A wise woman once asked if the highs of falling in love was ever worth the pain. Well, this only held true if you were expecting it and had made the decision to fall in love.

She would have chosen the highs despite knowing of the inevitable fall.

However, Arabella felt that she was in a unique situation that no singer could ever capture in lyrics.

How could you sing about unintentionally getting attached to a ghost, sending an ex-fiancé to jail, and losing a job in the span of a month? No poet nor songwriter would have been prepared for what she had gone through.

And yet, why did all heartbreak songs sound as if they were written for her?

She spent so much time on Google that she had found out more about Italian cuisine and pesto origins in the last few weeks than she had known in her whole life. The sandwich that James had prepared for her wasn't just Italian, as it had basically been a gourmet grilled cheese. But its similarities to pizza were as undeniable as Lombardi's influence on James's culinary skills.

James had concealed the fact that he had known the missing recipe as soon as he saw Mrs. Rothschild's pesto. She replayed the day multiple times in her mind, and as she recounted his words, it all pointed to that very fact—that he had known and not said anything. He had known and hadn't waited to say goodbye.

Coward. Arabella wanted to strangle him. He should come back so that she could strangle him one last time. She wanted to strangle Mrs. Rothschild too, but the poor woman couldn't have known, so Arabella decided to let her hostility slide just this once.

She just missed him so much.

Her heart ached as she made meals for herself, missing him when she did the dishes, missing him when she saw Mrs. Rothschild in the hallway, and missing him each time the clock hit 6 pm.

Even her cupcakes had taken a bitter turn. She had made deep dark chocolate mini cakes that almost tasted like burnt cacao beans, and on another day, she made an espresso muffin which Bertie had a hard time swallowing.

But mostly, her apartment looked like shit.

Some days were better than others, and today was one of the meh days, not good, but not too bad either. Arabella toyed with the idea of giving Sylvia K. a call when someone knocked on her door. Whoever was at the door had just saved her an embarrassing encounter with the faux psychic.

The door was unlocked save for the slide chain lock. Even her door was feeling sloppy. Arabella lazily grabbed the lever and pulled the door open a crack.

"Bertie?"

He shifted uneasily, a cool but awkward expression forming on his face. "Hey kid, how are you?"

Arabella released the chain from the door and pulled the door open. "I'm okay, Bertie. Come in."

He entered with a few hesitant steps and stopped as Arabella closed the door.

"What brings you here?"

"The store has been a little slow lately and I thought to check up on you." He smiled weakly, perching on a stool as he glanced at the messy apartment.

Such was a hallmark of a broken soul, there was filth of every kind everywhere.

Arabella picked up some of the trash and shoved the dirty plates into the sink. "Oh?" She was embarrassed, but she also didn't give a damn. She hadn't been in the mood to clean lately.

"I know you've been a little low. The boys noticed when you came by with your uh..." he formed cups with his hands, and for a minute Arabella thought that Bertie was talking about her breasts.

"Uh... chocolate cakes? You came by frequently, but they said you were always in the same clothes."

Arabella gasped. Did the boys just infer that her hoodie and sweats had meant that she hadn't been showering? She discreetly sniffed at the v of her sweatshirt and didn't notice anything off.

How dare they comment on her fashion sense, or lack thereof, when they would shamelessly wolf down the goods she brought them!

"And they said that your cakes were becoming quite inedible."

Drat. Maybe there was a shred of truth in all these observations, she could give them that.

"Bertie—"

"See here," Bertie cleared his throat and swatted at invisible flies, "you're a good kid, you were new here, had a little trouble, then lost your job. We New Yorkers are used to all these mishaps, but we are often a little too stubborn to ask for help. We've all been there."

When Arabella didn't respond, Bertie continued with his proposition. "We like you around, and the shop's not doing as well as it should. Maybe we can do something here?" His Robert De Niro smirk was back, and he nodded his head like he had come up with the best idea ever.

"You make good food, well, most of the time." He chuckled nervously as he shifted in his seat. "Do you remember the space for the scouts and lemonade? I wanted to ask you if you might consider selling something there? You know, to attract customers to the store."

Arabella's eyes widened. Bertie was offering her a job, a lifeline!

All she could think was, yes. Of course, yes.

"Yes!"

She'd do it. Anything to be out of this apartment!

"Yes?" Bertie's eyebrow rose incredulously, "You won't ask about rent, your product, anything? 'Yes', is your answer," he deadpanned, quite unbelieving that the once sharp woman had become positively unhinged.

He was happy that she had agreed so easily, but her impulsive eagerness made him a touch nervous.

