Incorporeal by J.R. Barrett

stories, yes? You want to become a published author?”
    “ Honestly?” Sara leaned back to look into Nathan’s face. “Things have changed over the past few days; I’ve changed over the past few days. It was very important to me, yes, before you, before you became… Well, it doesn’t seem so important right now.”
    Nathan pulled her closer. “That would be a mistake, Sara, to give up on a dream, your dream.”
    “ That’s how this all began,” she said. “Do you remember? You came to me in a dream.”
    Nathan laughed. “As I recall, I first appeared to you in the shower. You hurled several colorful curses at me and told me to get the hell out of your bathroom. Until that moment, I was unaware a woman could curse as well as a man.”
    Sara couldn’t help it. She laughed right along with him. Yes, you did tell him to go fuck himself, didn’t you? She could feel her cheeks burning. “You deserved it, materializing in the shower like that.”
    “ But you’re right, you did dream of me that night. And then you woke up in the wee hours of the morning to record it, the dream. I watched while you worked on your computer. Sara, you have to meet with this publisher. Make your dreams a reality. Look what your passion has done for this annoying incorporeal ghost.”
    His lips were warm, and he took hers with tenderness. Sara savored every single second of the kiss. She moaned in protest when he lifted his mouth from hers. Reaching her hands behind his head, she tried to tug him back down to her mouth.
    Nathan chuckled. “Greedy, are you?”
    “ Very,” she said. “When it comes to you, ghost.”
     
     

Chapter Eight
     
     
    Sara’s stomach churned. Meeting a New York publisher in person was a good way to catch a bad case of the jitters. She walked down the ramp leading to the Ferry Building, her purse over one shoulder and a new black leather tote over the other. The tote held three bound manuscripts, and the gift bag Dalton had selected.
    Sara had stayed up until the wee hours, as Nathan called them, half-heartedly fending off his persistent advances in order to bake homemade cinnamon-almond granola. She gave some to Nathan; then sealed the rest of the still-warm mixture into a cellophane bag and tied it with a red ribbon. Like Dalton says, red is the color of love . She’d also purchased several vanilla-scented candles and a bottle of sweet gardenia almond oil. Hopefully she’ll know I’m serious . Either that or she’ll think my attempts to kiss up are pathetic .
    I don’t even want to be here. I’d rather be home, with Nathan. I don’t know how much longer we have.
    Can it, Sara. He told you to go. It’s only one evening away and he promised he’ll be there when you get back.
    “ I’m sorry, Miss, are you talking to me?”
    “ Oh.” Sara looked up to find one of the ferry attendants holding the metal gate open for her. She grinned, embarrassed. “No, sorry, just talking to myself.” As usual .
    “ Hey, no sweat.” The man laughed. “I do it all the time.”
    “ Thanks for getting the gate.”
    He nodded in reply and headed back down the ramp. Sara checked the clock looming above the Ferry Building. She had forty minutes to kill. Setting her bags down on a bench, she sent Geri a quick text to let her know she’d arrived and would be waiting for them at the restaurant. Geri answered with a single letter, “K”, which made Sara smile once again. She wondered how the day with Leah Rosen was going, relieved all over again that she hadn’t had to do the schlepping.
    Making her way through the Friday evening crowd, Sara cut across the walkway and ducked into the building. Maybe I should buy a French macaroon. Yum. Nathan might like one too .
    She headed to the bakery counter and studied the pastries. She was surprised to find nothing appealed to her. Sara shifted her bags. They’d just get squished in my purse anyway .
    She checked the time on her cell phone. Thirty minutes. Enough time for