with my metaphorical heart in my non-existent throat. You haven't gone running in a week. Why the hell did you decide to go now?'

"I baked."

'Your point?'

"Um, every time I make sweets, I consume a lot of extra calories. I needed to work those off."

'Bullshit. Let me guess, dickwad Todd told you that.'

"Well, yes, but exercise for weight management wasn't something he invented," Emma said, tamping down her irritation.

'But telling an underweight woman she needs to watch her calories came directly from his pea-sized brain. Go in there and eat a damn cookie or whatever it is you made.'

Emma couldn't stop the half-smirk that tipped her lips. She wished more than anything she could hear Wyatt's voice. Something told her this wasn't anger but concern, and that was foreign to her.

"Scones, cookies, and cupcakes," she said sheepishly.

'Damn, little bird. I wish I could eat.'

"You can see, hear, and touch. Can you smell?"

'Yes, and you're killing me with all the cooking you do. But I don't actually have a body to process food.'

"That doesn't mean you can't taste. Have you ever tried?"

'If I do, will you promise not to run in the dark again?'

"I promise, even if you don't try to eat, but I think you should."

'If the house didn't smell so damn good, I would say no just because I'm upset, but something tells me that's cutting off my nose to spite my face.'

Emma giggled and walked into the kitchen to her spread of baked goods down the center island.

"Do you like cinnamon, peanut butter, or old-fashioned vanilla and chocolate?"

Wyatt had been inhaling her baking all evening, but he tried to squash any hopes of actually getting to taste it. He would try for her, especially after she agreed to stay in after dark without demanding this in return, but the idea of a ghost eating seemed absurd. Everything looked amazing; however, the cupcakes had his name written all over them.

"Good choice. They're my favorite too," Emma said when a vanilla cupcake floated into the air. Her eyes grew huge as it went up and up and up. Before she could say anything more, a sizeable bite was taken from the dessert, and she had to silence her surprised amusement as the process of chewing and swallowing was fully visible in the air. She watched the glob of smashed cake and icing slide down what she presumed to be his throat and somewhere around the middle of his chest it simply disappeared.

"Well? Could you taste it?" she asked eagerly.

'You really are my favorite person, little bird. That was the best damn cupcake I've ever had, alive or dead.'

"Woo-hoo," Emma shouted before biting her lip and reining in her excitement to a more appropriate level.

'Scream and shout, please. I can't, so you need to celebrate for the both of us.'

Wyatt smiled when the light returned to her eyes, and she excitedly handed him a peanut butter cookie.

"Try this!"

Emma allowed herself to laugh this time when the cookie crumbled to pieces and followed the same path down before vanishing, and a scone went soaring through the air. If that was his mouth, Wyatt had to be over a foot taller than she was.

'I've never wanted to hug someone as much as I do you. I can taste!! This is all delicious, amazing, incredible. You have no idea how much I've missed food! I don't even know where it's all going, and I don't care.'

Wyatt laughed as he shoved another bite of scone in his mouth. Emma had no idea either. She didn't mention the funny yet slightly gross spectacle of watching him eat because she didn't want to spoil his fun, so she merely shrugged with a smile.

'Don't make me eat alone. Choose something.'

Placing a scone on a small plate, Emma put the kettle on the stove and pulled out a sachet of chai tea.

'Can I have some tea? I wonder if it would feel hot.'

"I'll happily make you some tea," she grinned, getting a second mug from the cabinet. "Your enthusiasm does wonders for my mood, and the idea of having someone to cook for... honestly, that's one of the best things that could happen to me. Feeding people is one thing that truly makes me content."

'Well, now that I know food is something I still enjoy, I'll gladly eat whatever you fix, but Emma, I don't need it to survive. It's a pleasure not a necessity, so I don't want to waste too much of it.'

"Cooking is my therapy, and it's a hell of a lot cheaper than paying a therapist," Emma laughed. "But I won't start feeding you twenty-four-seven."

Her words struck a soft spot in the center of his chest, so he swore to never lose his excitement over having tastebuds. Wyatt had always appreciated a good meal, but food never played a central part in his enjoyment of life. Mainly because his kitchen skills stopped at soups and anything on a grill. However, seeing his little bird smile like this quickly made eating one of his favorite activities in the world.

'I can't decide if this is the best thing ever or incredibly dangerous. Without an actual digestive system, I don't feel any sense of fullness. Which means I could eat all day...'

