Page 69 of Love at First Fright

Silence crashed over the attic. Heavy. Pregnant.

Then I burst out laughing.

Couldn’t help it. The sound exploded out of me, high and breathless. I doubled over, forehead nearly hitting the board.

“Brad smells,” I wheezed between giggles. “The ghost just—it actually—”

“This isn’t funny.” Brad’s voice dropped to sub-zero temperatures.

“It’s hilarious.” Tears pricked my eyes.

“You moved it.”

“What? No!”

“You pushed the planchette.” He pulled his hands away, face darkening. “You’re taking the piss.”

“I swear I didn’t—”

“This is company time, Charlie.” He stood abruptly, the trunk scraping against the floor. “Do you have any idea how serious this is? How much the Lancasters are paying? And you’re playing stupid pranks like a bloody child. We’re working!”

The laughter died in my throat. Heat replaced it. Familiar anger, rising fast.

“Working?” I scrambled to my feet. “Like how you were working yesterday? When you were pressing yourself into me to sniff my hair?”

Brad’s face went blank. “What?”

“Oh, don’t deny it.” I stepped closer, pulse hammering in my ears. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. In the kitchen last night.”

He stared at me. Put on a good show of acting genuinely confused.

“The tea,” I pressed. “The way you kept touching me. Asking about music. Getting all close and—”

“Oh, come on.” His voice hardened. “I took a shower and went to bed. I was exhausted.”

“You…” The words stuck. “But… the basement… then I made you tea. And you kept touching me.”

“Stop it.”

“You asked me to play my music! You said—” My chest constricted. “You bloody well stood right next to me and—”

“Charlie.” Brad held up both hands. Warning. Distance. “I don’t know what you’re playing at, but you’re wasting even more time now.”

“But… but—” The words tangled on my tongue. “Listen! You can’t be making eyes at me one day, literally sniffing my hair, then doing this the next, you sick fuck. It isn’t fair!”

Brad’s face transformed. Shock. Disgust. Something darker beneath.

“Bloody hell.” He laughed. Sharp. Brittle. “You’re honestly delusional. Listen, Charlie, sorry mate, but I have no interest in you. I’m not… you know.” His hand waved dismissively. “Gay.”

The word hit like a slap. Not the word itself—the tone. The hand gesture, as if being gay was something distasteful he had to wave away.

“If this is you struggling to ‘express your feelings’ again, you’re going too far, this time!” I practically screeched at him.

“What?!” Brad’s voice rose even higher.

“You know, when you apologised for the mixed messages. It’s okay if you’re scared, Brad. I was scared too.”

“What the actual fuck are you talking about?”