To say that she had had a busy morning was an understatement.

Her day started with a lovely surprise. A cup of steaming hot tea, toast and butter, and a spotless apartment greeted her a good morning.

Arabella was in the middle of an impassioned speech, thanking James for the service he had done while she had been asleep all night, when she read Claudine's text message.

After that brief semblance of peace, her phone had buzzed and rung non-stop.

She had phone calls and emails from people in the office whom she had never even met. There was an email that had asked everyone to come in for a general emergency meeting, but then, a second email surreptitiously cancelled that meeting.

Bob called to express his regrets—a courtesy call to make sure that she wouldn't join the angry mob of ex-employees going after the company.

Essentially, people had two weeks to pack up their things and find another job—and they expected people not to be pissed?

Her thoughts were interrupted by her landlady calling about last night's fiasco. Arabella still had quite a bit of her inheritance left, but if the landlady decided to charge her for the damage to the apartment while she was out of a job, she would be in trouble.

Arabella clicked to end the tiresome phone call with the landlady, sighing deeply as she eyed the couch for a bit of rest. As she moved closer to its plush seats, there was a loud whack at the door. It wasn't even a knock.

"Who could—" Arabella pulled the door lever and was surprised to be greeted by the old lady who always had a smile for her.

Mrs. Rothschild had become a comforting presence, almost as homey as James in these past few weeks. She had impeccable timing and seemed to show up when Arabella craved human contact the most.

"HELLO MRS. ROTHSCHILD!" Arabella noticed that she was carrying a blender with what seemed to be a vibrant green paste.

"Good morning, I hope I'm not disturbing you." Mrs. Rothschild smiled brightly and brought the blender pitcher up to Arabella's face. Mrs. Rothschild's osteoporosis had made her a small woman. "I noticed how you liked the basil from the garden, so I thought to make extra pesto for you."

"How lovely!" Arabella graciously took the pitcher in one hand and took Mrs. Rothschild's hand in the other to guide her inside. "Thank you so much, you shouldn't have."

Mrs. Rothschild tapped her ears lightly, smiling until her eyes couldn't be seen. "It's the least I could do for you, you've brought me a lot of food these past few days, and you seemed to like basil." She eased into a chair and glanced around her. "I saw the police here last night and I didn't want to bother you..."

Mrs. Rothschild spotted the Scrabble box neatly tucked into the corner shelf. "Are you still having trouble with our friend?"

Arabella was shocked that Mrs. Rothschild knew about Richard, but as she followed the lady's line of sight, she realized that Mrs. Rothschild was talking about James.

"We got along wonderfully. Thank you for the Scrabble box." She gestured vaguely towards the board game, but the blender had blocked the view.

"What?" Mrs. Rothschild smiled. "I ran out of pine nuts, so I substituted with black walnuts, hope that's alright."

Having a near-deaf guest in your kitchen was a guarantee that your morning was about to become longer.

Arabella chuckled and moved to retrieve the Scrabble box and return it to its owner. "THANK YOU. THIS HELPED ME A LOT." But they didn't need it anymore—James had now become a modern man... ghost. Modern man ghost.

Mrs. Rothschild took it earnestly, eyes wide as she clutched the Scrabble box to her chest. "He left?"

"No," Arabella shook her head dramatically, lifting a finger as she gestured to the room. "HE'S HERE. DO YOU WANT TO MEET HIM?"

The old lady's mouth rounded in surprise, and a distant typing noise began, which was quickly followed by a robotic "HELLO," in the loudest possible setting.

Mrs. Rothschild's head only moved a fraction.

"HELLO THERE," the voice greeted again, and this time Mrs. Rothschild's face registered the awe and surprise that Arabella was expecting.

But she didn't freak out, Mrs. Rothschild was calm. She seemed happy about the fact that their apartment friend was trying to communicate with her. Mrs. Rothschild did a little wave with her wrinkly hands. "Hello to you too."

Arabella noted that Mrs. Rothschild even looked teary. "ARE YOU ALRIGHT," she asked worriedly.

The old neighbor nodded and stood from the chair. She placed a hand on Arabella's arm, tapping it as if to say 'well-done.' Mrs. Rothschild proceeded to walk away and looked like she was leaving the apartment.

Arabella moved after her and tried to stop her from leaving so abruptly, but she just nodded tearfully, and again tapped Arabella's arm, giving it a squeeze before reaching for the door. "This reminds me of my husband so much. I wish I had a computer to hear his voice like that."

Arabella didn't know what to say to that. It wasn't really James's voice, but maybe someone who was grieving would rather have that than nothing.

Mrs. Rothschild had already opened the door and had a foot in the hallway. Arabella struggled to keep things less awkward. "Uhh... I'll just return your blender later?"

But the old lady didn't hear her. She clutched the Scrabble box to her chest as she walked to her own apartment.

Moved by the revelation, Arabella closed the door gently still deep in thought.

"I knew him," James's voice came from the laptop. "Some years ago, he died in his sleep, and they communicated using the game. He had to turn off the alarm clock to pass on."

Arabella gave him an incredulous expression.

"It was too easy. Mrs. Rothschild didn't wake up before the alarm clock that day, so he turned it off and that was that," he explained further.