"And never gain a pound," Emma snarked with a roll of her eyes.

He loved seeing a little attitude from her, but he also knew there was something about Emma and weight that was unhealthy. He wanted to see her eat every damn sweet on the counter.

'Being dead has to have some perks. ;) But eating you out of house and home doesn't sound wise.'

"Drink your tea," she commanded with a grin, sliding the mug over to him.

Wyatt smiled and picked up the savory smelling beverage. The burst of cinnamon, clove, and cardamom with a hint of vanilla and ginger had him moaning into the cup, but Emma's giggle wrenched all of his attention from the warm, creamy tea.

"Can you hear me?" he asked, startled hope rising in his chest. "Emma?"

When she didn't respond, Wyatt realized her laugh was not about his audible praise for the drink. Taking another sip, he noticed how she averted her eyes and picked at the cinnamon scone on her plate.

'Emma, what do you see when I eat?'

"A man who is considerably taller than I ever expected, enjoying something I made," she answered honestly. "How tall are you?"

'Six-four. Now, answer my question.'

"Well, um, I guess I see the process of consuming food and drink," she explained awkwardly.

'Film it.'

"Excuse me?"

'Use your phone and video the process.'

"Wyatt, it doesn't matter what I see. You're enjoying flavors for the first time in years. That's important to both of us."

He grabbed her cell phone off the kitchen island and opened up the video app, setting it to record and holding it in front of him as he ate a cookie. Watching the footage, he saw the pulverized food glide down an invisible channel until it evaporated somewhere around his solar plexus. It was sickening, and he was fairly sure the blood would have drained from his face if he had either.

'I'm sorry. That is disgusting.'

Wyatt snatched up his mug and turned to dump it in the sink.

"Stop!" Emma screeched. "It's not disgusting. I need this, and I think you do too. Please, eat, enjoy, savor."

'I don't want you to see this.'

Emma paused, considering his words. "If you can touch, can you wear clothes?"

'Never tried.'

"Wait here," Emma said, running upstairs and returning with a white sheet. "Sorry, it's cliché. Just wrap it around you like a towel. Then I won't see much, and you can eat in comfort."

Wyatt was skeptical but did as she asked, and they were both surprised to see it worked. He looked ridiculous, like a toga party reject, but at least she couldn't see the food going through his transparent body.

'Do you think it's too on the nose for a Halloween costume? It worked for E.T., right?'

Emma swallowed hard. "You, um, you're, phew," she huffed, and Wyatt wondered what she was on about now. "You're huge," Emma finally got out, gawking at the floating white sheet that seemed to circle a damn tree trunk.

Wyatt laughed before typing his response.

'Nah. You're just tiny. You'll still see me chewing and swallowing. That's just nasty.'

Emma shrugged. It would be a lie to deny it, but the truth was it didn't bother her, so she said as much. "Liquids actually look kind of cool," she smirked, making Wyatt chuckle.

'Fine. I will enjoy my tea and another scone while I practice typing in an English accent.'

Emma giggled and watched as the floating sheet walked around the island and pulled out one of the bar chairs to sit.

"I have to admit, it's nice knowing where you are. If I bought you some clothes, would you mind wearing them around the house? And if you're not wearing clothes, does that uh, does that mean, never mind. Terrible question."

The guffaw that roared out of Wyatt had him leaning on the counter to catch a breath he didn't need. Between her words and the bright red on her fair cheeks, he didn't stop laughing for a solid minute.

"Either you're having a seizure or you're laughing at me," Emma grumbled.

'Having not laughed like this in years, it might be a seizure.'

His response made Emma huff which only caused more chuckles to bubble in his chest. Wyatt managed to type more once his laughter subsided, and he thought about her question.

'It never occurred to me to look at what I was wearing. Now that I have, it seems I'm still in the clothes I had on when I died. But I can also feel the sheet as if it were on my skin. This dead shit is weird.'

"I can imagine, but I am rather glad you are clothed. Would you be opposed to wearing something around the house? I don't mind what it is, although the sheet is rather ghost like."

'A gold speedo would be fine.'

"Oh, um, well, if that's, um, okay," she stammered, the heat returning to her face yet again. "You're teasing me," she muttered, seeing the sheet shake with his laughter.

'It's too easy, little bird. You're kind of adorable.'

