Chapter 13 – Graham
Chapter Thirteen
Graham
Graham stayed still, half-shadowed by a rack of costumes, as if moving would break the spell. He hadn’t meant to linger—he’d already worked up the courage to come in and confidently strike up a conversation with this woman he couldn’t stop thinking about. But Elise’s voice had caught him in place.
She held the note.
Released.
Silence.
Elise opened her eyes.
And then she saw him. And yelped.
The sound was sharp enough to jolt him. She stumbled back into the wig dryer with a loud clang, and Graham’s stomach dropped.
Oh shit. He’d scared her.
He stepped forward too fast, hands lifting instinctively like he could undo it by looking harmless. “Whoa—Elise! It’s me! Sorry, sorry—didn’t mean to scare you.”
Idiot. Of course he’d scared her. He’d noticed she was jumpy—especially lately, especially after whatever strange undercurrent had taken hold of the company since the last cast party.
And now that he knew what he knew—what Elise had admitted she could see—silently standing in a dark corner like a creep wasn’t just awkward. It was cruel.
He mentally berated himself as if he could rewind the last ten seconds and give his past self a simple set of instructions: Clear your throat. Say her name. Be a normal person.
Elise’s hand pressed to her chest, breath uneven, eyes narrowed with pure, righteous irritation.
“Graham,” she said, still catching up to her heartbeat. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”
“I know, I know.” Graham felt genuinely stricken. “I should’ve said something. You were… singing.”
As if that explained it. As if the word could cover what had just happened to him in the last thirty seconds.
He was still trying to recover from the shock of it—that voice, coming out of her. Not loud, not performative, not the kind of belt meant to impress a room. It had been beautiful in a quieter way. Controlled. Certain. Like she’d been holding it back on purpose.
Elise’s face went pink so fast it was almost comical. “You heard that?” she asked, and her hand flew to her cheek as if she could physically contain the blush.
“Every note,” he said, and surprised himself by letting a small, sheepish grin slip through. “You’re amazing.”
The words landed and immediately made him want to rewind time. Not because they weren’t true—because they were too true, too easily said.
Elise’s mouth twitched, caught between embarrassment and something like pleasure. She looked away for half a second, and the movement was—
Adorable, his mind supplied, once again.
Graham, he told himself sharply, get a hold of yourself.
He realized he’d moved closer without meaning to—one step, maybe two—drawn in like the room had a slope to it. He stopped, forcing his feet to behave.
Up close, he noticed something he couldn’t believe he’d missed: her eyes weren’t just brown. There was a faint ring of green around the pupil, like moss in shallow water, only visible when the light hit at the right angle.
How had he not noticed that before?
“What are you doing here?” she asked at last, after what felt like an eternity, though it was probably only a few seconds.
Oh no.
Had he just been staring?
He blinked, once, like that could reset him. Too late. He was hopeless. There was no way she hadn’t noticed. His face stayed composed out of habit, but inside his brain was already writing the postmortem.
Graham rubbed the back of his neck, buying himself a beat. “I, uh… watched the show tonight,” he said, and immediately regretted how obvious it sounded. “Figured I’d sit in the house and see how Nick did.”
He heard himself keep going—because once he’d started, stopping felt worse. “And after… I thought I might catch you before you left.” His gaze flicked, briefly, toward the wig stand, as if it could justify his presence. “I knew you’d be here—resetting Elizabeth’s wig and all.”
Too much, his mind snapped. That was too obvious. You’re coming on too strong.
Elise blinked. “You… knew I’d still be here?”
Graham couldn’t tell if the look on her face was surprise—at being noticed, at being seen—or something closer to nerves.
Uh oh.
Was he being a creep?
He felt the heat of it immediately, the realization that he’d just admitted, out loud, that he tracked her habits. That he knew where she’d be after a show. He’d meant it as practical. Observational. Normal.
It didn’t sound normal.
Shit. He was definitely coming on too strong.
He nodded anyway, because lying wasn’t an option and because he couldn’t seem to stop digging. “You always stay late,” he said, quieter than he intended.
The moment hung.
He shifted his weight, trying to look like he wasn’t suddenly aware of his own hands, his own posture, his own presence in her space. Was that the wrong thing to say? Of course it was. He should probably just leave now—back up, offer a simple apology, vanish into the hallway.
Would she believe him if he said he’d forgotten something in his dressing room?
She tilted her head, eyes flicking down. “Is that… a book?”
