Page 102 of Love at First Fright

The puppydog eyes were lethal.

I crumbled. “I don’t really know how—”

But Bat was already placing my left hand on his shoulder, holding my right in his. His other hand settled at my waist. “Like this.”

He led me into a slow, awkward approximation of a ballroom dance. My feet stumbled over his. I stepped on his trainer twice. But Bat didn’t seem to care, just smiled and corrected my footing gently.

His body pressed close to mine, but gave off no warmth. Strange, that. I should’ve been cold, dancing in this weather with a ghost without a jacket. But somehow I wasn’t. Just… held. Swaying to windchimes under spirit-flowers and stars.

“I bet you never danced like this when you were alive,” I said, thinking of the YouTube video. Bat jumping around on stage, wild and uninhibited.

Bat laughed. “Never. Wasn’t exactly invited to fancy balls.” He spun me clumsily. “So you’ve got to indulge me in death.”

I let out a theatrical sigh. My feet still stumbled occasionally over his, but we’d found a rhythm of sorts. Inelegant and imperfect.

He spun me in a dizzying circle. Then he said, “Tell me about yourself, Charlie Hayes.”

I blinked, the question catching me off guard. Simple words I’d heard dozens of times in bars and clubs from flirty strangers making small talk. But they sounded different on Bat’s lips. Like he genuinely wanted to know about me.

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything,” Bat said. “Start wherever you like.”

I let out a breath, watching it mist in the cold air. “I’m the king of bad decisions, mostly.”

Bat laughed. “That’s a hell of an opening.”

“It’s true, though.” The words tumbled out before I could stop them. “I’ve always had a habit of starting things and then walking away when they get hard. I can’t… I can’t seem to keep anything. Jobs. I’ve gotten fired for arguing about the stupidest things. Company policy on water breaks. Whether the systems in place make sense. I just—I can’t let things go.” My throat tightened. “My younger sister Emily? She’s a doctor. Married, has a daughter, owns a bloody house. With a driveway. And I live in a shit flat-share, working minimum wage for a ghost-hunting company run by a conman who thinks travel expenses are optional.”

“Sounds like you’re doing just fine to me.”

“I’m a mess, Bat.”

“Join the club.” He spun me again, gentler this time. “Tell me more.”

So I did.

Bat listened carefully as I recounted the major disasters—dropping out of my music production degree in the final year because Mum needed money and I convinced myself I’d never be good enough anyway, bouncing between jobs that never stuck, my dad dying when I was seventeen and how I’d spent years angry at everything and everyone. The words poured out in fragments, disjointed but honest.

“Emily kept saying she could see Dad’s ghost in the house after he died,” I said quietly. “She was only thirteen. Mum got so upset every time Emily mentioned it. So I…” I swallowed hard. “I ordered Emily to stop. Said she was making things worse, that Dad was gone, and she needed to accept it.” My heart seized, a sudden visceral pain gripping it tightly. “But now…”

“Hey.”

Bat’s hand left my waist to cup my cheek. Cool fingers, gentle, deliberate. The touch stole my breath away—so exactly like that phantom caress in the attic, the dust motes swirling against my skin.

“You couldn't have known,” Bat said softly.

I couldn’t speak. Just nodded and let him guide me back into our awkward dance.

“What about now?” Bat asked after a moment. “Your life in London?”

“London.” I tipped my head back, staring at the sky. Stars scattered across the darkness like spilled salt, impossibly bright out here away from the city’s glare. When had I last noticed stars in London? “I live in a tiny flat with one housemate who makes it his mission in life to avoid me. Pretty sure he’s terrified of me, actually. Scurries away whenever we’re in the same room.”

“Why?”

“No idea. Maybe I’m just naturally off-putting.”

Bat snorted. “Doubt that.”