Page 37 of The Candlemaker

Chandler’s heavy footfalls carried him in front of me, the floor creaking like it was waking up to the notion of having the weight of guests traipsing over it once more. The light ebbed and flowed from a camping lantern held by his side, its warm glow oozing around him like he was the flame himself.

“I never claimed to sense spirits, Mr. Collins. Only that they were here.”

He made a low noise and headed for the living room.Crap.I was hoping he’d pick one of the rooms upstairs; it would make sneaking in and out of the kitchen window a little easier.

I hadn’t exactly figured out a plan on how I was going to effectively haunt the inn. Between preparing to tell Lou what was happening while concealing it from our brothers, figuring out what I needed from Mom’s house to stay here, and avoiding all thoughts of entire nights alone with Chandler Collins, I hadn’t made it to the ghost part of this plan yet.

That was for tomorrow. There had to be YouTube videos on how to do this.How to Haunt 101orGhosting for Dummies.

“Frankie.”

I stopped, having taken a few steps toward the staircase.

“Where are you going?”

“To find a room upstairs if you’re taking the living room?—”

“You’re not staying upstairs.”

And who are you who gets to tell me where I am or am not?I swallowed down my bluster of pride. He was the obstacle I had to appease if there was any chance of my sister getting this inn.

“Okay.” I forced a smile. “I’ll stay in the dining?—”

“We’re both sleeping in the living room.”

Both of us? In the same room?In the stillness of massive space, I swore he could hear the sound of my heart plummeting into my stomach because I certainly could.

It wasn’t even my plan that was the first worry that came to my mind. It wasn’t how exponentially more difficult it would be for me to sneak around and do whatever it was going to take to haunt this place. All of that should’ve been my first thought, but it wasn’t. It wasn’t even the second or third thought. All of those rungs were taken up by the idea of spending six nights not in the same inn, but in thesame roomas the man I really wanted to kiss again.

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” I stammered.

“Miss Kinkade”—we were back to formalities—“if you think I’m going to let you hole yourself off in a secluded corner of this building where you can concoct God knows what to try and prove it’s haunted, then you must think I’m an idiot,” he drawled with a casual smile.

I stilled. Obviously, he didn’t believe it was haunted, but for him to think—to know—the lengths I’d go and call me out on it within minutes of the first night of this charade…if that was how he wanted to play this, fine.

Challenge accepted.

My fingers curled into my pillow like it was a shield of steel as I approached him. “And if I think you just want me in the living room so you can try and kiss me again?”

His smile fell, deflated by the sharp pulse of frustration in his jaw. My victory was short-lived, the barb, double-sided.

“Don’t worry, Miss Kinkade. I never mix business with pleasure.”He motioned to the doorway, the lantern light treading over the threshold.

Liar.He knew who I was at dinner when he’d kissed me. He knew and kissed me anyway. A small voice inside my head reminded me,You knew and kissed him back.

Dammit.

“Oh?” I feigned innocence and moved right in front of him, letting my eyes swing lazily down and back up his body. “Well then, I’m so sorry.”

His brow furrowed. Up close, in the harsh light from the lantern, he somehow managed to look more handsome. The way the shadows cut sharpened the ridge of his brow. The straight line of his nose. The edge of his tensed jaw.

“Sorry for what?”

My smile widened. “If you don’t mix business with pleasure and you’re always doing business, then…well…” I let my eyes lower down to his waist, the harsh shadows of the lantern making it impossible to see anything except the point I was making. “Muscles atrophy when they don’t get used.”

Chapter Nine

Frankie

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