"Well, for starters, you know I make great cupcakes—these last few weeks not included, of course. But yes, I need something to do, and you're offering me a great opportunity here, Bertie," she said excitedly. She couldn't remember the last time she had felt this excited about something.

"The rent wouldn't be much, but I can offer you the first month rent-free. Just make sure to attract people to the shop. Even if it's just to buy something to drink, that's gonna help a lot." Bertie stood as they reached an understanding.

"Right," Arabella agreed as she started to think about the stuff that would be easy to sell to people walking on the street.

"Do you remember making that sandwich a few weeks back? That was good. I think that would sell. It tasted like a pizza but it was a sandwich."

It was James's sandwich. "A pizza sandwich?" She nodded in agreement, that was really something else.

Bertie seemed to think so too and laid a warm hand on her shoulder before saying his goodbyes. "Come by whenever you're ready."

Arabella took a few days to prepare herself for this new undertaking. She had the recipe written down, the costing accounted for, and she had even called Bertie to prepare her area with a table-top stove, a table, and a chair. The ingredients were easily sourced from Bertie's stocked aisles, and she decided that she would be selling cupcakes baked from her apartment.

The availability of the cupcakes would still depend on her mood—that was her strength. If she forced herself when she didn't feel like it, the poor customers would be eating cakes that taste like dirt.

It was genius, really, and as she praised herself, thoroughly satisfied with what she had come up with, Arabella thought that everything had come together quite nicely. It was as if the space in Tchaikovsky's was meant for her all along.

Arabella went down early one Sunday morning, eager to begin her new business. They decided that it would be best to have a soft opening on a Sunday when people were leisurely strolling. This would also allow them to settle into a routine and have the business smoothly running by Monday when people were rushing to and from work.

"So, what will you be selling?" Alex approached her first and helped her set up. "Bertie installed that just for you." He pointed to the white and neon yellow striped shop awning nailed to the window.

"Why is it in that color?" If it had been in neon orange, it would have been a large traffic cone.

Alex shrugged and gestured to the construction site nearby. "Bertie thinks that it would call their attention."

No shit, sherlock. That would've called anybody's attention, she was just unsure if it was the right kind.

The shop bell's shrill clanging disrupted the muted tones of Pachelbel's Canon D as Mikhail pushed through the door. He seemed to notice the song and immediately shook his head in disgust. "Ah, right, it's Sunday. Sunday is wedding music day," he muttered irritably.

Alex whispered to Arabella to explain, "Bertie still thinks that playing the wedding entrance song would make people want to enter the store. Especially on a Sunday!"

Mikhail took a box of tools and a folding chair to Arabella and helped her set up.

"So, what will you be selling?"

Arabella looked at the two boys' expectant expressions and nearly chuckled at their excitement. Let's hope this tactic worked to increase the store's sales.

"Sandwiches."

"Yeah, and what about them?" Alex said and rolled his eyes.

Mikhail looked slightly uncomfortable, rubbing on his forehead as he spoke. "You're not selling your bitter cakes, are ya? No offense, lady, even the raccoons didn't eat 'em."

Alex elbowed him in the ribs. "What he means is—"

Arabella nodded; she knew very well that they had tasted like dirt. "It's fine, I get it. No, I won't sell those. I'll make good ones, alright?"

A man walked by and glanced at their set-up and empty display.

"Oy!"

Startled, the man faced Mikhail with wide eyes and looked like he was ready to bolt.

"Do ya want a sandwich?"

"You selling those or giving them away," the man asked bullishly and squared his shoulders in front of the window.

Mikhail snorted, "nobody gives away anything 'round 'ere, man. Of course, we selling 'em!"

"What have you got?"

Arabella nervously handed him the newly printed menu which had their simple offerings on display. For $6.00 he could get a regular grilled cheese sandwich, $7.00 for James's Pizza Sandwich, and various add-ons could be added. $1.50 for ham or bacon that they would source from the grocery's deli, $2.00 for grilled chicken just because Arabella still had an affinity for the bird, and $1 for canned tuna for seafood lovers.

"A Pizza Sandwich?" The man asked them dubiously, "Is that any good?"

"Is that any good!" Mikhail roared sarcastically and Arabella honestly thought that Mikhail might scare the customers away even before opening.

"Is. That. Any. Good." He deadpanned and started laughing sardonically while slapping Alex's shoulder. "What do you think, wasn't that sandwich great?"

Alex nodded hesitantly, "Yeah, yeah." He couldn't lie to save his life.

"It's the greatest sandwich you'll ever eat, and if you don't like it, we'll give you your money back!"

Alex pulled on Mikhail's arm, but Mikhail just waved his friend off. "So, you gonna try it or what?"

