Chapter 20 – Elise #2
Several doors branched off the space, each labeled in crooked Sharpie: Wigs, Costumes, Makeup, Room 1, Room 2, Swing Room, DO NOT USE (MOLD?). Two hallways also grew out of the corners of the room, with more doors visible around the corners.
Elise spotted the wig room key already sitting in the door lock.
“That’s convenient,” she muttered.
She turned the key, opened the door, and was met with darkness. Graham reached past her to flick on the light, and the fluorescent tube buzzed once before humming to life.
The wig closet wasn’t huge—maybe ten by twelve, with metal shelving on three sides and a scuffed linoleum floor. A few errant hairnets clung to the edges of a shelf. A single blonde curl sat forgotten in a corner. There were storage bins stacked neatly and a rolling rack pushed to the side.
“Home sweet home,” she said, stepping inside.
The trunk wasn’t here yet. She hadn’t expected it to be—the load-in crew rarely arrived before noon on pack-in days, and the rest of the crew wouldn’t show up until after that. Still, the room felt too quiet. Like a stage waiting for its first line.
No sign of Jen, either.
Elise scanned the space again, cataloging what was missing, what was usable, what might need to be cleansed with salt and intention. The old rhythm tried to click in—organize, prep, assign, adjust—but something in the air resisted it. Or maybe she was the one out of step.
She took a breath and set her bag down in the corner. There was work to do. Eventually.
Everything was fine.
That’s what Elise told herself, anyway.
The ghosts were quiet. The hallway hadn’t shifted. The wig room was still just a wig room. Kevin was back. The Specter wasn’t.
For a moment, she let the relief settle in. Not completely, but enough to breathe without bracing. She closed her eyes and exhaled, slow and deliberate, like she could trick her body into believing it.
Graham stepped closer and wrapped his arms around her. It wasn’t urgent or possessive—just steady. Familiar.
He rested his chin lightly against the top of her head, his breath soft against her hair. After a few long seconds, he pressed a kiss there—light, sure, and utterly disarming.
Elise’s lips curved before she even realized it. She tilted her head back just enough to glance up at him, eyes narrowing in faux suspicion.
“Do you always show up with a dramatic entrance, a single bag, and a forehead kiss, or is this a special occasion?”
Graham gave a half-smile, equal parts fond and self-deprecating. “I have layers.”
“Uh-huh.” She toyed lightly with the edge of his collar. “Is one of those layers going to kiss me properly, or are we still in the will-they-won’t-they phase of the narrative?”
That startled a laugh out of him—quiet, warm, a little stunned. “You’re quoting Act Two at me now?”
“It’s a good act,” she said, lifting one brow. “Strong pacing. Lots of tension.”
His smile deepened. “So what happens next?”
She leaned in, just a breath closer. “I guess that depends... is this scene choreographed, or are we improvising?”
He looked at her like he was about to respond—maybe with a kiss, maybe with something devastatingly sweet—but then paused, glancing subtly to the side.
“Wait,” he murmured. “Is Kevin still here?”
“Yep,” came the voice from the corner. Bright. Unbothered.
Elise groaned. “Yes, but does he have to be?”
There was a beat of silence, then Kevin gave an affronted little gasp. “Darling, if you wanted privacy, you could have just asked.”
He turned with great ceremony toward the door.
“I’ll go haunt the lobby,” he said. “Try not to get glitter on each other.”
The door dramatically creaked shut behind him, unmistakably on purpose.
They stood there for a long moment after Kevin left, the silence stretching just enough for Elise to start wondering what Graham was thinking.
Then he said, “So… I’ve been meaning to tell you something.”
She arched a brow. “That’s a very ominous opener.”
“It’s about your… thoroughness.” His mouth quirked. “During hair inspections.”
Her eyes narrowed in mock suspicion. “You mean when I told you I didn’t think your hair could be mussed? And then mussed it?”
“That would be the one,” he said, his tone low but amused. “I’ve been thinking about it for days.”
“Oh?” She let the word draw out, teasing. “Was it the artistry of my technique? Or the shattering of your perfect-hair illusion?”
“Both,” he admitted. “But mostly the way you looked at me while you did it.”
Her breath caught, the air between them shifting, but she didn’t back away.
He moved slowly, telegraphing every motion. One hand lifted, hovering just long enough for her to lean into it. His fingers brushed a loose curl from her eyes, tucking it behind her ear like it was something fragile.
His other hand found her waist, tentative at first, then firmer as she melted into the space between them.
Elise looked up at him, her voice soft but steady. “Are you still trying to play the long game here?”
He smiled—gentle, quiet, wrecked. “Only if you want me to.”
Graham’s fingers lingered just beside her temple, gently tucking one last unruly curl behind her ear. His touch was featherlight, reverent in a way that made her breath catch.
“This one,” he said softly. “It’s kind of criminal, honestly.”
Elise blinked. “What is?”
He brushed the curl again with a smile. “This stubborn little piece of hair. It’s doing everything in its power to steal my attention.”
“Oh,” she said, breathless, teasing. “Well, I do pride myself on my rogue strands.”
“Mm.” His thumb grazed her cheek. “The real tragedy is that it almost distracts from your eyes.”
That made her huff—a quick sound of disbelief as she pulled back just an inch. “Okay, now you’re pushing it.”
He tilted his head. “I’m serious.”
“They’re brown,” she said flatly, like it was fact and final. “Very boring brown.”
Graham’s expression didn’t change. He looked at her, steady and gentle. “Who told you that?”
She faltered. Just for a beat. But it hit like a weight.