Motion at the street corner caught her attention. Just another foggy remnant of an Earthbound soul.
No.
Wait.
Her eyes snapped at the shock of color.
Blue.
Frustrated, she blinked away tears and grit.
It was a man.
With a shoulder propped against the building, his long back faced her. His hand was hitched in the pocket of his jeans while his head inched up, searching the sky.
Piper slowly uncurled her body and rose. Hands shaking, she tried to grab the railing for support.
Convinced her eyes were playing tricks on her, she searched the avenue. In a swirling sea of pink and red ribbons laced with airy pedestrians and transparent cars, the man stood in stark contrast.
Blue—glorious—authentic—contrast.
Piper picked her way across the street, dodging a vending truck. There was no tailwind. No scent of exhaust. And no need to dodge. Those factors didn’t register. Her focus was solely on the man now half a block away.
As real as he looked in his jeans and flannel shirt, she expected him to dissolve on approach. So far, though, he remained convincingly intact. All the phantom pedestrians she had passed were bundled for the late autumn chill, but like her, he wore no coat.
This man had ruffled brown hair as if a strong breeze played with the soft ends. Hitched against the brick façade, the broad width of his shoulders was evident. Half of the blue flannel shirt was tucked into jeans that rode low over his hips.
“Hello?” she tested quietly, afraid to be rejected again.
The man’s arm jerked as he hefted off the wall. Sharp eyes flared open and traveled over her face, briefly trailing down her arms before they hiked back up to her gaze.
“Hello.”
Husky. Tentative. His voice rumbled across the space between them.
Green. His eyes were green. Not red. Not pink. Not amethyst. Not translucent. A rich, vibrant green like sunshine over a field of wild grass.
“You—you see me?”
Any other time she might worry that she sounded like a nut job, but now was not the time.
“I do,” he murmured, his eyes tracing her chin and sliding up into her hair. “Are you—” he hesitated, “—real?”
Piper almost collapsed.
“Real,” she repeated, her lips hiking into a smile.
His mouth quivered in an attempt to mimic it.
“As real as can be in this place.”
Even in death, she tried to play it cool.
Don’t look desperate.
Don’t look eager.
Don’t drool.
“Can I touch you?” she asked.
Soooo not cool!
This time his full lips settled into a smile. He raised his arm with his palm up. It was only inches away. She stared at that hand with broad fingers and a callused patch between the thumb and forefinger.
Tentative, she reached forward and tapped her pointer in the sinewy center. His fingers snapped around it, making her scream and yank free.
“Sorry,” he chuckled. “You looked like you were trying to touch a scorpion.”
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