Ghostly Promises, Mortal Stakes

I stared at him, eyebrows shooting up in disbelief. He looked at me like I’d just grown a second head. "Wait, you can see me?"

What kind of question was that? Did he think I was hallucinating or something?

I got to my feet, squaring my shoulders for whatever was coming, but Mariah jumped up and wrapped her arms around me in a bear hug, holding me back.

"Sorry, everyone! My friend just broke up—she’s having a rough one," Mariah called out, voice sugary sweet as she tried to reassure the other customers, who were starting to stare.

Mariah kept her arm around me, flashing an apologetic smile at the room, her hand rubbing my shoulder like she was trying to calm down a stray dog that might bite.

I glanced around the coffee shop. The looks I got ranged from annoyed to genuinely concerned to that unique blend of pity and nosiness you only get in public when you’re clearly not okay.

Suddenly, my brain snapped into focus. I looked more closely at the guy standing in front of me.

He was stupidly handsome—pale skin, sharp cheekbones, eyes that could drown you if you stared too long. His hands looked like they belonged to a pianist or an artist, and his legs stretched out so far he could’ve modeled.

But... he didn’t have a shadow. I blinked, rubbed my eyes, and checked again. Still nothing. Even with sunlight pouring in, there was no shadow on the floor.

---

His name was Julian Foster.

After that day, he started showing up everywhere. And I mean everywhere—class, the library, even the grocery store at midnight when I was just trying to pick out cereal.

During finals, he’d lean over my shoulder, his voice full of teasing. "Wow, you really can’t solve this problem?"

I’d keep my voice low, glancing around to make sure nobody thought I was talking to myself, and wink at him. "Then tell me, genius, which answer should I pick?"

He’d flash that infuriatingly bright grin. "Can’t help you. What if you actually pass?" Like he was letting me in on some inside joke only he got.

When I cooked, he’d stand in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, shaking his head. "Not even my dog Ruby would eat this."

I shot him a look. "Ruby’s your girlfriend?"

He didn’t miss a beat. "My dog."

My fists clenched so hard my knuckles turned white. "Now I get why your life was cut short."

Honestly, with his attitude, I bet he racked up a long list of people who wanted to punch him when he was alive. He was lucky to have made it as far as he did.

The next morning after breakfast, I caught him standing on the balcony, staring out at the city with this distant look. His back seemed... not just lonely, but almost out of place, like he was watching a world that had moved on without him.

I glanced at the microwave clock. Still early—bookstore didn’t open for another hour.

"Alright, just spit it out. What unfinished business do you have?" I asked, crossing my arms and leaning against the doorframe.

I added, "If it costs money, forget it."

He thought for a second, lips pursed like he was weighing his words. "Actually, there is something. If you help me out, I’ll give you a huge reward."

I narrowed my eyes, not buying it. "What, can you Venmo me from the afterlife now?"