Oh.
He’d forgotten he was still holding it—like a shield, apparently.
“Oh—yeah.” Graham glanced at it, then back to her. “I, um… went back to the hotel after the show to grab it.”
He should retreat. He should invent something bland and exit stage left.
Or—He cut that thought off before it could finish forming. Don’t start running the disaster scenarios. You’re already here.
He held it up so she could see the cover.
“I figured…” He cleared his throat, suddenly very aware of how quiet the room was.
“Maybe you’d let me keep you company. Just for a bit.
” He hesitated, then gave a small, self-deprecating laugh that came out more nervous than he intended.
“I brought the book as… backup. Insurance. In case I forgot how to hold a conversation.”
He tried for a lighter tone and heard it wobble anyway. “I thought I could always try to impress you with a dramatic poetry reading.”
Elise reached for it, taking the book from his hands, careful, like she wasn’t sure what she was agreeing to by accepting it. Her fingers brushed his for half a second.
He told himself to breathe. Quietly. Normally. As if his pulse wasn’t thudding in his throat.
Elise turned the book over in her hands, brow furrowing as she studied the cover. Then she looked up, incredulous.
“Wait,” she said slowly. “Are those… zombies?”
He watched realization dawn on her face like a goddamn ray of sunshine. “Zombie Haiku?” she said, disbelief and delight tangling together.
She didn’t instantly back away. She didn’t shut down. If anything, she looked… intrigued. Bemused. Like she was trying to decide whether this was a joke or a confession.
Maybe he hadn’t completely misread her after all.
“I didn’t say it was good poetry,” Graham said, because honesty was safer than flirting. “It was the only vaguely poetic thing in my possession.” He shrugged, aiming for casual and landing somewhere near earnest. “I figured—I don’t know. Maybe it’s your kind of weird.”
Elise’s mouth twitched, then softened, and then, like a curtain lifting, her face opened into a full-fledged smile.
He hadn’t seen that smile in days. Not since the cast party, before things had gone sideways. The wait for it had been worth it, and the small, quiet pride that flickered in him was ridiculous.
“Honestly?” she said, still smiling down at the cover. “I kind of love it.”
Graham felt something in his chest ease, just an iota. Like he’d passed a test he hadn’t known he was taking.
He wasn’t ready to let go of what he’d walked in on earlier, though. Not entirely.
He leaned back against the wall, hoping it read as casual instead of as please don’t make me stand in the middle of the room like an idiot.
“Okay,” he said, letting a hint of humor into his voice, “Zombie Haiku might be my strongest opening move, but you—” He nodded toward her, toward the wig stand, toward the lingering echo of that note.
“You just casually sang that solo like it was nothing.”
Elise waved a hand, half-laughing, half-deflecting. “It’s just something I do to pass the time. You caught me in a moment.”
Oh, he thought. She really doesn’t know.
“No,” Graham said, more firmly than he intended. “You were performing. That was… stunning.” The word came out clean, and then he couldn’t stop himself from adding, “I’ve done shows with Elizabeths who didn’t hit that note as cleanly as you did tonight.”
His cheeks hurt. He realized he was still smiling.
Elise’s blush returned, deeper this time, and it only made his smile widen.
“You’re just being nice,” she said, but there was less certainty in it than she probably meant to show.
“I’m being honest.” Graham tilted his head, curious now. “You could make a name for yourself, you know. Why don’t you?”
Elise looked down at her hands, fiddling with the edge of the towel she’d been using to blot the wig. For a second he thought she might deflect—turn it into a joke, fold the moment away like she did with so many things.
“I’ve just… never wanted the spotlight.”
The answer should have sounded simple. It didn’t. Even to Graham, it landed like something practiced.
“Well,” she added softly, and he watched the words rearrange themselves as she spoke them, “maybe that’s not entirely true. There was a time when I thought I did. But it wasn’t the right path for me.”
She set the towel down and leaned against the table, voice quieter now. “I like being part of the magic without having to stand in the middle of it. There’s something about helping other people shine that feels just as meaningful.”
Graham shifted and leaned against the workbench, careful not to jostle any curlers. He waited. He’d learned that silence could be useful when someone was deciding whether to keep going.
“And there was a stretch in my life,” Elise continued, carefully, “where attention… wasn’t safe.”
Something in his chest tightened.
“I used to sing all the time,” she said. “Until I was with someone who hated that I could. Hated the way people noticed.”