Mandi adjusted her favorite teardrop-shaped vase, turning it so the stars that were etched into the porcelain looked symmetrical.

The vase rarely kept flowers alive, and Mandi could never figure out why. She gave them plenty to drink and a luxurious bath of sun each day. What more could plants want?

The green stems of the daffodils were blackening, the heads of the flowers depressed and drooping.

It was hard to take care of something that was dying.

"You never were that great at caring for plants," Blake commented from the kitchen table. He stretched his hands high above his head. The red string dangled around his ring finger and twirled down to the floor, where it snaked and wormed its way to Mandi in the kitchen.

"Was too," Mandi scoffed. She lifted the yellow skirt of petals with her fingers, but she knew the flowers wouldn't perk up without serious intervention. "You're just ruining the vibe with your sad, ghost-y existence."

Blake laughed. "Are we finally addressing the elephant in the room?" He cranked his head around, watching her as she moved out of the kitchen and took a seat across from him at the table.

She'd led him home without thinking twice about his current situation. To be honest, she was just happy to have him around again. Why think twice?

Mandi reached across the table and took his hands in hers. "Do you have any idea why you're back?"

She thought about how his hand felt in hers. Slightly cold, not all there, but still weighty. He certainly was here, not "in the flesh" as they say, but definitely taking up space.

"Not a clue. Except this," he said, lifting the red string from the table. Doing so made the thread around Mandi's finger pull slightly. The feeling was slightly uncomfortable, but not at all painful or unbearable.

"Then, you can stay," Mandi said. It wasn't a question.

Blake grinned. "Of course. If I'd gone to Heaven, I'd request to be returned to you, because you're my paradise."

Mandi blushed, a deep red color that was brought out by her blemishes—zits that decided to ride along with her as she journeyed through her twenties. Now twenty-six, she was finally starting to accept that pimples were not going away anytime soon.

"I'm not sure about that, but," Mandi started, rubbing her thumb thoughtfully over her ghost husband's  cool, light fingers, "it certainly felt like I was living in Hell without you here."

Blake stopped her thumbs, holding them in his fists. He leaned close to her, his eyes still their deep blue-black color. The color that reminded Mandi of the stones she'd find at the local beach, washed up after tumbling for a while in little waves brought on by passing motorboats. She loved those stones—flat and round and perfect for skipping across the undisturbed surface of the lake at night.

"I'm here now," Blake murmured, his voice a soft lull. "And I'm not going anywhere anytime soon."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

"Pinky swear?"

Blake laughed, lifting a pinky. "Pinky swear." They hugged pinkies.

"Cross your heart and hope to..." Mandi's eyes widened and her mouth gaped open in shock at the phrase she was just about to complete.

Blake smiled, reached for her face, and sighed. "Stick a needle in my eye," he finished.

Mandi bit her lip, then leaned across the table, meeting him in the middle. She turned her head, then gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

"I love you," she said, smiling.

Blake pulled her back, directing her straight to his lips. He held her there for a moment longer than she expected, and her heart fluttered in her chest.

"I love you too," he chuckled.