Page 111 of Love at First Fright

I reached out to touch his arm. To offer comfort. To something.

My hand passed straight through him.

Charlie gasped, staring at the space where my fingers had disappeared into his flesh. A shiver racked through him.

“Bat… are you okay?” he asked.

Truthfully? No. I’d burnt through too much energy. Holding Charlie’s hand in the garden for that long. Dancing with him. Keeping myself solid during the kiss—that spectacular, heart‑stopping, world-tilting kiss. Then immediately fleeing like a coward and diving into the nearest available cat.

“I just… need a second to recharge. Sorry.”

Charlie looked at me with those sad blue eyes. Eyes that could see straight through me. Literally and figuratively.

“You don’t need to apologise.”

But I did. I absolutely did. Because being dead meant constantly disappointing him. Constantly being less than what he needed. Less solid. Less present. Less real.

I’d been a disappointment when I was alive—to my teachers, to my parents, to myself, to anyone who’d expected something from me. Death hadn’t changed that. Just made it permanent.

“I do,” I said. “And… I need to say sorry for kissing you just now. I… got a bit carried away.”

Charlie’s frown deepened.

“I know it was inappropriate. I… I guess I lost control of myself.” The words tumbled out faster now, desperate. “I know you didn’t want to kiss me. Obviously. Because A, I’m dead. B, I’d just unloaded all my shit on you about my mysterious murder and my pathetic afterlife. And C, I look like this—” I gestured at myself, at my ridiculous emo aesthetic frozen forever. “And you apparently like men who look like…”

I didn’t finish, because Charlie had moved toward me.

Very close. Very, very close.

So close I could feel the glorious warmth of his breath. Could see his eyelashes flutter with each blink. Could count the faint freckles across his nose.

He lifted his hand. Reached toward my hair.

His fingers passed through the black strands. I hadn’t recharged enough yet. Couldn’t maintain solidity. Charlie was just stroking air. But I closed my eyes anyway. Focused on the intention. The gesture. Pretended I could feel the gentle drag of his fingers through my fringe.

“Bat.” Charlie’s voice, soft. “You know that I very much wanted you to kiss me, right?”

My eyes stayed shut. “You did?”

“I literally kissed you back?”

“You did?”

“You didn’t notice?!”

“I might have been too busy hyperventilating.”

“About?”

“If you wanted to be kissed. If I was even any good at it.” The confession spilled out of me. “I don’t remember if I was good at it when I was alive. And I’m definitely out of practice.”

“Well, I can confirm you were very good at it.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Excellent, in fact. So much so, I felt cheated when you ditched me.”

“Really?”