Page 113 of Specters & Spotlights

Elise groaned. “Yes, but does he have to be?”

There was a beat of silence, then Kevin gave an affronted little gasp. “Darling, if you wanted privacy, you could have just asked.”

He turned with great ceremony toward the door.

“I’ll go haunt the lobby,” he said. “Try not to get glitter on each other.”

The door dramatically creaked shut behind him, unmistakably on purpose.

They stood there for a long moment after Kevin left, the silence stretching just enough for Elise to start wondering what Graham was thinking.

Then he said, “So… I’ve been meaning to tell you something.”

She arched a brow. “That’s a very ominous opener.”

“It’s about your… thoroughness.” His mouth quirked. “During hair inspections.”

Her eyes narrowed in mock suspicion. “You mean when I told you I didn’t think your hair could be mussed? And then mussed it?”

“That would be the one,” he said, his tone low but amused. “I’ve been thinking about it for days.”

“Oh?” She let the word draw out, teasing. “Was it the artistry of my technique? Or the shattering of your perfect-hair illusion?”

“Both,” he admitted. “But mostly the way you looked at me while you did it.”

Her breath caught, the air between them shifting, but she didn’t back away.

He moved slowly, telegraphing every motion. One hand lifted, hovering just long enough for her to lean into it. His fingers brushed a loose curl from her eyes, tucking it behind her ear like it was something fragile.

His other hand found her waist, tentative at first, then firmer as she melted into the space between them.

Elise looked up at him, her voice soft but steady. “Are you still trying to play the long game here?”

He smiled—gentle, quiet, wrecked. “Only if you want me to.”

Graham’s fingers lingered just beside her temple, gently tucking one last unruly curl behind her ear. His touch was featherlight, reverent in a way that made her breath catch.

“This one,” he said softly. “It’s kind of criminal, honestly.”

Elise blinked. “What is?”

He brushed the curl again with a smile. “This stubborn little piece of hair. It’s doing everything in its power to steal my attention.”

“Oh,” she said, breathless, teasing. “Well, I do pride myself on my rogue strands.”

“Mm.” His thumb grazed her cheek. “The real tragedy is that it almost distracts from your eyes.”

That made her huff—a quick sound of disbelief as she pulled back just an inch. “Okay, now you’re pushing it.”

He tilted his head. “I’m serious.”

“They’re brown,” she said flatly, like it was fact and final. “Very boring brown.”

Graham’s expression didn’t change. He looked at her, steady and gentle. “Who told you that?”

She faltered. Just for a beat. But it hit like a weight.

No one had said it outright. Not in so many words. The past partner who once said she looked “better with eyeliner.” The voice in her own head that had repeated it ever since.