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On the table was roast chicken, garlic mashed potatoes, and steamed green beans with butter.

They looked and smelled very appetizing.

As someone who survived on quick bites, I practically drooled on the spot.

Hunger triumphed over fear.

I hesitantly picked up the knife and cut myself a piece of the roast chicken.

It tasted heavenly.

I almost swallowed my tongue.

I devoured everything on the table and even licked the plates clean.

I patted my full belly and let out a satisfied burp.

I praised the air. “Not bad. Keep it up tomorrow.”

Then, I left for work.

When I returned home in the evening, the aroma of a home-cooked meal washed over me the moment I pushed the door open.

Another home-cooked dinner was waiting on the table.

It was a spread of pot roast with gravy, garlic-sauteed spinach, macaroni and cheese, and a hearty vegetable soup.

Once again, with zero self-restraint, I polished off every last bite.

After freeloading meals for three days in a row, I started to feel a little guilty.

This ghostly roommate was not just good-tempered. It also knew how to manage a household well.

I took out a yellow sticky note from the drawer and wrote in thick black marker. [Hey, what’s your name? I feel bad about always eating your food.]

I placed the note neatly in the center of the dining table.

The next morning, breakfast was laid out on the table as usual.

There was a bowl of grits, a link of savory breakfast sausage, and two buttermilk biscuits.

Beside my sticky note lay an identical one.

A response was written on it in an elegant, flowing script.

[Nathaniel Simmons.]

It was a nice name.

After finishing breakfast, I left another note. [Nat, it’s a waste that you didn’t get into Le Cordon Bleu to hone your cooking skills.]

I was purely making conversation for the sake of it.

When I returned in the evening, an elaborate dinner was waiting on the table.

Under my note, there was a new reply. [What is Le Cordon Bleu?]

I burst out laughing.

He seemed to have been dead for quite some years.

A bold idea occurred to me.

I spread out a piece of paper and wrote down a shopping list.

It included Australian lobster, Wagyu beef, black truffles, and caviar.

I wrote down every expensive ingredient I had ever heard of but could never afford.

After finishing the list, I glanced around the room guiltily.

The air was dead silent.

I placed the list in the center of the table and went to bed with a sense of anticipation.

The next day, the first thing I did after waking up was rush to the dining room.

The table was empty.

There was no breakfast whatsoever, let alone Australian lobster or Wagyu beef.

I was a little disappointed.

I may have driven the ghost away with my outrageous demands.

I sighed and prepared to microwave a box of macaroni and cheese.

But when I turned around, I spotted a note pressed under something on the table.

It was in Nathaniel’s familiar handwriting, though this time, his note held a hint of cold anger.

[Wasteful.]

I was stunned for a moment before I burst out laughing.

This ghost was not just a good cook, but he was also thrifty and responsible.

I liked that.

I immediately picked up a pen and wrote back. [My bad, Nat. It’s just a joke. Let’s just stick to homemade food from now on. I won’t bring up that extravagant nonsense again, okay?]

I apologized sincerely.

Sure enough, when I returned that evening, food was laid out on the table once more.

Although they were all simple, homemade dishes, I enjoyed the meal more than any other I had ever had.

That weekend, as I was lounging on the couch scrolling through my phone, the doorbell rang.

I looked through the peephole and saw my colleague, Whitley Brennan.

What brought her here?