Page 19 of Spellbinding Spirit

We’re both breathless when we finally break apart. His forehead rests against mine, his hands still on my waist, and I can’t bring myself to step away.

“Well,” I say, my voice shaky but light. “That’s one way to say goodbye.”

“Wanted to make it memorable,” he growls.

I laugh, the sound a little unsteady, and feel his grip on my waist loosen. The conductor blows his whistle again, louder this time, and I step back and grab the handle of my suitcase. My fingers brush his one more time, lingering for a moment longer than they should.

“I’ll call you,” I say, my chest tightening as I turn toward the train.

“You’d better,” he says, his voice following me as I climb the steps.

I find a seat by the window and glance back. He’s still there with his hands shoved in his pockets, watching as the train pulls away.

As the train picks up speed, the station disappearing into the distance, I touch my lips, still warm from his kiss. Whatever this is between us, it’s not over. Not by a long shot.

Chapter 10

Sebastian

The Greenview Manor Hotelhums with the usual morning bustle. Guests linger over breakfast in the dining room, housekeepers chat quietly as they ready their carts, and I’ve already had to deal with a mix-up over room keys. Typical day. Or it should be, but my mind keeps wandering and no amount of spreadsheets or guest queries can keep it from drifting to the attic. To Cat. She has only be gone for a few days but I miss her already.

“Seb?” Marisa’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts. She’s standing at the front desk, clipboard in hand. “You okay? You’ve been staring at that computer like it offended you.”

I blink and realise I’ve been scrolling the same guest list for the past five minutes. “Fine,” I say, closing the tab quickly. “Just a lot on my plate.”

She tilts her head, the sunlight from the tall lobby windows catching the reddish tones in her dark hair. Marisa’s one of those people who radiates calm, a quality I envy. “Busy weekend with your friend?” she asks, her smile easy. “How did the ghost-hunting go?”

I shrug and keep my tone casual. “Oh, you know. Just creaky floorboards and old pipes. Nothing exciting.”

Her smile widens knowingly. “I bet that’s not what Cat would say. She seems... professional.”

I chuckle, relieved there’s no judgement in her voice. “That’s one word for it.”

“She’s nice,” Marisa says, leaning against the counter. “Smart, too. Have you known her long?”

“It feels like forever,” I reply. “We met in our twenties and she’s been dragging me into her weird adventures ever since.”

Marisa straightens, flipping a page on her clipboard. “Well, if you need me I’ll be in the dining room. Don’t work too hard.”

“I’ll try,” I say, giving her a quick smile as she heads off.

Once she’s gone I retreat to my office and close the door. The space feels quieter than the bustling lobby but my thoughts are still restless. I sit down at my desk and stare at the blank screen of my computer. I’m supposed to be finalising staff rotas but my mind veers to Cat.

Her laugh echoes in my memory, the way she teased me over breakfast, the way she looked when she was reading George’s letters. And then of course there’s that night. The heat of her kiss, the feel of her hands on my skin, the way she whispered my name like it was something precious.

My phone buzzes on the desk and rattles against a stack of papers. I glance at the screen:Cat. My stomach does a little flip and I grab the phone before it can buzz again.

“Hey, Professor,” I say, trying to keep my voice light.

“Sebastian!” Her voice is electric, buzzing with an excitement that’s all too familiar. “I found something. About George.”

I sit up straighter, her words snapping me to attention. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” she says, practically breathless, “I’ve been digging through records since I got back and I came across a site dedicated to soldiers who were executed for cowardice during World War I. I think I found him. George Moyes.”

Her words hit me like a gut punch. “Executed?” I repeat, the word landing hard. “What—how?”

“Just listen,” she says, her voice steadying but still charged. “There’s a profile for him. It matches what we know from the letters. Born in Kendal, Cumbria. Served in the King’s Own Royal Lancaster Regiment. Fought at Ypres in 1915.

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