Page 27

“Wait until we get inside,” Callum says. “Old places like this can surprise you. They often hide some of the best secrets beneath an unassuming exterior.”

I take his word for it.

Once we enter, we’re immediately hit with much warmer air, which is a nice reprieve from the chill wind outside. There’s a sizable crowd already sitting down for lunch, and the clink of glasses and the creak of old floorboards punctuate the murmurs of low conversation.

The ceiling in here seems awfully low, and I’ve noticed that’s pretty common in London’s older buildings. It gives the space a tighter and more intimate feel, but just like the last pub Callum took me to, it’s wonderfully cozy. The air smells of beer, wood polish, and something mouthwateringly delicious coming from the kitchen.

My stomach rumbles in eager anticipation.

We sit down at an empty table, and I look around me with keen interest. There’s some vintage framed memorabilia on the walls, including old photographs that look like they date back to the Victorian era, just like our elusive building that was once the site of our haunting.

I open my bag and pull out my Polaroid, taking a picture of one wall that piques my interest. Flapping the print with one hand, I look up to see Callum studying me.

“Do I have something on my face, or am I just that darn good-looking?” I ask him playfully.

“What are you going to do with all those photos?”

“I’m making myself a scrapbook when I get home.”

His lips twitch. “It’s going to have an… interesting mix of pictures.”

“I’m hoping to get one of you too.”

He holds his hands up, palms facing me. “No way, no how.”

My shoulders droop. I’ll probably have to settle for sneaking one while he’s not looking.

“I don’t see any ghosts,” Callum says, lowering his voice as his eyes scan the place. “Thank fuck for that. Otherwise, I might lose my appetite.”

“Let’s have us a nice meal together and not be ornery.” I give his arm a squeeze—and hubba-hubba, that’s some very firm muscle I feel under there.

I’d sure like to take a bite out of those biceps.

A server comes to our table, and we order the lunch special of beef and ale stew with homemade bread. We skip the alcohol since we’re on the job.

“Shouldn’t we have waited to order until your friend arrives?”

Callum waves a hand dismissively. “Liz isn’t one to stand on ceremony. If she wants a bite, she’ll order something. She won’t be fussed if we already have our food, trust me.”

I squirm a bit uncomfortably in my chair. Ordering when not everyone has arrived is against my entire upbringing, but this is a different country, and I remind myself that I can’t impose my Alabama upbringing on them.

Instead, I choose to trust that Callum knows his ex-partner best and that we won’t offend her by eating first.

I fiddle with the napkin on the table and ask Callum the question I’ve been wanting to ask since almost the moment we met.

“You’re definitely single, right?”

He chokes on his water and sets down the glass. “Where did that come from?”

“Well now, I think I’ve made my intentions fairly obvious, darlin’, don’t you? After all, you even remarked on the ghost and me both flirting with you last night.”

Callum’s cheeks flush.

He’s so precious I could eat him up with a spoon!

“We’re working together on this case, not dating,” he grits out between clenched teeth.

I rest my elbows on the table and lean forward a little, cupping my chin in my hands as I watch him. “Who’s to say we can’t do both, darlin’?”