Page 98 of Specters & Spotlights

Right at Elise.

Their eyes locked for the briefest, breathless moment.

And he winked.

WINKED.

Right as the lights started to dim.

Elise’s mouth parted. Her whole body went a little bit tingly. Was this how those squealing fangirls felt? Was she having a main character moment? Because Mr. Leading Man had just winked at her mid-love confession, and she was going to need a minute.

The post-show energy backstage was electric. Everyone moved with a buzzed urgency, voices overlapping, laughter echoing off the cinder block walls. There was the shared adrenaline of closing night—and the promise of cocktails and karaoke just around the corner.

Elise had pre-packed as much as she could between cues and wig changes, pulling her trunk out from the wall so she could toss supplies in as she wrapped. But the rain wig still sat damp on the block, and she was focused on carefully brushing and drying it, knowing she’d set it properly once they reached the next city.

Nick popped in, already changed and freshly scrubbed, hair still damp. “I’m off,” he announced, practically vibrating with anticipation. “Marco’s in the lobby. We’re pre-gaming before karaoke because of course we are. You better show up.”

“Soon,” Elise grinned. “Try not to break into song before I get there.”

“No promises,” he called over his shoulder, already halfway down the hall.

Marcie swung by next, arms full of overflowing makeup kits. “You’re a lifesaver,” she said, wedging them into the extra space in Elise’s trunk like it was a game show challenge. “I owe you wine.”

“Hold you to it,” Elise replied, brushing a stubborn tangle out of the wig.

And then… Graham.

Jeans. Black sweater. Hair still damp from the rain scene. Casual enough to be effortless, but polished enough to wreck her entire internal monologue.

He leaned one elbow on the counter, watching her work. “So. What power ballad are you blessing us with tonight?”

Elise glanced up, unimpressed. “You think I’d draw attention to my secret weapon in a karaoke bar?”

He gave her a look. “You mean your voice?”

“I mean my ability to blend into the background.”

He grinned, but rather than pressing the issue, he let the subject drift, shifting into easy, teasing conversation—something about karaoke horror stories from his college days, a disastrous group number involving interpretive dance, and whether he could get away with doing something absurdly off-brand tonight like “Barbie Girl.”

Elise mostly deflected, her replies quick and dry, keeping the spotlight anywhere but on herself. Still, the banter had an edge to it, like a match held just an inch too long. And every time her eyes met his, it felt like they were building something they weren’t quite ready to touch.

As she sectioned and rolled hair, Graham reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a slim book. “By the way,” he said casually, “I believe I promised you highbrow zombie poetry.”

Elise blinked. “You brought Zombi Haiku? Tonight?”

He flipped it open with mock solemnity. “As any cultured man would.” He cleared his throat dramatically, then read:

“Biting into heads

is much harder than it looks.

The brains are worth it.”

Elise burst out laughing, nearly dropping the comb.

“Art,” he said, straight-faced. “Respect the form.”

She rolled her eyes, smiling as she pinned a curl into place. “That’s what you’re doing tonight, isn’t it? Forget karaoke—you’re just going to stand on a barstool and dramatically recite undead haiku.”