Page 77 of Squad Ghouls

“And you don’t have to tolerate it.”

“I don’t.” A bit more conviction this time.

“And you don’t have to accept my apology.”

I balked again. “But—”

“I hope you will.”

“I will.”

“But you don’t have to.”

“I don’t.”

“You don’t.”

“Right.”

“Good.”

“This feels weird,” I said after a few seconds of silence.

“Probably.” He gave me a small smile. “You’re used to just turning the other cheek and being kind at your own expense. I don’t like that. And I won’t allow it when it comes to me. I know I can be a twat, and I’ll own up to any and all fuck-ups I recognise. But those I don’t… I need you to call me out on my bullshit, love.”

“I…can try,” I said.

“Good.” He leant down and pecked my lips slowly. “We’ll work on it together.”

“Okay,” I whispered. I liked the sound of that.

We do, my heart sang in full falsetto.

Shhh! I hushed it.

“And about dinner,” he said. “You did a good job, Owain.”

I nodded with faux-confidence. “Breakfast will be better. I’ll do a full English; everyone likes a full English.”

He reached out and swiped some of the remaining wetness from my face and I startled, blinking up at his finger, which held the traces of my tears.

“You did a good job,” he repeated, to make sure I knew it.

I wiped the rest of my face dry and sniffed, readjusting my glasses with a faint smile. “Running a ghost B&B is hard work.”

He chuckled and squeezed my hips. “No shit. Couldn’t pick something normal and easy, love?”

“Where’s the frightening fun in normal and easy?” I joked, and I felt warm at the way he rolled his eyes.

Ryan grabbed the dustpan and brush from me and finished up, helping me clear down the rest of the dining room before starting on the kitchen.

Popty was hiding out in his microwave, quiet. My heart hurt for him, but I knew it was best to leave him for a little while to process things alone.

Ryan and I did the washing up side by side, cleaning all the surfaces and pots before we did the laundry to make sure we had fresh towels and linens waiting in the morning.

Ryan never even needed to be asked, following up wherever I led like he already had the instructions to whatever this strange dance was between us. His string of sarcastic commentary was our music.

“Are you sure we can’t give Seth a dirty towel?” he asked as he measured out the washing powder. “I’m sure he wouldn’t even notice!”