16. A Ghostly Reintroduction #3
“Everybody knows that!” Fabian snaps. “You know, I came onto this ghost team because I thought we’d be doing ghosts!”
“Doing ghosts?” Liam repeats.
“Yes!” Fabian cries. “Doing ghosts-ghost-ghost stuff. Ghost stuff. I…” He flings an arm towards the stairs.
“I didn’t sign up for anything else. Creepy evil things in the attic with illusions and whatever you said.
” He slams a hand down on the table. “And I’ll tell you what, I don’t like the way you’re running things! ”
“I’m not the one running things!” Liam fires back.
“I don’t like the way you’re doing any of it!”
“I’m just trying to stop you dying!”
“And isn’t that really up to me?”
“What?” Liam shouts the word.
Fabian, clearly, is not bothered by his reaction. Smoothly, with finality, he swishes his hair back and announces, “I quit. I’m leaving this property, and there isn’t a thing you can do to stop me!”
“I’m not trying to stop you leaving!” Liam shouts. “I’m just trying to—”
“Well, that’s good then, because you can’t!” And with that, Fabian turns on his heel and stomps out of the house, slamming the door behind him, leaving Liam and me staring, mouths agape.
We watch out the front windows as Fabian strides down the drive, disappearing from our view when he steps into the laneway.
And we keep watching for several seconds more, during which time I imagine Liam’s as lost for words as I am.
When he does finally speak, he explodes with, “Am I actually that unemployable? This? This is what I’m up against? This is the level of employability I find myself at that these are the people I’m competing for jobs with?”
“I don’t think you should take him as any reflection on your skill set,” I try to assure him.
“I just… I would…” He groans out an exasperated breath. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t want things to be bizarre again today. And they paired me with that guy, and I’ve never seen him before—”
“Liam—”
“And I don’t know how they hire people. Why anyone thought that was a good idea!”
“Liam—”
“But I can do this, okay?” His eyes meet mine, a clear display of the worry I hadn’t realised until just now was behind the outburst. “I can do this without help. I’m perfectly, perfectly capable of—”
“Liam…” I reach out, touch his forearm in as normal and non-romantic a manner as a man can when comforting another man who is insanely hot. “You’re doing great. I’m glad you’re here. I’m honestly glad it’s… just us.”
He falls quiet, and his gaze slips to my hand on his arm, so I pull it back and use it to push the plate towards him instead. “Eat. Let’s reset and have a normal day, okay?”
“Normal,” he laughs out. But then he finally sinks his fingers into a friand, tearing off a nice chunk. He chews it, and I try not to stare, try not to preen when he lets out a soft moan of enjoyment.
“Good?”
“Very good,” he confirms, a touch of pink in his cheeks. “I feel bad; you went to all this effort, and he—”
“I didn’t do it for him,” I reply, maybe a touch too directly.
Liam stops chewing, and a serious note comes into his eyes.
Maybe don’t flirt with the hot guy who is literally only here for ghost lessons…
“I did it… um. I like to cook,” I bumble out. “I like to bake, and it won’t get eaten otherwise. In a house full of ghosts and all that. After all, they’re not going to eat much, are they?”
“Oh.” He laughs again, embarrassed this time. “Yeah. Of course. Well, any time you want to bake and you need someone to help out…”
“I will think of you.”
He smiles again, head dipped. But a moment later, his gaze runs across the table, back to my hands. Point blank, he asks, “Are you married?”
His gaze flicks up, hopeful vulnerability written in every bright fleck of gold in his irises.
This is why we don’t flirt with men we like. Because that sends a signal to them that we like them.
My bad.
“I’m not married.” And that’s not flirting. That’s just stating facts. So it’s okay to say that.
But then I kind of can’t help but raise a suggestive eyebrow at him and add, “Did I give you the impression I was?”
Okay, that last bit was definitely flirting. Desired effect of cute smile achieved though, which feels a whole lot better than not flirting.
“It’s just that ring…”
“What? This?” My other hand dives for it, fumbling around, trying to pull it off my finger like it’s a noose around my neck. “No. No, this isn’t—no, not that kind of ring. This is just… It’s nice, right?”
He nods sharply.
“Only finger it fits on because this one…” I wave the other hand. “Has got a different ring. You see?”
“Yeah.” He laughs again when I slam the first ring down on the table like it’s a proposal.
“I’m not attached,” I basically yell at him.
“I’m… married to my ghosts, at this stage.
But I think…” The wild idea hits me almost as hard as the look in Liam’s eyes.
That if I didn’t have a house full of ghosts, maybe then I could actually start seeing Liam.
But that’s never going to happen, so I only mumble out, “If I could get rid of them, or, some of them…”
My brain lurches to catch up with my heart. It stutters entirely when he props his elbows on the table and leans forward, listening attentively. Like what I’m saying is important. For both of us. More important than just chatting about my ghost problem.
But, sadly, my brain does catch up. And a loud and logical voice in the back of my mind screams at me, ‘You don’t get to stop being a necromancer just because he has a pretty face.’
And it’s right.
That voice is so completely right.
“Then what?” asks Liam.
For a wild beat of an autumn morning, crisp sun and yellow leaves and soft light and Liam at my breakfast table, my desire overrules my head. “Then maybe we could do breakfast again.”
Liam’s teeth sink into his lip.
Logic. What’s logic?
Necromancy? What’s that?
This man is divine.
I want him here, in the sunshine, no shirt on, my boyfriend.
I want him here, in the sunshine, no shirt on, my breakfast.
His grin is far too delicious when he replies, “I guess we’d better go see to your ghost problem, then…”