Chapter 2: The Graveyard Reunion

The moment my consciousness returned, a shovel came swinging straight for my forehead.

"Shit!" I instinctively rolled to the side.

Grave dirt clung to my hair. My dress—well, the ghostly projection of it—looked like I'd just crawled out of a college hazing prank gone wrong.

When I scrambled up and sat, Derek was standing just a few steps away, staring at me intently.

Three years, and this is the first time I’ve seen him this close.

He looked like hell—haggard, haunted, but still so painfully familiar. My stomach twisted with old love and new dread.

Under the moonlight, his dark circles looked even deeper. His features were as handsome as ever, but he’d grown gaunt.

Only those eyes—still sharp as a hawk’s.

I instinctively took a step back. "Der... Derek."

His name stuck in my throat. Every old argument, every laugh, every late-night drive flashed behind his eyes. I couldn’t tell if he was about to hug me or throttle me.

He tossed aside the shovel, strode over, and grabbed my wrist.

His touch was icy cold, but so real it made my heart skip a beat.

"You gonna run again, Nat? You always were good at that."

He gritted his teeth. "Weren’t you pretty bold, haunting me in my dreams?"

The way he said it—accusation, desperation, love, all tangled up. I felt a pang of guilt I didn’t expect.

I yanked my hand away, temper flaring too.

"Who’s the real victim here? I only haunted you a couple times—does that mean you have to dig up my grave every damn day?"

"Because of you, I haven’t moved on for three years..."

He stared at me for a long while, eyes gradually reddening.

Even his voice trembled in a way I’d never heard before.

"Natalie." He gritted out my name.

"You really are heartless."

Moving on... means I’m heartless?

He turned his face away, hiding his tears from me.

The moon caught the shine on his cheek. He swiped at his eyes, jaw clenched tight. For the first time, I realized he’d been grieving in ways I never let myself imagine.

"You just picked up and moved on. What about me?"

I was stunned.

The paranormal investigators behind us exchanged glances. One of the old men hesitated: "Mr. Derek..."

His accent was Midwest—kind, but cautious. The others shifted their weight, eager to leave this ghost drama behind.

Derek didn’t even look back: "The money’s already been sent to you. You can go."

They scattered like startled birds.

Soon, only the two of us were left in the cemetery.

The night wind picked up, swirling ashes from the burned candles everywhere.

All those candles—he lit them for me every year on my death anniversary.

Next to the tombstone was a pile of wilted daisies, a half-melted birthday candle, and—God help me—my favorite strawberry shortcake from that bakery downtown.

The paper bakery box was smudged, but I recognized the logo—he’d driven all the way across town for that cake every year. The whipped cream was melting, but the thought behind it was as sweet as ever.

These past three years, Derek left so many offerings for me that my afterlife was pretty cushy—even St. Peter treated me with respect.

After all, gifts make the afterlife go round.

Thinking about it, I felt a little touched.

"Derek..."

I hadn’t even finished saying thank you when he suddenly swept me up into his arms.

He held me like I was the only thing keeping him afloat, breath coming hard. I smelled sweat, cologne, and the faintest trace of candle wax on his shirt.

Me: "Where are we going?"

Him: "Home."

I was about to say, "My home’s right here," but his murderous glare shut me up.

Derek’s car was parked at the foot of the hill.

The engine was still running, headlights casting long shadows through the mist. He opened the passenger door for me, like a gentleman at a haunted prom.

Once inside, I couldn’t help asking, "How did you learn all those... spirit communication tricks?"

He started the car, tone flat: "Found some people. Learned a bit of the basics."

Basics?

A single charm scared St. Peter enough to kick me back here, and you call that basics?

I sneaked a glance at him.

After three years, his features were even sharper, and there was a dangerous edge between his brows.

Half an hour later, the car pulled up in front of a big suburban house.

The porch light was on, and a faded American flag hung from the eaves. Lawns in this neighborhood were always trimmed, but his grass was overgrown, untended—like he’d been too busy chasing ghosts to care about the living.

I followed Derek inside, only to find the living room plastered with charms.

They were taped to the walls, tucked behind picture frames, even stuck to the fridge. It looked more like a paranormal supply store than a home. A half-eaten takeout container sat on the coffee table, next to a stack of self-help books about grief and spiritual healing.

The place smelled like takeout and candle wax, with an undertone of dust—like he’d been living on autopilot.

Front and center was my memorial photo.

Seeing my own smile—frozen in time, untouched by bitterness—felt like a punch to the gut. That purse was a trophy for a life I didn’t get to finish.

Piled up before it were all kinds of offerings—and my favorite limited edition purse from when I was alive.

He’d tracked down that purse on eBay after it sold out everywhere, I remembered. Now it sat on display like a museum piece. My heart twisted.

Derek shrugged off his coat, tossing it onto the couch.

"From now on, you’re living here."

Bro, I’m not here to crash at your place.

I’m here to talk you out of your obsession, okay?

After hesitating a long while, I finally said, "Derek..."

"Mm?"

"Actually, we broke up three years ago..."

"So, really, you don’t have to..."

The rest of my words were swallowed by his kiss.

He kissed me fiercely, arms locked around me so tight I could hardly breathe.

His mouth was desperate, angry, familiar. I wanted to shove him away and pull him closer, all at once.

Wait, I’m a ghost. I don’t need to breathe.

Only when my lips were numb did Derek let me go.

His bloodshot eyes burned with hostility. "Who agreed to break up?"

"Not three years ago, not ever."

His voice was a promise and a threat, and somewhere deep inside, a piece of me wanted to believe him.