It’s Just Me. Raw words page 6:

Could be in my bathroom, bedroom or walk in closet, or maybe the laundry or upstairs in the guest bedrooms. Where wasn’t he? He wasn’t in the garages down below, or the office or the cellar. No one passed me on the stairs or followed me up.

Damn ghost.

I poured two glasses of the Pinot. With a glass in hand I settled back to watch the concert and Rowan gyrate across the stage amidst screams of fans. Rowan announced the song we wrote together. The hall door opened. I didn’t look up.

A hand picked up the extra glass of wine, the couch sank as the person sat. So familiar. He sipped from his glass.

“Nice wine,” he commented.

“I didn’t know the dead appreciated wines,” I replied taking a large mouthful.

“You wanna carry on playing this game?”

“Not really. I’d like to get on with my life without a ghost dogging my every move.”

He nodded.

“We need to talk.”

“No fuc’n kidding Captain Compass.” There was a growly edge to my voice. “For starters, how the hell did you find your way out here? When you can’t operate a street map!”

He grinned. 

His death came flooding back. Waiting for him. Missing him. Wishing I could be with him. Dammit it was almost an Ophelia situation.

“It wasn’t easy pretending to be a complete idiot when it came to maps…”

“You weren’t acting. Unless you have been doing so since the age of ten. You forget, I know your father.”

He grinned again. “I never forget anything, sweets, ever.”

“Guess that’s why you’re so good at your job.”

“How much do you know?”

“I know about Christchurch. That you were working undercover for O’Connell. Misha found out who you really are. That you lied. That you died but didn’t.” Anger built. For so long I’d wanted to tell him how I felt. “I waited for you. Grieved for you. And even now I miss you.”