The man shrugged and took his wallet out of his pocket. "Yeah, alright. Give me the Pizza Sandwich."

Still surprised at how they got this order, Arabella scrambled to get her things ready and prepare the sandwich for the man. Immense pressure was on her shoulders, as making a bad one might lead to them handing out free sandwiches.

Mikhail took the money from the customer and stretched it out under the light. Happy with his first sale, he dropped the bills into the small metal canister and strode off, Alex tailing quietly behind him.

The man took one bite and instantly gave Arabella a thumbs up. Wordlessly, he ate happily and walked away.

Her first satisfied customer! It was absolutely thrilling!

Arabella finished setting up quickly and fanned out the printed menus on the extended surface of the window. One by one, curious people came by to see what she was selling, and before noon, the smell of butter had wafted down the street and caused a short line to form.

The shop's bell kept ringing like it was bloody Christmas. Just as Bertie had expected, people needed to drink something after they ate, and Bertie was fully stocked and ready for them.

They had quite a successful turnout, and by twilight, Arabella couldn't feel her legs. She had been standing and grilling sandwiches the whole day. The folding chair still leaned against the wall near her, untouched.

Alex brought her a chilled drink, and she popped its cap gratefully, humming her pleasure as the liquid quenched her thirst.

The shop's bell rang again, and this time, the boys stood at full attention as the lady pushed on the door. She had an air about her, boots on her feet and fantastic jet black hair curled and bounced over her shoulder as she stepped into the store. She gave Bertie a friendly wave and his eyes instantly lit up.

"Mary!" His voice was soft and welcoming. It had not betrayed the emotion that was revealed in his eyes.

The woman squealed and ran towards him. She jumped on the large man and planted an ecstatic wet kiss on his lips. "Hello, Bertie," she breathed, licking her lips cheerfully as the two boys clucked their tongues in jealous disgust.

Arabella stared at them, transfixed by what she was witnessing.

Didn't Mary pass on a few hours before James had? He had said so himself!

As she stared at the happy couple, there was something odd about Mary that she couldn't quite place. Her skin looked youthful, and she seemed even more human than the last time she saw her.

"Did you miss me? Sorry I didn't leave a note," she said sweetly. Bertie nodded, unable to utter a word as he was overcome with emotion.

Just what on earth was going on?

Bertie disappeared with Mary into the office, and as an uncomfortable longing resurfaced like bile in her throat, Arabella decided to quickly pack up and close for the night. She had all the time to resume selling in the coming days. She would always be grateful to Bertie for the opportunity and for his invaluable friendship, but tonight, she just needed to retreat.

Arabella had been lounging in her apartment with a bottle of beer when a knock interrupted her thoughts. She didn't think Mrs. Rothschild needed her for anything at all tonight, but maybe she just ran out of sugar and wanted to fix herself a cup of sweet tea?

She peeked through the hole and saw that the guest didn't resemble Mrs. Rothschild's figure at all. Arabella twisted one of the locks on the door and kept the chain in place just in case.

"Yes?"

A tall man in curious attire stood before her. He was no one she knew. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his navy coat, his face obscured by the dimly lit hallway.

"May I help you?"

He grinned, his teeth becoming illuminated by the small lights that were still working. "It's nice to see you again, Arabella."

Arabella stared at him, concerned that the constant thudding and tightening in her chest were the beginnings of a heart attack.

"Uh?" She wondered aloud, as she doubtfully observed the stranger through the crack.

"May I come in? I can't go through doors anymore."

It couldn't be, could it?

Arabella removed the chain and allowed him to enter, unable to take her eyes off him. He looked quite real, and although his voice threw her off as she had grown used to his computer-generated monotone, this new James was quite breathtaking.

"James?" she whispered, her hands reaching up to pinch herself on the arm. She's never drinking again, that's for sure.

He smiled and offered a hand, "It's nice to see you again, Arabella."

She was out of breath. Her mind scrambled for any explanation, but her hand seemed to have a mind of its own. She placed it in his and it felt incredibly warm.

"James?"

A boyish grin appeared on his face, his chin tilting a little as he regarded her. "Good, I thought you had forgotten me."

She must have been dreaming. That was the only explanation for what was happening.

"I feel bad about leaving abruptly." He squeezed her hand once more and perched on the same seat where Bertie had sat when he had offered her the opportunity.

What was James doing back? She had already started to accept that he was gone, and now he was back?

"Mary and I were granted a few hours to return and say our goodbyes," he said softly, almost sad that he couldn't stay. "I've enjoyed meeting you, doing things with you, and I think we've done a lot for each other... despite our obvious differences, don't you think?"

Obvious differences being that she was alive and he was a ghost? No one would ever think that, silly. She felt like she was starting to truly become unhinged.

