Page 15 of Love At First Fright

“What would you get?”

Arthur smiled softly. “A pair of house sparrows.”

“Why house sparrows?” Ellis asked.

“Because they mate for life,” Rosemary replied, squeezing Arthur’s hand back. “I think that’s a lovely idea.”

“Well, then, you’ll need to persuade Lance, he says he has the pain tolerance of a ninny.”

At the mention of his name, Lance began a rather dramatic piano trill to call their attention.

“Now that I have you all gathered, I hope you will indulge an old man in his eccentricities, and we can have ourselves a little dance? I, of course, shall act as tonight’s orchestra, and Arthur, my darling, will you turn the pages for me?

” He offered Rosemary an apologetic smile.

“My reflexes are not what they once were.”

As Lance and Arthur picked a song, and Ellis made small talk with Vincent and his partner, who were looking at one of the old maps of the estate, Rosemary busied herself by wandering over to the drinks cabinet.

Or, rather, globe. The globe opened up partway, with spirits on the top and a miniature fridge in the bottom half for cold drinks.

Rosemary wasn’t much of a drinker, but some Dutch courage would not go amiss tonight.

“Have you settled into your room?” Ellis came over and stood beside her, angled in such a way that she couldn’t see anyone else in the room, only feel the heat of him.

“The room is lovely, especially the big writing desk. It’s just missing the perfect writing chair.”

“What’s the perfect writing chair, then?” Ellis tilted his head, amusement lifting the corners of his mouth.

“A beanbag chair. Have you ever sat in one?”

“It sounds like something better for napping than writing.”

“You’ll have to trust me on this one, Ellis, the beanbag chair hugs your body in all the right ways.”

He cleared his throat. “Noted.”

“Have you…settled in alright?” Rosemary returned the question.

“We have now. But Fig was kicking up a right racket in the upstairs bedrooms, growling at the air, so we’ve moved rooms. I’m next to you now.”

Ellis was sleeping in the room next door to her? What if Jenna came to stay? God, it was all a touch mortifying. Rosemary could feel herself blushing.

“Will you finally forgive me for ruining your book if I make you a drink?” Ellis said. He bent close as he asked his question, warm breath skittering across her neck, raising goosebumps.

“It depends on if I like the drink.”

He flashed her a grin. “You’ll like it. Soft or hard?”

Rosemary’s brain went straight to the gutter. “Hard, please.”

Ellis pulled out a bottle of dark spiced rum, lemon juice, and a smaller curved bottle of maple syrup.

He measured out the shots, filled the shaker with ice, and, with a firm smack, pushed the glass and shaker together.

She watched, a little transfixed, as Ellis shook the liquid back and forth, his forearms flexing, before he dislodged the two pieces and sifted the cocktail into an elegant coupe glass.

Ellis handed her the glass. “Tell me what you think.”

The liquid was a deep golden colour. Rosemary took a small sip; the spiciness of the rum hit her first, an exquisite burning down her throat. And then the sweet smokiness of the maple syrup. Her eyes nearly rolled back into her skull because damn, this was delicious.

“Fuck me,” she moaned, immediately realising the words that had just come out of her mouth. She wondered what point in this conversation might be a good time to crawl into a ball and die.

“I’ll take it you like the drink then.” Ellis smirked.

“Where did you learn to make cocktails? Or is this the only one you can do?”

“I have about five recipes under my belt. I picked them up from a bunch of places. This one was taught to me by a steady-cam operator on the set of Folly of War a few years ago. It’s the best one for autumn.”

As he spoke, Ellis pulled out a bottle of whiskey from the globe, poured himself a finger of whiskey, set the bottle back down, and tipped the glass to his mouth.

Rosemary watched as he drank down the amber liquid, and even when he put the glass back down, she couldn’t quite drag her eyes away from the slant of his mouth.

“I think we should have a truce,” she said, saying the words before she’d quite thought them through. “We just agree not to annoy each other anymore, and we’ll be fine.”

His eyes were dark, that deliciously stern expression back on his face.

“You don’t annoy me, Rosemary. Far from it.”

From the piano, Lance cleared his throat, and Rosemary realised, unsure how she hadn’t quite put two and two together before, that she was going to have to slow-dance with Ellis. In a small room. In front of her new colleagues.

Vincent and his partner stood, taking to the makeshift dance floor, which was just the area of the carpet between the fire and the piano.

