Page 8 of Spellbinding Spirit

“Sure. I love hauling boxes around a haunted attic,” he says. “It’s exactly how I pictured my life at forty-five.”

“Could be worse,” I counter. “At least you’re not spending your nights dealing with snobbish guests that demand you change the weather because they’re unhappy about the rain.”

“That’s true,” he says, his grin softening into something more thoughtful. “And honestly? I don’t mind tagging along, I’m just teasing. You make it... interesting.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Interesting? Is that a compliment?”

“Always.” He winks, but there’s a flicker of something else in his eye, something warmer and more complicated.

I glance away, suddenly feeling the need to change the subject. “We’ve certainly had some interesting moments over the years.”

“Oh yeah?” he challenges me with a playful glint in his eye. “Like what?”

I hesitate, then decide to lean into the humour. “Like that night. You know the one.”

It takes him a second, but when it clicks his expression shifts—surprise, amusement, and something else I can’t quite name. “That night?” he echoes, his voice low and teasing. “You mean the one where we were minding our own business watching TV, and suddenly...”

“Suddenlyyoudecided to kiss me,” I interrupt, pointing at him in mock accusation.

“I don’t remember it that way,” he protests, laughing. “If anything I rememberyoukissingme.”

I roll my eyes but my face feels hot. “You’re delusional.”

“Am I?” He leans forward, his smile turning mischievous. “Because I seem to recallsomeonebegging to be kissed.”

I gasp, trying to cover the sudden flutter in my chest. “I did not say that.”

“You didn’t have to,” he says, his voice dropping just enough to make me glance at him. His eyes meet mine, and for a moment the humour fades, leaving something else in its place—something warm and unspoken.

I clear my throat, breaking the spell. “That was ten years ago. Ancient history.”

“Right,” he says, sitting back again but still watching me. “Ancient history.”

The air between us feels charged, like we’ve stepped too close to a line neither of us wants to cross. Not again.

“Well,” I say, standing and picking up the empty glasses, “we’ve got a big day tomorrow. You’ll need your rest if you’re going to keep up with me.”

“Of course,” he says and follows me to the kitchen. “Wouldn’t want to slow down the ghost-hunting machine.”

I rinse the glasses pretending my hands aren’t shaking slightly. Sebastian leans against the counter, his presence comforting, but I can feel his eyes on me. When I turn to say goodnight he looks at me with intense eyes. It’s a look he gives me every so often that makes my chest ache just a little.

“Goodnight, Cat,” he says, his voice deep but steady.

“Goodnight, Sebastian,” I reply, retreating to the spare room before I can let myself dwell on the moment.

The rain continues to fall outside in a soft rhythm that usually lulls me to sleep. But tonight my mind won’t settle. I think about Sally, about the sigh in the attic, about Sebastian’s teasing and the way his voice sounded different when he said my name.

Ten years ago seems like a lifetime but right now it might as well have been yesterday. I close my eyes and will myself to focus on tomorrow. But sleep doesn’t come easily with the past so close it feels like it’s standing just behind me, waiting to be acknowledged.

The smell of bacon and eggs pulls me into the kitchen where Sebastian is busy at the hob, looking far too handsome for someone who’s just rolled out of bed. He’s wearing an old T-shirt and a pair of joggers, his greying hair still messy from sleep, but somehow he makes it work. I settle at the small table with my laptop and recorder in front of me. The scent of toast is already making the morning feel better.

“Breakfast fit for ghost hunters… I mean paranormal investigators,” Sebastian announces, flipping a rasher of bacon with theatrical precision. “Eggs, toast, bacon, and my charm. What more could you want?”

“A winning lottery ticket?” I quip, pulling up the audio file from last night. “Or maybe just some sleep.”

“Well you won’t get either of those but you will get perfectly crisp bacon. What’re you up to over there?”

“Checking the tape,” I say, plugging in my headphones. “Don’t worry, I’ll spare you the play-by-play.”

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