Page 119 of Love at First Fright

“We can watch another one tomorrow,” he murmured. “If you want.”

Tomorrow.

Charlie’s heartbeat thrummed beneath my ear. Steady and alive and impossibly precious.

For a moment, I let myself imagine it. The impossible fantasy where somehow, somehow, this worked. Where Charlie stayed. Where we figured out how to navigate the impossible logistics of a human dating a ghost. Where we got our own happy ending instead of just watching other people’s on a screen.

Nothing lasts forever, that’s what they all say.

Fantasies were dangerous things.

Downstairs, the basement door rattled. A reminder of all the reasons this couldn’t work. All the darkness still lurking beneath the floorboards.

Charlie’s arm tightened around me, like he could sense my thoughts drifting.

“Stay,” he whispered. “Stay with me tonight. Just like this.”

And despite everything—despite the impossibility, despite the danger, despite knowing how badly this would hurt when it inevitably ended—

I stayed.

seventeen

Charlie

Iwoke to an absence.

Not dramatic. Not sudden. Just… less. Like pressing against a wall and finding it gone, pitching forward into empty air.

My chest felt empty. Exposed. The weight I’d fallen asleep with had vanished.

My eyes snapped open.

Bat lay curled beside me, hovering where his head had been pillowed on my chest hours ago. Dark hair fanned out in that familiar way. Peaceful. His features soft in the grey morning light filtering through the moth-eaten curtains.

But translucent. Barely there.

My hand moved automatically, reaching to touch his shoulder. My fingers passed straight through cold air, meeting only the fabric of my shirt beneath.

My lungs released a heavy breath. At least he hadn’t left. Hadn’t vanished completely.

Heat spread to my cheeks as last night replayed behind my eyelids. That gorgeous, desperate moment when Bat had kissed me in the garden. Then him naked on my bed. Naked underneath me. The feel of him solid beneath my hands. That moment my lips reached for his waiting cock. That… lovely moment his ectospunk splattered across my face. The cuddling. The way he’d tucked himself against me, face buried in my neck, like I was the only thing he wanted in the world.

Bloody hell.

I pressed my hands over my face, digging the heel of my palms into my eyes.

This was getting complicated. More than complicated. I was getting attached. Bat was likely getting attached. Far too attached, probably, considering I wouldn’t be here much longer. Eventually, whether we sorted out the manor’s “ghost problem” or not, we’d have to move on to the next haunted toilet or possessed bingo hall or whatever nightmare Gerald threw at us.

Then Bat would be all alone again, forever.

The thought made something twist horribly in my stomach, a visceral stabbing pain.

Unless…

I could visit. Couldn’t I? Pop back with new books. More art supplies for the twins. Maybe even that telly Bat wanted. Sneak it into the attic before the Lancasters finished their renovations and turned the place into a luxury resort for wealthy assholes with more money than sense.

I could even—