She raised her brows, concerned that this might be how it would end for them too.

"He just disappeared? After doing the task, no goodbyes—he just disappeared?"

They both knew what she was really asking. Arabella wasn't concerned about the late Mr. Rothschild, she wanted to know if that was how James would go if they got the dish right.

If she were being honest with herself, she no longer wanted him to pass on. It would be such a selfish request, but she wanted to ask him to stay with her here.

"Most probably. Mary disappeared too, so she might have been successful with Bertie."

Arabella wished that the computer had emotions when it read what James wrote. She wanted to know if he was still as excited to leave, or if he had had a change of heart and wanted to stay with her too.

She couldn't put any of this into words, so instead, she used menial work as a shield for awkward conversation. She nodded and proceeded to transfer the contents of the blender to a bowl.

"I need to tell you something."

Although James startled her a bit, she acknowledged him and kept her focus on the pesto. "What is it?"

There was typing in the distance, but it was followed by heavy tapping of what seemed to be James deleting what he had written. After a brief pause, he began again.

"I'm not quite ready for our time to end yet."

Arabella submerged the dirty blender into the soapy water and took a deep breath. It was like he could read her mind.

"Me too, James. Me to," she whispered and started washing.

There was the familiar breeze surrounding her as she washed. He helped her dry as always, and they remained in silence until James had to leave for the afternoon. He said his goodbye and promised to return, but unusually asked for a particular ingredient before he left.

"Arabella, do you have any cheese?"

Although curious, she responded blankly. "Yes, why?"

"I'll make something for you tonight."

He had made her so many meals in their brief time together, but this sentiment settled differently. Her tummy did a little summersault, fluttering upon hearing those words like a promise. Although she refused to admit it, she hoped that he had meant it as anything but friendly. Her mind was already conjuring it up as a date.

That afternoon, Arabella spent hours doing errands. She searched for a new job, but nothing had appealed to her. After returning the blender to Mrs. Rothschild, she finally decided to close the Richard chapter of her life by proceeding to the police station to file a Temporary Restraining Order (TRO) against him.

At the station, she was subjected to multiple interviews and stacks of forms. Waiting for the process to finalize, she mused about what she really wanted to do with her life. James had inspired a sudden burst of courage for her to take control, but that didn't save her from feeling so utterly lost.

Here was her new beginning, new apartment, and new life courtesy of Grandma Wang's sizeable inheritance. But if she didn't use this wisely, it would be gone before she could even say cupcakes.

"Ms. Washington?"

She turned to face the officer who just sat down in front of her.

"I've got good news." The officer shuffled papers into a folder and flashed her a satisfied grin. "Mr. Dickinson has been found in Mary Mount Hospital, just a few miles from here. You won't need to look over your shoulder anymore."

Stunned into silence, Arabella let the words sink in, not really believing that it was finally over. Her expressionless response, however, was interpreted as fear by the police officer.

"You have a TRO," the officer began as he tried to make her feel safer, "he's probably looking at jail time too. You'll be safe here, Ms. Washington."

Richard was going to face multiple cases, but he hadn't done anything heinous enough to be denied bail. Although Arabella knew that Richard could afford bail money, but she felt comforted by the fact that the police in her area were now aware of her situation and in a way, would protect her. James's presence in her apartment also assured her of security, and she was grateful for everything that his friendship had inspired in her.

"Thank you, officer."

The sun had already set when she left the police station. She got home feeling a mixture of emotions. A part of her was excited to be with James again and ecstatic to be free of Richard, but a tiny voice in her head reminded her not to get too attached.

She stood, dangling her keys in front of her door, deep in thought as she smelled butter in the air. Her tummy responded to it even before she could identify what it was.

Whatever James was making for her, it smelled absolutely delicious!

Entering the apartment, she was greeted by the sights and sounds of a sandwich sizzling on a grill pan. Nearby, a floating spatula made an exhibition of twirls and twists as she approached the stove.

The heavenly scent of butter wafted in the air. As she stood there enticed and watching, James gave the sandwich an expert flip.

Clapping and impressed, "How did you learn to do that?" she asked as she watched James slide the freshly grilled sandwich unto a plate.

James brought the laptop with him and pulled a chair out for her.

The sandwich was served to her in an elaborately set dining table with a colorful cloth draped over (which by the way suspiciously looked like her freshly laundered pillowcase) and a glass filled with small yellow garden flowers as a nice centerpiece.

This was his adorable attempt at a table setting, and she loved every detail of it.

"Welcome home," James said through the computer and dropped a leaf of basil over the sandwich.

Arabella gingerly picked the corners of the sandwich to peek at its contents. Pleasantly surprised, she grinned at him, "Grilled cheese!"

"Better," he teased and proceeded to cut the sandwich diagonally, pulling it apart to show the oozing and stretching mozzarella. "It has Mrs. Rothschild's pesto and fresh tomatoes."

The description made her mouth water, and to silence the belly flutters, she took a huge bite. The fragrant toasted butter prepared her taste buds for the onslaught of flavor. The crispiness melted away into a soft gooey mess of cheese, combined with a surprising punch of basil pesto, and balanced out by the tangy sweetness of the sliced tomatoes.

