“What time is it?” Graham asked, stretching in a way that made his jumper ride up and reveal a strip of stomach that made me swallow thickly.
I checked my phone. “Almost six. You should probably head to the pub soon.”
“Probably.” He didn’t move. “But I don’t want to leave you here alone.”
“I’ve been alone in archives before. It’s my natural habitat.”
“That’s not what I mean.” He stood and came around the table, stopping close enough that I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. “I mean I don’t want to leave you alone with whatever you’re not telling me that’s got you looking like the weight of the world just landed on your shoulders.”
“I’m fine.”
“That word again.” His hand came up to brush a strand of hair from my face, his fingers grazing my cheek. “You know I don’t believe you when you say that.”
“I know.”
“And you know I’m going to keep asking until you actually talk to me.”
“I know that too.”
“So why won’t you just tell me?”
Because I can’t bear to love you and lose you.
“Because I don’t have all the pieces yet,” I said instead. “And I don’t want to worry you with half a story.”
“I’m already worried.”
“Then stop.”
“Can’t.” His thumb traced along my cheekbone, leaving a trail of heat. “Worrying about you is basically my full-time job. The pub is just a side gig.”
I laughed, but it came out watery. “You’re ridiculous.”
“So I’ve been told.”
We were so close. His hand was warm against my face, his eyes soft and intent. I could see the individual flecks of gold in his eyes, the faint scar on his chin from when he’d fallen off his bike at twelve, the way his pulse beat at the base of his throat.
I wanted to close the distance between us. Goddess, help me, but I wanted to rise up on my toes and press my mouth to his and forget everything—the curse, the secrets, all of this nonsense.
His gaze dropped to my lips.
I sucked in a breath, my pulse picking up a beat.
He leaned forward?—
A deafening bellow shattered the silence.
I shrieked and stumbled backward, crashing into the table and sending papers flying everywhere. Graham spun around, fists raised, ready to fight whatever had invaded the archives.
Clyde stood in the middle of the room, looking enormously pleased with himself.
The ghost coo tossed his massive shaggy head and let out another bellow—quieter this time. I swore if a damn ghost coo could be smug, he would be. His translucent eyes twinkled as he looked between Graham and me.
“Clyde!” I clutched my chest, gasping for air. “What in the bloody hell?”
Clyde just snorted.
“I’m going to murder that coo,” Graham said, his voice shaking. “Can you murder a ghost? I’m going to find out.”
