Page 7 of Gone for the Ghost
“I’d love that,” I hear myself saying, and Blake’s face lights up with the kind of uncomplicated joy that should make my heart flutter.
“Excellent technique,” Julian murmurs approvingly.“Specific invitation, unique experience, clear romantic intent without presumption.He’s demonstrating exactly the sort of thoughtful courtship I was attempting to teach you about.”
Blake gives me his number, along with a bag of tomatoes and the promise to call about scheduling our farm visit.The entire interaction unfolds exactly like the meet-cute scenes I’ve written dozens of times, complete with shared interests and obvious mutual attraction.
So why do I find myself more interested in Julian’s analysis than in Blake’s romantic potential?
“Well?”Julian asks as we walk home, and something in his tone suggests my answer matters more than casual curiosity would warrant.“Professional assessment of his courtship technique?”
I consider the question seriously, trying to untangle my reaction to Blake from my growing awareness of Julian’s investment in my happiness.Blake is attractive, clearly interested, obviously a good person with meaningful work and strong family connections.He’s exactly the kind of man I should be excited about dating.
“He’s really nice,” I say finally, which sounds as lukewarm as it feels.“Genuine, passionate about his work, the kind of person who’d be a good partner.”
“But?”Julian prompts, and I realize he’s heard the hesitation I was trying to hide.
“No but,” I say quickly.“He’s perfect.The kind of guy romance heroines are supposed to end up with.”
“Supposed to,” Julian repeats, and something sharp in his tone makes me glance at him.“What do you want, Lily?Not what you think you should want.What do you actually want?”
The question—his question, the one he asks about my fictional characters—turns back on me with uncomfortable intensity.What do I want?Blake represents safety, normalcy, the promise of building something real with someone who can offer me a complete life.Julian represents…what?Intellectual companionship?Creative partnership?The most meaningful writing collaboration of my life?
The most meaningful relationship of my life, if I’m being honest with myself.
“I want someone who challenges me,” I say slowly, trying to articulate something I’m only beginning to understand.“Someone who sees what I’m capable of and pushes me to be better instead of just accepting who I am.”
“Blake seems perfectly capable of providing that,” Julian says, but something strained in his voice suggests he’s working to sound encouraging.
“Maybe,” I agree, though the word feels hollow.“Maybe that’s exactly what I need.”
That evening, as I work on the scene Julian helped me fix, I find myself thinking about the difference between what I need and what I want—between the safe choice and the choice that makes my heart race.Blake’s interest should thrill me.The possibility of a normal relationship with a good man should feel like the answer to everything I moved here hoping to find.
Instead, I keep thinking about the way Julian’s voice sounds when he’s proud of my writing, the satisfaction I feel when I manage to surprise him with an unexpected character choice, the growing sense that our partnership has become the foundation of not just my creative work but my entire understanding of what collaboration can feel like.
Ava would call it a classic internal conflict—wanting something impossible instead of embracing what’s practical and available.But as I write her story, giving her the courage to choose vulnerability over safety, I wonder if maybe I’ve been asking myself the wrong question all along.
Not what I should want but what I actually want.And what I want, increasingly, is the one person I can never really have.
Chapter 4
Julian
Lilyreturnsfromherdinner with Blake wearing the expression of someone who’s had a perfectly pleasant evening that somehow failed to ignite anything resembling passion.She moves through the apartment with the careful neutrality of someone processing disappointment they don’t quite understand, hanging her sweater in the closet with more attention than the task requires.
“How was your exploration of contemporary courtship rituals?”I ask from my position by the window, aiming for academic detachment and landing somewhere closer to poorly concealed investment in her answer.
“Nice,” she says, settling onto the couch with her laptop.“Blake’s really sweet.Took me to this family restaurant with amazing food, told me stories about growing up on the farm, asked thoughtful questions about my writing.”
Nice.Sweet.The enthusiasm in her voice could power a dim lightbulb.
“He sounds like an exemplary suitor,” I observe, studying her face for signs of the romantic satisfaction that should follow an evening with someone who possesses all the qualities I identified as desirable.“I trust his courtship technique met with your approval?”
Lily glances at me with an expression I can’t quite decipher—part amusement, part something that looks like affection.“You really want to know about my date?”
The question lands with unexpected weight.Do I want to know?The rational answer is no.Hearing details about her romantic evening with someone who can offer her everything I cannot should be the last thing I desire.But rationality, I’m discovering, has very little influence over the growing need to understand every aspect of her emotional landscape.
“I’m curious about whether your research proved illuminating,” I say carefully.“From a professional standpoint.”
“Professional,” she repeats, and I definitely hear amusement in her tone now.“Right.Well, professionally speaking, Blake did everything correctly.Perfect gentleman, interesting conversation, clear signs of genuine interest without being pushy.”
