Page 72 of Specters & Spotlights

He held it up so she could see the cover.

“I figured…” He cleared his throat, suddenly very aware of how quiet the room was. “Maybe you’d let me keep you company. Just for a bit.” He hesitated, then gave a small, self-deprecating laugh that came out more nervous than he intended. “I brought the book as… backup. Insurance. In case I forgot how to hold a conversation.”

He tried for a lighter tone and heard it wobble anyway. “I thought I could always try to impress you with a dramatic poetry reading.”

Elise reached for it, taking the book from his hands, careful, like she wasn’t sure what she was agreeing to by accepting it. Her fingers brushed his for half a second.

He told himself to breathe. Quietly. Normally. As if his pulse wasn’t thudding in his throat.

Elise turned the book over in her hands, brow furrowing as she studied the cover. Then she looked up, incredulous.

“Wait,” she said slowly. “Are those… zombies?”

He watched realization dawn on her face like a goddamn ray of sunshine. “Zombie Haiku?” she said, disbelief and delight tangling together.

She didn’t instantly back away. She didn’t shut down. If anything, she looked… intrigued. Bemused. Like she was trying to decide whether this was a joke or a confession.

Maybe he hadn’t completely misread her after all.

“I didn’t say it was good poetry,” Graham said, because honesty was safer than flirting. “It was the only vaguely poetic thing in my possession.” He shrugged, aiming for casual and landing somewhere near earnest. “I figured—I don’t know. Maybe it’s your kind of weird.”

Elise’s mouth twitched, then softened, and then, like a curtain lifting, her face opened into a full-fledged smile.

He hadn’t seen that smile in days. Not since the cast party, before things had gone sideways. The wait for it had been worth it, and the small, quiet pride that flickered in him was ridiculous.

“Honestly?” she said, still smiling down at the cover. “I kind of love it.”

Graham felt something in his chest ease, just an iota. Like he’d passed a test he hadn’t known he was taking.

He wasn’t ready to let go of what he’d walked in on earlier, though. Not entirely.

He leaned back against the wall, hoping it read as casual instead of as please don’t make me stand in the middle of the room like an idiot. “Okay,” he said, letting a hint of humor into his voice, “Zombie Haiku might be my strongest opening move, but you—” He nodded toward her, toward the wig stand, toward the lingering echo of that note. “You just casually sang that solo like it was nothing.”

Elise waved a hand, half-laughing, half-deflecting. “It’s just something I do to pass the time. You caught me in a moment.”

Oh, he thought. She really doesn’t know.

“No,” Graham said, more firmly than he intended. “You were performing. That was… stunning.” The word came out clean, and then he couldn’t stop himself from adding, “I’ve done shows with Elizabeths who didn’t hit that note as cleanly as you did tonight.”

His cheeks hurt. He realized he was still smiling.

Elise’s blush returned, deeper this time, and it only made his smile widen.

“You’re just being nice,” she said, but there was less certainty in it than she probably meant to show.

“I’m being honest.” Graham tilted his head, curious now. “You could make a name for yourself, you know. Why don’t you?”

Elise looked down at her hands, fiddling with the edge of the towel she’d been using to blot the wig. For a second he thought she might deflect—turn it into a joke, fold the moment away like she did with so many things.

“I’ve just… never wanted the spotlight.”

The answer should have sounded simple. It didn’t. Even to Graham, it landed like something practiced.

“Well,” she added softly, and he watched the words rearrange themselves as she spoke them, “maybe that’s not entirely true. There was a time when I thought I did. But it wasn’t the right path for me.”

She set the towel down and leaned against the table, voice quieter now. “I like being part of the magic without having to stand in the middle of it. There’s something about helping other people shine that feels just as meaningful.”

Graham shifted and leaned against the workbench, careful not to jostle any curlers. He waited. He’d learned that silence could be useful when someone was deciding whether to keep going.