"Just eat your damn scone," she grumbled, biting her lip to maintain the mock annoyance.

Wyatt laughed again before happily obeying this amazing woman.

That's how most of November passed. Tons of food, projects, and exploring this quickly building friendship. It took a couple of weeks, but Wyatt finally finished the library, refusing to let her in until it was complete. Emma gravitated to warm tones, neutrals, and earthy textures. She was also obsessed with fireplaces and window seats, so Wyatt did his best to incorporate it all.

Other than the barn door, the entry and interior wall to the right were covered in floor to ceiling, golden walnut shelves. The narrow wall to the left was where Emma had placed her desk under the window, so he left it alone, but the long wall opposite the door was his favorite. There was another window in the center of it, and Wyatt had boxed it in with more shelves to the left and right and three across the top, connecting the two sides. Underneath, he built her a cozy bench and installed an electric fireplace along the bottom. While she wouldn't be able to see it if sitting in the window seat, his little bird was always cold, and this would keep her warm.

'Keep your eyes closed until you hear three taps on the wall.'

"Okay," Emma breathed with nervous excitement. The night before, Wyatt had asked for her help to bring a perfectly worn leather recliner up from the basement. Apparently, it had been his long before he had bought this house. He had also forced her to go out during the day to visit an antique store in town. It was one of her best memories yet. She was instructed to choose lighting, an area rug, and any other accessories she wanted in the library. The free rein had been intoxicating.

As always, Wyatt was nothing but encouraging as Emma selected a distressed French country floor lamp with a vintage corset shade, a brass Malvasia desk lamp, and trusting he wouldn't steer her wrong, a large Victorian floral area rug in shades of dark blue. On the way out, she spotted a pristine shelf of cloth- and leather-bound classics from Dickens and Shakespeare to Austen and Bronte. Books were something Todd had never understood, declaring they took up space only to appear pretentious and boring. So when Emma scooped up her top dozen and then went back for three more, she could almost feel the elation vibrating in her chest.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

This was it. She tried to suppress her excitement, refusing to be anything less than overjoyed and thankful, but this room meant so much to her. She had built it up over the years as a magical fortress of solitude that could hide and protect her from the world. The fairytale was far too much pressure to put on reality. When she finally opened her eyes, shock settled over her body, freezing her in place.

Wyatt wasn't quite sure what to make of her reaction. Emma had only taken one step inside and stood in complete silence. She was always so vocal with her praise and gratitude, but this time it was like she was broken. He watched in horror as her eyes filled with tears, and she slowly sank to her knees.

'What's wrong? What did I do? I'll fix it.'

He rapidly typed, shoving the tablet in front of her eyes, and even then, it took her a moment to focus through her sobs. Emma's arms wrapped around her middle like she was physically in pain before she finally choked out words.

"I... I... want to hug you so badly it hurts," she cried. "There... I... It's... so much. Love. This, it hurts so good."

Her incoherent babble brought him an enormous smile of relief as Wyatt realized he had stunned her with a deluge of happiness.

"Perfect. It's so very, very perfect," she whispered, swiping at her eyes as she finally gazed around the room. "A fireplace. And a ladder. You built me a ladder."

'It has hooks at the top so you can move it from wall to wall.'

"Wyatt," she breathed. "I love it. It's better than anything I've ever imagined. That doesn't ever happen."

Her wide-eyed look of confusion and adoration had Wyatt's chest pulsing with affection. Feelings he believed himself incapable of after Lisa and Mike got married began to stir low in his gut, and he tried not to question the sanity of it. He was dead, but it was hard to remember the last time he felt so alive.

Emma spent the rest of the day unpacking her final boxes and filling the shelves with her beloved books that had lived most of their lives in stacks under the guestroom bed in her last apartment. Even with her new vintage classics, there were still dozens of empty shelves, but she just saw it as a reason to buy more books.

Between the treadmill, which had arrived a few days earlier, their pillow theater, a fully stocked kitchen, and her dream library, Emma rarely found reason to leave the house. While she edited manuscripts or did her own thing, Wyatt worked outside during the day, cleaning and scraping the house and putting on a fresh coat of paint. Emma still helped with the finer details on the trim work and edges, but only after he made her promise not to climb any ladders unless he was holding it firmly at the bottom.

