It's A Wonderful Midlife Crisis (Good To The Last Death #1) - Robyn Peterman Page 0,98

inquired.

“Not really,” Steve volunteered.

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

“Yep, I know,” Steve 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.”

“Unless one was to cheat,” Gideon reminded me, sounding delighted about the prospect.

“Correct,” I said with an eye roll. “And if one was to get caught cheating, they’d have to strip naked and run around the yard.”

Gideon threw his head back and laughed. I was stupidly proud of myself. “Was that the inappropriate thought you had a minute ago that led to me getting a birthday?”

“It most certainly was,” I informed him. “And as much as I should not admit it, I really hope you cheat.”

“Would it be inappropriate if I were to agree?” Steve asked.

“Pretty much,” I said with a laugh.

“Okay. Then I’ll just think it,” Steve said with a thumbs up.

It was unconventional, abnormal and off the charts weird to have this conversation with my dead husband about the man I was seeing, but it also felt comfortable and outlandishly okay. Again, my normal was nuts.

“Trivial Pursuit might not be the best choice either,” I said, realizing that it could take us all day and into the night to play one full game.

“Charades?” Steve suggested. “Not really a board game, but still fun.”

“Major potential for losing body parts,” I pointed out, never thinking I would utter those exact words in a single sentence.

“How much superglue do you have left?” Steve asked as Gideon listened to the exchange with amused interest.

“Not enough if everyone’s heads fall off,” I said. “Arms and hands—possibly. Heads? No way.”

“Poker?” Gideon proposed. “I’m excellent at cheating at poker.”

“Umm… no. My dead squatters can’t hold cards,” I told him, racking my brain for something that would work.

“Twister is definitely out,” Steve said with a wide grin.

“Definitely,” I agreed with a laugh. “Maybe we could figure out a game that all of us could play—all thirteen of us.”

“You have thirteen people here and I wasn’t invited?” Heather called out as she came into the house and stopped dead in her tracks.

To her credit, it had to look strange. Gideon and I were seated at a table with six chairs surrounding it. Piles of Trivial Pursuit cards were still stacked at six spots on the table. I now regretted putting out a glass of lemonade for each ghost. I was well aware they couldn’t drink it, but I wanted everyone