Hayden hadn't been joking that the day was going to hard. It was tough for even (especially) Tate. He knew deep down he just didn't have the sort of toughness a person needed to do that sort of thing every day. Plus, being around so many living people was pretty taxing. They weren't like her. She gave energy, they took it. He had to resist the urge more than several times to not just disappear and leave the scene entirely. Nella, he decided, had an infinite amount of patience.

Tate collapsed on a couch as Nella was showing the last guests out the door. When she finally closed the door and locked it, the blonde walked over to the parallel couch and flopped onto it herself, face first. Tate opened his eyes to see hers staring directly at him, their lounging positions mirrored. He couldn't help the almost goofy grin that snuck onto his face. He always smiled when she looked at him.

"That was a tough one even for me," she finally breathed in a tired, husky voice. Nella blushed at her unintentional tone. She heard somewhere that women do little things subconsciously if they find the person they're with attractive. She tried to remember if she had been playing with her hair. "You must be exhausted."

"I'm not much of a people person," he admitted.

"Neither am I," she confessed back. "But I'm a sucker for a good story. The dead tell no tales because their friends do it for them."

"That's beautiful," Tate stated.

Nella laughed, blushing even deeper. "I can smell the poet in you, Tate."

Tate laughed, "So what does it smell like?"

"Roses, probably," she shrugged.

He decided he really liked that answer. "So what now?" he asked.

Nella shifted onto her back so she was looking at the ceiling rather than him. "Well, either you can tell me now that it's not for you and go home," she answered, trailing off.

"Or?" asked Tate.

She shrugged. "Or you can tell me you'll be back tomorrow same time and stay with me to clean this disaster up. Moira's not in today."

Tate waited until she curiously looked over to him before he said, "I guess you'll see me tomorrow then."

If Nella was going to be really honest with herself in that moment, she probably swooned a little. So what if throughout the course of the day she grew a little crush on him? That was pretty normal, she figured. He was attractive and she was a young woman with needs like anyone else. She noticed that she was just lying there staring at him with a little smile on her face and went to sit up, clearing her throat. "Well then we'd better get on it," she finally settled on.

Tate sat up as well, making sure to not break eye contact with her through his movements. He noticed she liked to keep eye contact with people in the room. In a way, he was testing her, seeing if she'd look away. In a way, he was also really enjoying being able to look at her eyes.

Nella smiled at Tate's little staring contest with her. She sort of enjoyed that he was able to look her in the eye. Something she noticed about people was that no one really looks at anyone. Breaking the silence in their contest Nella said, "Well then you can start sweeping while I get Mr. Jeremy's body downstairs. I'll come up and help you when he's down."

Tate nodded, standing up as she did so, maintaining eye contact. Nella smirked at his persistence, and turned away from him to complete her task. Getting the coffin down the stairs was a fairy easy task using the mechanical slide she had installed herself (no more repair men). When she made her way back up, she began clearing tables of the various china cups and plates scattered around, throwing out tissues as she went. Tate stopped sweeping to watch her move through the room, methodically clearing it. To him, it looked like a dance she had done a hundred times. She caught him looking and gave him another smile as she whisked away the china to the kitchen.

As he finished sweeping the floors (and growing a new appreciation of Moira) Tate wandered into the kitchen to find Nella rinsing the remaining dishes and placing them carefully on a rack. "I'm finished," he called out to her.

Nella looked over her shoulder. "Great! Thank you for the help. You can go home now, if you want. I was just gonna catch up on paperwork tonight, but you could also stay for dinner if you like."

Tate caught himself with his mouth half open before he could say yes. What was he thinking? What would she think of he stayed for dinner and didn't end up eating anything? Ghosts didn't eat. "Oh, uh, no. Maybe next time though," he finished lamely.

She turned back to the sink, feeling the slight disappointment in her belly. "Next time," she confirmed. She listened as Tate's footsteps drew closer to her until she could see his torso out of the corner of her eye. Looking up and putting a little smile on her face (for show), she extended her hand to his. He stared at it a moment, seemingly contemplating this gesture. He took her hand, and instead of shaking it, pulled her close until he could wrap his arms around her. Nella was stunned for a second, but wrapped her arms around his middle to return the hug. Tate could hear her heart beating. Nella didn't say that she couldn't hear his.


Tate showed up at eight o' clock every morning that work week. Although it was clear he preferred to be running errands for her and away from people in general. When the day was done he always gave her a hug that she enjoyed just a little too much. But despite enjoying their embraces, Nella found herself ever curious that he always felt cold, and despite having her ear pressed against his chest (she was quite a bit shorter) she could never hear his heart beat.

She also found it increasingly peculiar that despite his claim of friendship with Moira, the two had never spoken. At least, not in front of her. So when she was closing the door behind Tate that Saturday evening, Nella sought out Moira right away.

Instead of interrupting her while she worked, Nella sat quietly at the island in the kitchen while the red head did the dishes. When Moira finally did turn around, she locked eyes with the younger woman and knew there was trouble ahead.

"Can I trust you?" the blonde asked quietly. Moira blinked at the question, opting to sit down beside her instead of answering the question. "How do you know Tate?" She prodded again.

Moira stiffened slightly, seeing Tate appear behind the younger woman with a finger to his lips. "I worked for his mother for a time," Moira answered. It wasn't a lie, but it felt like one.

She nodded and leaned forward, resting her chin on her laced fingers. Furrowing her eyebrows and taking a deep breath, she asked, "Right. Then I need you to be completely honest with me here, Moira. And if I sound like a total lunatic just tell me, okay? But um…there's no chance Tate's a...well, you know, a ghost. Is he?"

Moira sat in silence, attempting to come up with an answer that would neither confirm nor deny what she already seemed to know. The girl was smart. And like Violet before her, she seemed to have a gift for sensing things beyond her. "What's this about ghosts?" chimed a southern laced accent behind her.

Nella turned to see her neighbour. "Constance," she greeted. "Um…how did you get in?"

"You back door was wide open, dear," she answered. "I thought I ought to come in and check on you. Us blondes got to stick together, you know. Must have been those ghosts," she winked.

The young woman laughed politely. "Well, as you can see, I'm fine. It was good of you to check in. How's Michael?"

The two older women exchanged glances before Constance answered, "He's healthy. Like your business. Be careful now; you never know who might just walk in." And with that, she strolled out leaving Nella with a sinking feeling in her gut.

Moira stood, wiping her hands on her apron. "It's past five; I must get going as well. I'll see you on Wednesday, Miss De Ville." She made her hasty escape, physically leaving the house before coming back unseen. Nella was left sitting in the kitchen, chewing on her lip in deep thought. It would seem that if Nella wanted any answers, she would have to get them herself.