After dark, Emma often cleaned, baked, or disappeared into a book, which baffled Wyatt considering she did the same all day for work. It wasn't until he picked up the one she had just finished that he realized what was holding her attention. He was stunned when halfway through, the book became so filthy it made him blush. So did the second and third books he picked from her shelves. They didn't discuss her well hung dragons, busty female warriors, or taboo love scenes, but most nights, the leather recliner and window seat were both occupied as they each kicked back with a steamy page turner.

With the cold weather setting in, Wyatt chopped up enough firewood to fill the rack outside and covered it all with a tarp to keep dry. A lifetime of stories had fashioned a hidden whimsy inside Emma, and she practically swooned each time he lit the fireplace. This was the first time she had had one in her home, and she was certain it would never get old.

Wyatt kept a constant fire burning whenever Emma was in the living room, and despite the need to chop more wood, he started one in her bedroom most nights as well. It made him smile to watch her doze off, looking at the flames. He also noticed the nightmare rarely came when the fire was lit, and he wondered if it was the light or the warmth that kept it at bay.

Most nights, they ate dinner on the floor in front of the downstairs fire, sharing stories from their past. Wyatt was amazed at how she spoke of such a sad and lonely life with such graceful acceptance. Emma's mother had been a real piece of work, but she only spoke of her with love and understanding. He soon realized her true parents were Louisa May Alcott, Roald Dahl, Lewis Carroll, and many others.

Her supposed best friend was even worse, a user, and by the sounds of it a clueless one at that. Todd's name was one that made Wyatt's fists clench. Emma had only been divorced a little less than two months, and his hold on her mind and actions was still strong. The man was a manipulative predator and had groomed his prey into nervous subservience. It made Wyatt rage inside, but he never let his little bird sense his anger.

Emma was constantly surprised by Wyatt's openness and the fact that he rarely held back. It seemed his upbringing was idyllic, born and raised in Shelter Cove, the oldest of two sons with loving parents who were currently in a retirement home in Phoenix. Even his marriage sounded like a dream until the part where her gold-digging split personality took over.

As Wyatt had to type, his stories were more succinct answers to direct questions, so she tried to be respectful of what she asked. But that night, for some terrible reason—the warmth of the fire, her comfort sitting with Wyatt-shaped clothes at her side, or the steady thrum of rain against the windows—a question slipped out that Emma instantly regretted.

"Wyatt, can I ask how you died? Sorry, that's inappropriate," she gasped in disbelief at her gall.

'Not inappropriate. Seems time, actually. I was hit in the back of the head, fell in the water, and drowned. Don't know who or why, but I have guesses.'

"Oh... Wyatt, I'm so sorry." Emma was stunned. The idea that he was murdered had never entered her mind. It was so gruesome and horrible and terribly unfair.

'You're not supposed to say sorry, remember?'

"It was a platitude rather than an apology. It would be rude to say, 'that sucks.'"

Wyatt burst out laughing. Those words out of her proper, little, pink lips were highly preferable to the empty condolence.

'You make me laugh, little bird. How old are you anyway?'

"Twenty-eight," Emma answered, grateful for the change in topic. "And you?"

Eleven years younger, no wonder he kept inadvertently calling her girl and young. She was.

'Thirty-nine, but I don't look a day over thirty-four.'

His little joke was lost on her, but he still grinned. Not wanting to say more, he moved on.

'Thanksgiving is this Thursday. Do you want to celebrate?'

"Is that a nice way of asking me to cook a huge meal?" she teased, and he laughed, loving that she was feeling relaxed enough for her personality to shine through.

'I wouldn't say no. And it just so happens that I am a master at frying turkeys.'

"Fried turkey! That sounds appalling," Emma cringed.

'Don't knock it till you try it. We can have Thanksgiving dinner and then get a Christmas tree.'

"Oh, um, well Todd never celebrated the holidays. He said it made a mess of his house. Momma never did either. She said they were a ploy of consumerism to end the fiscal year with a bang. I don't mind cooking, but a tree isn't necessary."

'I didn't ask about dickwad Todd or your Momma. There wasn't a year I was alive that I didn't celebrate the holidays. Thanksgiving is when I would always go cut down a tree. Do YOU want one?'

"I often wonder what your voice sounds like when you get all snappy like this. Is it as forceful as I imagine? Or exasperated? Downright irritated or playful? Does it express how foolish or tiring you find me? Or is it full of patience?"

