It's A Wonderful Midlife Crisis : A Paranormal Women's Fiction Novel: Good To The Last Death Book One

by Robyn Peterman

  “You’ll go into the light, Steve. I can feel it. You’re a truly good person,” I told him, reaching out to take his hand.

  Quickly turning on a reality show for my squatters, I gently hugged my husband. “Ready to go to bed?”

  “Yep,” he said with a grin as he floated over to the stairs. “It’s a damn good night, best friend—even with the shitshow of a finale. I was so proud of you for standing up for yourself.”

  “Well, it helps that I don’t have to work for her anymore,” I pointed out.

  “True,” Steve said, “but your manners usually stop you from defending yourself when you should.”

  He had a point. “Not anymore,” I promised. “Forty-year-old women have balls.”

  Steve laughed and drifted up the stairs as Donna trailed him and Karen tagged along behind Donna. “Lady balls look good on you, Daisy.”

  “Thank you,” I said as I followed him. “I think so too.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “Don’t tell me you’re a chef too?” I said with an eye roll, glancing around my kitchen at the gourmet breakfast being prepared.

  “Okay. I won’t,” Gideon said as he expertly flipped a pancake by maneuvering the pan without using a spatula.

  If I’d done that, the pancake would have either stuck to the ceiling or landed on the floor. My God, was there anything Gideon couldn’t do? He was going to give me a complex.

  “Are you attached to turkeys?” he inquired.

  “Umm… no. Why?” I asked, confused.

  “Turkey bacon,” he said, pointing to a sizzling fry pan. “Just wanted to make sure that you did turkey.”

  I laughed and flipped him off. He laughed and returned the favor. The Grim Reaper was standing in my kitchen making me breakfast and just flipped me off. Life didn’t get much better… or weirder.

  Gideon had shown up at seven in the morning wearing jeans and a sweater, looking good enough to eat. I’d had a towel on my head and sweatpants and a t-shirt on my body. I was appalled. He was thrilled. After I chewed him a new one for showing up so early, I left him with Steve and the squatters so I could dry my hair and make myself at least semi-presentable.

  Gideon was thrilled by that as well. His joy at the simplest things was humbling.

  “Daisy likes an obscene amount of syrup on her pancakes,” Steve announced, hovering over the griddle and sighing dramatically. “How I wish I could still eat. Those look so damn good.”

  “They should,” I said. “Gideon is a chef… and a doctor… and a lawyer… and a dog trainer, among hundreds of other things.”

  “Cool your jets, hot pants,” Gideon said with a chuckle. “You’re making me sound like an overachiever.”

  “If the shoe fits…” I said, grinning. “And while we’re on the subject of dog training, can you tell me what breed Donna is?”

  Donna wagged her tail and barked. Both she and Karen had placed themselves strategically to catch any food that fell off the countertop.

  “Not sure you’ll like the answer,” Gideon said, squeezing oranges for juice.

  “Very little surprises me anymore,” I said, setting the kitchen table.

  “You sure?”

  “Positive,” I said, not feeling quite as confident as I hoped I sounded. What the heck could my puppy be? A freaking demon?

  “Donna’s a Hell Hound.”

  Well, at least I was close…

  “Okay,” I said, stopping mid-napkin fold and staring at my adorable puppy in shock. “I stand corrected.”

  Gideon glanced over at me and raised a brow. “Very rare and very special. Where did you find her?”

  “My girlfriends gave her to me for my birthday,” I muttered, still staring at Donna, who was now dancing in circles hoping for a pancake. Hell Hounds liked pancakes?

  Heather had picked her out for me. Heather had believed my crazy story that was full of holes about John. Did Heather know about Donna? Did she know about me?

  Impossible. I reminded myself that she’d walked right through one of the dead at my birthday dinner. No one who could see the dead would have done that. Right?

  “Right,” I said aloud.

  “Right what?” Gideon asked as he plated the pancakes and turkey bacon and then poured orange juice and coffee.

  I was surprised that he made my coffee the way I loved it. He put a big squirt of chocolate syrup into the shot of espresso and then added a bunch of milk and poured it over ice.