“Since I’ve earned your forgiveness perhaps you’ll honour me with this dance?” Ellis flourished his hand and bent forwards in an overly dramatic bow.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Rosemary said. She had the oddest sensation that if they were to dance together, it would feel like Something.

A Something that delicately filled the space where his warm hand met hers, holding ever so gently, a thing that tilted around them in quiet conversation.

A Something that had her heart hummingbird-beating when Ellis glanced at her from beneath the dark fan of his lashes.

She didn’t think—she took his hand.

Rosemary barely heard the music.

She was only aware of Ellis’s arm around her waist, his palm resting against the small of her back. His fingers curled around hers. The warmth of his shoulder under her hand, and just how much muscle was packed into said shoulder. Ellis led her in a slow, old-timey waltz around the room.

“Where did you learn to dance like this?”

“My first ever acting job. I was fifteen, an extra in a period drama. Never needed to remember the steps until now, though.” He chuckled, his breath tickling her neck. She inhaled his woodsy scent.

“Jenna must love it when you take her dancing.” The words slipped out before she could think. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder how the two of them worked together as a couple.

Ellis stiffened. “Of course. Yeah.”

“She’s very sweet. How did you two meet?”

“Through our agent.”

As they danced, Rosemary spied the two Regency ghosts outside the window, lit only by the low-hanging crescent moon and the silvery glow that surrounded them in a delicate haze.

They clearly hadn’t kept their promises to stay away from each other, arguing and gesturing wildly at each other. Rosemary thought she heard a distant rumble of thunder, even though the night seemed clear.

The song drew to a close, and thankfully Lance spared them all from another performance.

As lovely as his playing was, Rosemary wasn’t sure she could handle another dance around the room with Ellis.

As she pulled her cardigan back on, she noticed that the ghost dog had temporarily abandoned his post by Ellis’s feet and had fled through the wall into the night, where he was lying belly-up as one of the ghosts fawned over him and pressed kisses to his paws.

“Thank you for tonight, Lance, but I’m afraid I’m off to bed,” Rosemary said, taking the pause in music as a moment to make her escape.

“As you wish, darling.” Lance smiled, glancing up at her from his reading glasses as he sifted through more sheets of music. “For me, the night is still young.”

Rosemary made her way into the hallway, taking note of the way her shoes echoed on the stone floor.

She ought to remember that for her next horror novel; it would add to the atmosphere.

Surprisingly, she didn’t feel the same apprehension she usually did after an evening of socialising, that bone tiredness that came from performing the personality of a normal, well-put-together, confident version of herself.

“Rosemary, wait.” She felt a warm hand grip her wrist, and turned to find Ellis standing right behind her.

“You’re going to bed already?”

“Jet lag,” she lied. He hadn’t let go of her wrist yet, and she wasn’t sure why she hadn’t pulled away.

“I see. Well, you owe me a list.”

“I do?”

“Of horror movies, remember? I recall you made it very clear how embarrassing it was that I haven’t watched any.” He grinned. Finally, he looked down, and saw he was still holding her, and pulled away. There was no reason for her to miss his touch.

“I’ll give you my number then,” Rosemary suggested. Just two colleagues swapping numbers for research purposes, nothing going on here. A moment after she passed Ellis his phone back, she felt an answering ping in her pocket.

“Go easy on me with the recommendations, alright? I don’t want nightmares.” He grinned. He was all disarming British charm, and she couldn’t take much more of it. Her guards were coming down, and she didn’t like it. “Good night, Ellis,” she said.

“Good night, Rosemary.”

She broke eye contact and went up to her room. She sent over a list of movies, a mix of classics and favourites.

An hour or so later, her phone buzzed. Rosemary ignored it at first, she was deep in research about the Vatican Necropolis for an idea she had about a possessed nun—though it was still in its infancy—but then her phone buzzed twice more. Probably Dina and Immy in the group chat.

But it wasn’t. Ellis Finch popped up on her phone screen, with the word “photo” underneath. He’d sent her a photo? Far too quickly, Rosemary opened up the message.

Fig is not sure about this, he’d written, attaching a photo of the dog staring suspiciously at a freeze frame of The Thing.

Cover her eyes when you get to the next scene, Rosemary sent back, so she doesn’t get doggy nightmares.

Not possible, I’ll be needing both my hands to cover my own eyes.

The Thing isn’t even that scary!

Says the woman who was reading a killer mermaid book in a body of water, Ellis fired back.

Horror relaxes me, I told you.

You need to find other ways to relax, Rosemary.

Boy, did she ever.