The Ghost of Christmas Never Read Free

seeing him as a person instead of an obstacle. I could easily
picture him as charismatic host of a television show. Was he as handsome inside as out? I suspected
he was and left the window to find out more about him. "So you're a ghost hunter."
    "That's right."
    "Ever actually seen one?"
    "I've seen my share, beginning when I was sixteen. A friend who'd committed suicide
came to me with a message for his parents."
    Unsure how to take that, I sat in one of the chairs and crossed my leg so I could unzip
my boot. "Did you tell them what he'd said?" I kicked it off and wiggled my cramped toes. Then I
went for the other one.
    Jake watched me kick it off, too. "I did."
    "They believed you?" I next slipped out of my svelte leather jacket, inspecting it for
water damage as I went to the closet to hang it up. Miraculously I'd avoided any. I credited my black
nylon puff jacket for that and hung it up, too.
    "Didn't want to hear what he had to say." He didn't seem bothered by that fact. "They
were still angry with him for doing it and probably doubted my abilities. I keep hoping they'll see
my show and realize I'm for real."
    "Is there a ghost in this hotel?"
    "Supposed to be." Following suit, Jake stood and shed his jacket, too. It definitely had
water damage, though I didn't think all of it was recent. I saw he'd worn a brown Henley
underneath it.
    I brushed past him, headed back to my chair. "In this room?"
    "Supposed to be. Do you believe in ghosts, Libby Mason?" He joined me at the table and
sat in the other chair, drumming his fingers.
    That close up, his dark chocolate eyes knocked me sideways. "N-no."
    "Thought not."
    Another answer I didn't know how to take. Over the next half hour, we talked about my
bakery and his television show. His job sounded way more interesting, big surprise, and the format
intrigued me—a one-man ghost hunt with him doing all the filming himself.
    At some point, I realized that I was very comfortable with Jake, almost as if we'd been
friends for years. That seemed odd after our rocky start, but maybe the rockiness was only on my
part. I really was drawn to him, and he'd been nothing but polite since we'd learned about each
other, even when refusing to help me derail the wedding train.
    I glanced at my watch and saw it was after eleven. "I'm going to take a shower."
    He nodded, picked up the remote again, and started channel surfing.
    I got my PJs as well as my toiletry bag from my suitcase and headed to the bathroom,
where I brushed my teeth and removed my make-up while the shower water got hot. I heard the
door to our room opening and closing, but didn't check to see why. Instead, I hopped under the
spray, leaving my hair up until I finished so it wouldn't get wet. Once I had on my pajamas, I
loosened the knot at the back of my head and shook out my natural curls by bending way over and
tousling them. Though I wished for a robe, I didn't have one. That didn't matter of course. I was
covered from neck to ankles.
    I found Jake lying on top of a sleeping bag on the floor to the left of the bed and in front
of the side table. His eyes widened slightly when he saw me, probably because of my choice in
sleepwear—PJs with penguins all over them. Intercepting my look of curiosity, he explained the
faded sleeping bag. "I've had this since I was sixteen. It goes wherever I do just in case."
    He'd changed into plaid flannel sleep pants and wore a white cotton undershirt that
revealed muscled arms. He had one hand behind his head, but no pillow. I moved to the bed, where
I got two of the four that were there and tossed them to him.
    He threw one back and tucked the other under his head. "Thanks. Ready for lights
out?"
    "Whenever you are."
    Jake turned off the television. Crawling underneath the fluffy comforter, I settled in and
switched off the bedside lamp. A tiny red dot across the room caught my eye. I switched on the light
again and saw that Jake had set up a video camera on the dresser—a video camera