  “Right nothing. I was just talking to myself,” I said, watching him put a straw in the coffee and setting it on the table. “Can you read minds?”

  “Nope,” he said with a grin. “Steve clued me in to your interesting coffee preference. Hungry?”

  “Always,” I said, sitting down and digging into the best pancakes I’d ever tasted.

  Steve and my other dead guests joined us as we ate and chatted. Gideon was as gracious to Steve and the dead as he was to me. He couldn’t understand a word my squatters grunted, but he was polite and kind. It was every kind of bizarre.

  The con side of my mental list where Gideon was concerned grew smaller as the pro side weighed in as the projected winner. Gideon knew what I did and I knew what he did. Being able to be honest was freeing in a way I’d never known. I’d lived a lie with Steve for twenty years. And even though I wouldn’t trade my life with Steve, I had no intention of ever living that way again.

  “Donna doesn’t look like a Hell Hound,” I commented as I drenched my pancakes in syrup.

  Gideon’s eyes grew wide as he watched me destroy his pancakes with maple syrup. He winced and shook his head. “Steve wasn’t joking.”

  “You should try it,” I suggested, pointing my fork at him. “It’s delicious.”

  “I’ll just enjoy watching you,” Gideon said, grinning. “Back to Donna. What do you think a Hell Hound should look like?”

  “Umm… horns, fangs, red eyes,” I said with a mouthful.

  “Maybe a cheesy black hooded cape and a scythe as well?” he inquired dryly.

  “Fine point. Well made,” I said with an eye roll. “I just didn’t think a Hell Hound would be so cute.”

  “And who knew the Grim Reaper would be so hot?” Steve chimed in. “Oh my God, I just sounded so gay.”

  “Kind of,” I said with a laugh.

  “Feels good,” Steve said with a sad sigh. “Death has been a rebirth for me in some ways. But no downer talk. I stand by my statement that the Grim Reaper is hot.”

  Gideon glanced over and I shrugged. “I told him who you were. He thinks it’s great.”

  “Steve, I really like you,” Gideon said with a grin. “A lot.”

  “Back at you,” Steve said. “As long as you’re good to Daisy, I’m good with you.”

  “You will be good with me always,” Gideon said. “I promise.”

  I shook my head and wondered why everything was coming together for me in such a spectacular way. My dead husband and my new kajillion-year-old boyfriend—for lack of a better term—were getting along and liked each other.

  I’d recently realized I wasn’t insane and had sent a lot of deserving dead into the light.

  My pet quota was filled with a dog and a Hell Hound. It shocked me that I wasn’t unsettled about having a Hell Hound, but a whole hell of a lot had changed in the past few weeks.

  Accepting the unbelievable was now my norm. I had a new job on the horizon that I was excited about. I had dear friends and Gram was still kicking. Life was good.

  Of course, the wary side of me wondered when the other shoe would drop, but I pushed the thought away. I was going to live in the now, not in the what ifs.

  “Do you like to run?” I asked Gideon.

  “Haven’t done it in a while,” he said, taking the plates to the sink. “Do you?”

  “I love it,” I said, pushing him out of the way and getting started on the dishes. “You cooked. I’ll clean up.”

  “Good deal,” he said, sitting back down and sipping his
coffee. “If you want to go for a run, I’ll come with you.”

  “You’re not dressed to run,” I said, scrubbing the frying pan.

  “I beg to disagree,” he replied.

  “You can’t run in jeans and a sweater,” I said as I turned around to look at him. “What the hell?” I muttered, dropping the soapy fry pan to the floor.

  Gideon was now in running gear and tennis shoes. He looked like a million bucks, but he was just in jeans and a sweater a minute ago. I was very aware that my mouth was hanging open, but there was very little I could do about it.

  “How?” I whispered. “How did you do that?”

  “Magic,” he said with a grin. “Does it freak you out?”

  “A little,” I admitted. “Is that how you got here the first time without a car? Magic?”

  “It is,” he said, carefully. “If it bothers you, I won’t do it.”