'Forceful, playful, and patient. You are neither foolish nor tiring, but I am demanding an answer. I like hearing your thoughts and finding ways to give you what you want. Believe it or not, Emma, I like you just as you are.'

"Oh," Emma breathed, her eyes burning with unexpected emotion.

'Now about that Christmas tree?'

"I would love one," she smiled.

'You know what would go nice with a tree?'

"Ornaments?" she asked with a confused expression.

Wyatt chuckled.

'That too, but I was thinking some furniture? The floor is nice, but a sofa might feel better.'

"You want a sofa?" Emma asked, truly baffled.

'No. I want you to have something to sit on. Maybe a table to eat at. Or some drawers so you could finally unpack and stay awhile.'

Emma reached over and took the tablet from him.

"I've actually made several selections on this website, but honestly, I'm terrible at making final decisions. It's silly, but I get so nervous that I'll make a mistake. Maybe you could give me your opinion? You don't have to of course, but if you want a say in it, well here," she blurted, the familiar flush of embarrassment coloring her cheeks.

He swiped through the site she had chosen. They were the same reputable company she had ordered the bed and kitchen chairs from.

"What do you think of the charcoal suede sectional? It's quite popular," she said nervously. The sofa was almost identical to the black leather one Todd had chosen for their apartment, so she thought it wouldn't cause too much controversy.

The couch was the opposite of Emma's style, and he wasn't about to let her do that, so he tapped on the 'Wish Lists' tab at the top. Emma's mouth hung open as he selected her favorite cream velvet chesterfield sofa with a tufted back that wrapped around the sides, forming curled armrests. She had added it nearly two years ago but never imagined it could actually be hers.

"Really? You don't think it's too feminine?"

He swiped back to the note app.

'You're a woman...'

"Well, yes," she laughed. "It's just... Todd always said men's homes needed to look like a man lived there."

'And Todd was an idiot. I told you a woman's home should reflect her tastes. We've got your paint on the walls and the library of your dreams. Might as well finish the rest. Now show me a picture of your ideal style. I know you have all kinds of lists and boards on it somewhere.'

Emma giggled and sheepishly held out the tablet. "You're right. French country but on the shabby chic side," she admitted excitedly, opening a folder on the tablet that was filled with home décor photos. "This is what I would buy if it was just me."

"Of course it's French something," Wyatt chuckled, taking the tablet from her.

'Your style is perfect. My only requests, no floral furniture, ruffles, tassels, or that heinous shade of green.'

Emma reached over and swiped back to her wish lists on the website. She had several. It had been a guilty pleasure when she was alone back in Seattle, creating dream boards for specific rooms. Emma opened the idea panel with the sofa Wyatt had indicated. It included a cushy, stone gray armchair with antique wood trim, a brass birdcage floor lamp, and a vintage white coffee table with curvy legs.

Wyatt clicked the 'add all to cart' button at the top and was pleased to see Emma's delighted grin. At this point, he was fairly certain he would do anything to put that look on her face.

"Um... What do you think of this?" she asked, clicking on a bedframe that Wyatt thought looked ready for the scrapyard. It was like buying jeans with holes in them. Why purchase something new with chipped, yellowing paint on decades old iron?

It had three arches at the head and three at the feet, with two smaller arches in the center of each connected to a thin rod that went down to the bottom. Wyatt held back a laugh, thinking it looked like a whole lot of cleavage. Seemed appropriate for a bed, and he fought the visual of tying her to it.

Clearing his throat, he added the metal frame to her cart and grinned at her squeal of excitement. You would have thought he was buying this stuff for her.

He clicked 'select all' for her bedroom list which included a lavishly carved, round side table, an antique ivory chest of drawers, and a white metal lamp with a swooped shade that made him think of the Victorian era. It was cream with silk flowers in the same tone, and she actually asked if it bothered him. It was more than he deserved, and he admitted to liking most of her floral details.

Together, they chose a dining table with a weathered oak top, white cabriole legs and intricate trim, four mismatched chairs, which he found comical, and lastly she selected a proper office chair with wood trim and cream leather.

Her wish lists included a few finishing touches like large neutral area rugs, a few sets of curtains, a smatter of throw pillows which were a willing concession of both flowers and fringe, and flowy, oversized linens. When Emma reluctantly placed the order, her hand shook as she clicked the final confirmation, and then the tablet was taken from her.

Now, Wyatt could relax. His little bird wasn't going to fly the coop anytime soon.