Before she knew it, she was wolfing down the sandwich in between satisfied hums and noisy chewing.

"Good," James asked cheerfully. Although the computer hadn't allowed for voice inflection to be apparent, Arabella imagined James to be nothing but cheerful. He was feeding her after all.

Swallowing a mouthful, she praised him, "It's excellent!" and continued to eat her way through.

"I'll make you another one," he said as the spatula floated towards the grill. A sandwich assembled itself on the cutting board, and butter was thrown into the griddle, smoking as it eased into it.

As he pressed and worked on the sandwich, Arabella realized that the flutter in her belly did not disappear. She was starting to think that the flutter wasn't hunger-induced after all.

As he slid the second sandwich onto her empty plate, Arabella wondered how she would be able to convince him to stay with her.

It was a selfish thing to ask for. James had been stuck in this apartment for far too long. How could she ask him to do this just so that he could stay to keep her company?

"What's the matter?" James asked when she hadn't touched the sandwich as eagerly as the first one.

Cowardly, she shook her head to avoid answering and inhaled the warm golden bread's heady buttery aroma. Heaven!

"By the way," he gently shuffled the yellow flowers in its glass, "I picked this out for you. I hope you like yellow."

"Why yellow?"

"You seem to like yellow. Lemons, cheese, eggs... Yellow reminds me of you."

Arabella laughed, "Really? Couldn't you be any more racist," she teased playfully and started eating her way through the second sandwich.

"No, it's not that," James replied and paused for a while as she enjoyed her meal. "Yellow like sunshine. You feel like sunshine. You make me feel so much that I feel alive."

Arabella swallowed loudly and set the sandwich down in fear of choking as his words sunk in. This is it, it's now or never.

"Stay with me."

Stay with me and kiss me, god damn it!

"How?"

Arabella shrugged, staring into a space where she hoped his eyes were.

"Well?"

After a beat, James spoke up. "I cannot," and the gutting disappointment crawled like acid through her veins.

It was expected, anyway. Why would he give up a promise of what could be for this semblance of a life in her kitchen?

"You have no idea how much I wish I could."

Arabella ate through her sandwich. It was either she wolfed down that second sandwich to keep her mouth busy, or she would start begging. Her eyes were already starting to prickle with hot tears, but maintaining a stubborn focus on eating had kept them at bay.

"If the situation was different..."

Arabella pushed the plate towards him, eager to change the subject. "Why don't you try this? You might be able to taste it this time." She smiled weakly.

The last time they tried this, the bitten piece fell to the floor, the shape of his teeth embedded in the food. "It would be funny," she grinned gamely, and it would put this depressing conversation to rest, she wanted to add.

James was silent for a few minutes and Arabella was worried that she might have said something to upset him.

She sat up straight, clearing her throat, as she said, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to force you to stay. I promised to help you and I intend to keep it."

"I know."

And then nothing again.

"Are you angry with me?"

James responded instantly, "No, I'm sad."

"Oh."

Arabella stared at the sandwich as they remained in silence for several more minutes. "Maybe we could do something else?"

"Thank you, Arabella," James said offhand. It wasn't the response that she was expecting.

He typed quickly, lots of clicking was heard in the background, and before Arabella had a chance to wonder why the text to speech didn't fire up immediately, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the sandwich being lifted.

"What..." She watched as the sandwich reached a considerable height, pausing before falling to the floor in a dead drop.

"Hey!" Arabella hopped out of her chair to circle around the table to closely inspect the half sandwich on the floor.

Picking it up, she saw that the bread had a bite on it; however, its missing piece was nowhere to be found.

"I'm terrible at goodbyes. I shall thank whoever is up there to have met you."

Startled, Arabella turned her head towards the laptop which was a few paces from her.

Dreading the meaning behind his words, she ran to the laptop screen while still clutching the half-eaten sandwich. The words read by the laptop were preceded by a long block of ellipses.

The dots had been read by the computer silently, and finally, it had reached the words after some delay.

Which only meant one thing...

As understanding dawned on her, Arabella looked around her apartment terrified to prove her guess.

"James?"

A chill traveled across her skin as she uttered his name. The hairs on her arms stood up as her mind quickly realized what she ultimately feared.

A tear threatened to roll down her cheek as she tried his name again. "James?"

It was a single word, a name whispered between her lips that should have meant nothing, but in that moment, it had meant everything.

Her longing was met with silence, and in that moment, she knew.

Didn't she remind herself many times not to get attached to temporary things?

Her job. Her relationships. Her life.

Her James.

Everything is temporary, she said so herself. If only she didn't get attached, she would never have gotten hurt.

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A/N: Ah, well. It pained me to write this chapter, but although we expected and hoped and wished, we all secretly knew that this was bound to happen. We are now down to our last chapter as ONC's round 3 deadline is fast approaching. I promise to update within a day or two! Hang in there, my loves! We shall avenge this heartbreak, somehow!

As usual, if you enjoyed the chapter, kindly consider giving it a vote. All comments are welcome! Thank you so much!

Update: edited May 4, 2020