  “Nope,” I said, picking up the pan and putting it into the sink. “No holding back. You will be you and I will be me. I will always use tons of syrup and I will never do pig. I’ll continue to talk to dead people and commit mail fraud on a semi-regular basis. You can morph around all you want. Maybe a little heads up every now and then might be helpful,” I said. “If you just disappear mid-conversation, I might worry.”

  Gideon rose, came up behind me and wrapped me in his strong embrace. “Deal,” he whispered in my ear.

  “Good,” I whispered back, breathing in his scent. “Well, since I can’t magically produce running gear, I’ll go get changed and we can go for a run.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  “Hey,” Steve said as I moved to leave the kitchen. “You know what I miss?”

  “What do you miss?” I asked.

  “Board games.”

  “Seriously?” I questioned with a grin.

  “Yep,” he replied as the squatters began to fly around the room in excitement.

  I shook my head and laughed. I wasn’t sure how we would make the logistics work, but we could certainly give it a try.

  “I like board games,” Gideon volunteered. “I like to cheat.”

  “Of course you do,” I said with a groan. “How does this sound? After we come back from running, we’ll pull out some board games and give it a shot.”

  “Perfect,” Steve announced. “Best day ever.”

  Steve was right. Who knew that the best day ever would include a round of Monopoly or Trivial Pursuit with dead people and the Grim Reaper who liked to cheat? I certainly didn’t. But I was all for it.

  “Holy hell, Daisy,” Gideon said, walking in a circle and catching his breath. “You’re a machine.”

  We’d run ten miles. I could have kept going, but Gideon had clearly had enough.

  “You’re out of shape, Reaper,” I said, not even winded.

  Gideon eyed me and shook his head. “It’s not that—although you might have a point about me being out of shape—but a human can’t run like that.”

  “Dude,” I said with an eye roll. “A human just did.”

  “You’re not even sweating,” he said, perplexed.

  Looking down, I realized he was correct. That was the second time it had happened. First running to Heather’s and then today. I shrugged. “It’s chilly out,” I said.

  “I look like I jumped in a pool,” Gideon pointed out.

  “True,” I said with a grin. A wet, sweaty Gideon was even hotter than a dry Gideon. “Maybe I’m starting menopause.”

  As the words left my mouth, I immediately slapped my own head. Menopause was not sexy. I didn’t need to keep announcing how old I was even though he was older than dirt. But speaking of old…

  “Gideon?”

  “Yes, Ms. I Should Be Running in the Olympics?”

  I giggled. “How will this work?”

  “How will what work?”

  I decided on how much I wanted to say and then decided not to hold back. He could change his mind about us tomorrow, but somehow in my heart I didn’t think that would happen.

  Although, my heart had led me astray before.

  “Well, I don’t want to presume anything,” I said hesitantly, picking imaginary lint off my fleece hoodie.

  “I would be delighted for you to presume as long as it’s positive about you and me,” he replied.

  “Okay,” I said, drawing confidence from my new lady balls. “Let’s just say that we see each other for a while.”

  “Define a while,” he said with a smile pulling at his lips.

  “Years,” I replied.

  “Decades,” he corrected me, and my heart fluttered.

  “Okay. Decades,” I agreed. “I’ll get old and you won’t. Will that bother you?”

  Gideon took my hand in his and led me to the steps of my front porch. Pulling me down next to him, he situated me so I was looking at him.

  “I can age, Daisy,” he said, watching me to gauge my reaction. “I can control that. Nothing would give me more pleasure than to grow old with you.”

  “I’ll die someday.”

  He sucked in a swift breath and closed his eyes. “Not for a long time.”

  “Time,” I said, thinking about it. “Does it have meaning to you?”

  Gideon was pensive for a bit and then nodded. “It didn’t, but it does now,” he replied. “And I intend to enjoy every minute.”

  “We’re going to fight,” I told him.

  “Can’t wait,” he said with a grin.

  “And I’m moody sometimes,” I added.

  “Looking forward to it.”

  “You’re nuts,” I said with a laugh.

  “About you, Daisy. I’m nuts about you.”