Arabella leaned on the counter and chided herself for staring at his arms. She so wanted to poke him, if only to check if he was indeed not a mirage. This, kids, is why you're not supposed to drink nor do drugs.

"Are you alright?" James laughed, catching her finger before she successfully poked him on the chin.

"God, you've got green eyes. I wouldn't have guessed from the photo."

"Do you not believe that I'm here? Haven't you seen Mary?"

Arabella recalled that she had seen Mary, so maybe she wasn't hallucinating after all. Which meant drinking was alright, but still kids, don't do drugs.

"Why—How are you here?"

James shrugged. The amused smile never left his face. "How was I a ghost for a century? No one really knows, but I'm here for the moment and I just wanted to see if you were doing well."

He gave her shit apartment a sweeping look, biting his bottom lip in embarrassment or pity, she didn't really know. "Ah, well. I can see that you're sort of getting by then."

"I hadn't had the time to clean. I was busy." It wasn't an excuse. "I'll get to it tomorrow, I've been busy with the shop."

James's eyes lit up proudly. "I saw it, congratulations! You are perfectly suited to be an entrepreneur."

"Well, I wouldn't say that..."

"If I were alive, I would expect a cut from your profits—it was my sandwich after all," he chuckled, the sound vibrating from his belly and causing her to do the same.

Arabella moved closer to look at his skin. The blemishes made him seem alive. "So that's it, you're going to heaven?"

He cocked his head to the side and closed the space between them. "If that's what you want to call it, then yes," he agreed, as his hands crept to cup her face.

"I had wanted to do this for a long, long time."

James closed in, capturing her lips in a searing, sweet, satisfying kiss.

A kiss that had ended a second too early. It was a quick smack, but it left her weak in the knees.

"Are you going to be alright?" James asked as they sat in silence after sharing that intimate moment. "I don't think I'll be, but I don't have a choice in the matter."

That was actually an interesting question. Arabella leaned back on her chair as she stared at him, pondering her answer. Sure, she was upset that he couldn't stay with her, but was life really all that bad?

"I think so," she finally responded, her finger tracing random circles on the kitchen counter. "I've put Richard behind me, and I'm handling my own business. For the first time in years, I feel in control. I have choices."

James nodded and placed a warm hand over hers. "Then I'm happy for you even if I'm missing you."

She would miss him, his comforting presence, and supportive friendship. It took losing him for her to realize that he wasn't her entire world. James represented all that she had longed for, but maybe she had found them in other people too.

She thought about Mrs. Rothschild, Bertie, and the boys, Alex and Mikhail. They had all helped her as much as James had to build this new beginning. She could now be there for them as they had been for her.

"Mary is leaving too?" she asked, concerned about Bertie who had now become like a father to her.

James nodded absently as he observed the dishes in her sink.

"Can I offer you anything to eat or drink?" she asked softly, a thumb rubbing over his hand as she looked around her apartment.

"Did you bake anything recently?"

Uh-oh. She thought about the dirt-tasting cupcakes shoved deep in her fridge and cringed at the thought of feeding them to James—probably, his first taste after a century of being a ghost.

"Nope, nothing." Arabella stood and brought out a glass from the cupboard. "How about some chocolate milk to start?" And smiled as an interesting thought popped into her head. "And a game of Scrabble?"

James laughed aloud, his guffaws animating his face like a cartoon. "Sure, but can we play chess instead? I'm sick of Scrabble."

Arabella nodded with a contented grin, dropping a small kiss on his cheek as she moved to prepare a welcome meal for her guest.

"We'll think of something, we always do."

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A/N: AAAAAAAAHHHHHH! Okay, this is the final chapter! I can't believe I finished this story in just a few months! Thank you for all your feedback. A big shoutout to my friend, S.K. who has agreed to help me edit this (my prepositions, gerunds, tenses, run-ons make me woozy) and to CrispinOTooleBateman who told me exactly what I needed to hear to get the courage to hit that delete button!

Alright, the deadline is right around the corner. I'll be submitting this in a few hours, but just a fair warning to those who have devoured this novel from start to finish. BIG changes will be done to some middle chapters, around 8-9 and some in 12-14. And ironically enough, these big changes will in no way affect the main story nor the ending, which makes me wonder why I've been so hesitant to hit that delete button after all.

Big, big thanks to everyone who helped me in this ONC journey. Best of luck to all those who are writing and submitting theirs!

Now, I'm off to edit......... grueling work, but has to be done! And I'll hopefully see some of you at the Wattys! *gasp* still hoping to get it done in time.

UPDATE: edited, May 5, 2020 (4:31AM lol)