Page 23 of Spellbinding Spirit

I let us into my flat and the warmth is a welcome change from the chill outside. Cat shrugs off her coat and drops onto the sofa, tucking her legs beneath her. I go into the kitchen to grab a bottle of wine and two glasses. We’ll need it tonight, not because of the attic, but because of everything that’s weighing on both of us.

I hand her a glass and sit down beside her, close enough that our shoulders almost touch. Neither of us speak for a while. We are lost in our thoughts.

Cat finally breaks the silence. “I can’t stop thinking about them,” she says softly, staring into her glass. “Sally and George. How everything they wanted was just... taken from them.”

I nod, swirling my wine. “It’s hard to wrap your head around, isn’t it? How something completely out of their control that neither of them could have predicted kept them apart.”

“Something as huge and unstoppable as a world war,” she murmurs, her voice tinged with sadness. “They didn’t even get a chance. It’s so... unfair.”

“It is,” I agree, the words catching in my throat. “But it’s real. Their story... it’s real.”

She glances at me then with eyes that are wide and searching. “Do you believe that? Do you really think Sally was there tonight?”

I take a deep breath and let the question settle before I answer. “I don’t know,” I admit. “I’m still not sure if I believe in ghosts. Butwhat I do believe is that Sally and George were real. What they felt for each other was real. And that matters.”

Her expression softens and she looks back down at her glass, her fingers tracing the rim. “I just keep thinking... what if they’d had a little more time? What if things had been different?”

“Cat,” I say gently, setting my glass down and turning to face her fully. “That’s what’s been on my mind too. But not just about them.”

She frowns slightly, confused. “What do you mean?”

“I mean...” I hesitate, the words lodging in my throat for a moment. But then I think of Sally waiting all those years and holding onto a hope, and the thought pushes me forward. “I mean us. You and me.”

Her eyes widen, and she sits up straighter with her focus entirely on me. “Sebastian...”

“I’m serious, Cat,” I say, my voice firm but soft. “We’ve been dancing around this for years, haven’t we? And being with you this weekend and hearing their story has made me realise something.”

She’s silent and I press on before I lose my nerve.

“Sally and George didn’t get a choice. They didn’t get to decide how things ended, or if they’d have their happy ending. But we do. We have a choice. And I don’t want to let it slip by because I was too scared to take a chance.”

Her lips part slightly as if she’s about to say something, but I lean forward and cut her off gently. “I love you, Cat. I’ve loved you for longer than I’d like to admit. And I know I’ve been a coward about it; ironic, isn’t it? But not anymore. I’m done waiting for the perfect moment, because if tonight has taught me anything it’s that the perfect moment might never come.”

Her eyes glisten and I can see the war of emotions playing out on her face. “Sebastian...” she starts, her voice barely a whisper. “You don’t have to—”

“I do,” I say firmly. “I need you to know because I don’t want to be the idiot who looks back years from now and regrets not telling you.”

She swallows hard and her gaze is locked on mine. “But I live down south. My job, my life, it’s all there.”

“I know,” I reply, my chest tightening slightly. “And I’m not asking you to give that up. I’ll move. I’ll come to you. I’ll do whatever it takes to be with you.”

Cat’s eyes are fixed on me and it’s so quiet that you could hear a pin drop. For a moment I wonder if I’ve miscalculated, if I’ve gone too far too fast. But then her lips slowly curve into a soft, disbelieving smile.

“You’d do that?” she asks, her voice trembling. “You’d move for me?”

“Of course I would,” I say softly. “You’re it for me. You always have been.”

Her breath catches and she sets her glass down carefully before turning fully to me and reaching out to rest her hand lightly on mine. “Sebastian,” she says, her voice thick with emotion. “I don’t even know what to say.”

“Then don’t say anything,” I murmur, leaning in. “Just... tell me I’m not wrong about this.”

She doesn’t answer, at least not with words. Instead, she closes the distance between us and her lips meet mine in a kiss that’s soft and slow, but full of all the things we’ve left unsaid over the years. Her hand slides to my cheek, her touch warm and grounding, and I feel a weightlifting from my chest.

When we finally pull back she rests her forehead against mine, her breath mingling with my own. “You’re not wrong,” she whispers. “You’re not wrong about any of it. I love you too.”

Relief floods through me and I wrap my arms around her, pulling her close. Whatever happens next I know one thing for certain: I’m not letting this slip away. Not now. Not ever.

Epilogue

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