  My body tingled and my breath hitched. I was fairly sure I was falling for Gideon—possibly a huge mistake. If it was, I’d deal with the fallout when it happened. I refused to let fear of the future affect the present. Even if I was a passing fancy to him, I planned to enjoy it. Who knows? Maybe he was just a passing fancy for me.

  Right? Not. I didn’t work that way.

  It was moving fast and I’d never believed in insta love… until now… maybe. I’d also never met the Grim Reaper—the most beautifully charming man in the Universe. He might turn out to be my downfall, but right now—in this moment—nothing had ever felt so right.

  “Wanna go hang out in the car for a half hour or so?” I asked, waggling my eyebrows.

  “Thought you’d never ask,” he replied, grabbing my hand and dragging me to my car.

  I looked around for his black sports car and couldn’t find it. My guess was that he’d poofed over here magically. Briefly, I wondered how he did it with all the groceries he’d brought then I gave it up.

  Magic couldn’t be explained. If it could, it wouldn’t be magic.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “Monopoly isn’t going to cut it,” I said, pulling Trivial Pursuit out of the cabinet by the TV. “Too many moving parts. This will work better.”

  Gideon had set up a folding table in the middle of the family room and put six chairs around it. Steve, John and two other ghosts had seated themselves and were ready to go. The other squatters floated around the room chattering with delight. I wished Gram could be here. She’d get a huge kick out of this even though she couldn’t see the ghosts anymore. Although, she’d insist on the board game version of The Price is Right or Family Feud.

  Shit. I was going to have to tell her about Gideon. I had no clue what her reaction would be, but I was a grown woman. I could make my own decisions… and mistakes. As long as she could see I was happy, I hoped she’d feel the same.

  “If you cheat, you have to cook dinner,” I told Gideon, hoping like hell he would cheat. If his pancakes were any indication of his culinary skill, I couldn’t wait to taste what he would make for dinner.

  “Can you cook?” he inquired.

  “Not really,” Steve volunteered.

  “He wasn’t asking you. He asked if I could cook,” I said.

  “Yep, I know,” Stev
e shot back with a laugh.

  “I can withhold superglue,” I threatened.

  “You wouldn’t,” Steve said with confidence.

  He was correct. I was far too nice for my own good.

  “I’m a so-so cook,” I admitted sheepishly.

  “I had plans to cook anyway,” Gideon informed me with a wink. “Pick something else.”

  I wanted to suggest that he strip naked and run around the yard as punishment for cheating, but it was cold out and there was a very fine chance I’d forget all about my no-sex rule if I saw him in his birthday suit.

  “Wait. Do you have a birthday?” I asked Gideon. I mean, he had to. At least I thought he did.

  “Where did that come from?” he asked, squinting at me.

  “Convoluted and inappropriate thoughts,” I told him. “I do that a lot.”

  “She does,” Steve agreed.

  “So, do you have a birthday?” I asked again.

  “No.”

  That made me sad. “Do you want one?”

  Gideon glanced over at me and shrugged. “Would you like me to have one?”

  “I think I would,” I replied with a smile, reaching out to touch his hand. “We could call it Gideon Day instead of a birthday. There is no way in hell we could fit all the candles on your birthday cake. Sound good?”

  “What are you doing to me?” Gideon whispered with an expression of wonder on his beautiful face.

  “Treating you like you matter.”

  “Just say yes,” Steve advised. “She’ll crawl up your butt until you do.”

  “That was a seriously disgusting analogy, but he’s right,” I told Gideon. “Pick your day.”

  “When’s your birthday?” he asked.

  “October twenty-fifth,” I replied, wondering if he was going to horn in on my birthday. Actually, I didn’t care. The more the merrier.

  “I’ll take October twenty-sixth then,” he said with a chuckle. “We can make an entire week of it.”

  “Works for me,” I said, putting a pile of cards in front of each player. There were still some big logistical issues since the ghosts were difficult to understand, but I had an idea. “Okay, guys, when you know the answer, slap your hand on the table—lightly so it doesn’t fall off. I have the Ouija board right here, so I can interpret and no one will have an unfair advantage.”