SHELBY: Are you at the house? On Caroline Street?

CAMERON: Maybe.

SHELBY: Maybe I am too. Can I come in?

I freeze. She’s here? Shit. I start for the front door. My phone buzzes again.

SHELBY: I have a key. I’m … I just realized you might not be alone in there.

I groan and swing open the door.

“I’m alone,” I say. “I just…” I trail off in the dark. Shelby moves past me through the doorway. She smells like brownies.

She holds up a Tupperware. “I told you, I stress bake. I was driving by when I saw your truck in the drive. Is this okay?”

“You packed baked goods just in case?”

She grins, her white teeth flashing in the dim light coming from the kitchen. “I was on the way to my dad’s. His loss is your gain.” She looks around, no doubt seeing my beer and taking in the darkness, getting darker by the minute. “What’re you doing?”

I scratch at my hair, tugging off my baseball cap and replacing it, feeling sheepish. “Nerves,” I explain. “I needed to spend some time in the space, mapping it out, before the camera crews came. Daniel gave me the keys.”

She puts the Tupperware down on the Formica countertop and spins to face me, tucking a strand of short blond behind her ear.

“I like to come to the houses, too,” she says. “Before starting. Alone. Not always in the dark, mind you,” she teases. “I usually turn on the lights because I fully believe in ghosts.”

I lean a hip against the counter. “You do?”

She scoffs adorably. “How could I not, working in old homes? In a way, I’m relying on those ghosts to help me reveal their stories. I need their blessing—to be worthy of their…” She searches for the word.

“Furniture?” I supply. She laughs.

“I guess, yeah. That sounds a bit insane, but you know what I mean.”

“I do.”

“So, lights,” she says. “They chase away the ghosts.”

“But you said you want their blessing.”

“After the fact, Cam,” she says pragmatically. As if talking about ghosts is even remotely pragmatic. “I don’t need them breathing down my neck. No one likes a back-seat carpenter.”

I snort. “Of course not.”

“So.” She straightens. “What’ve you got figured out so far?”

I show her the diagrams, and she studies them knowledgably, nodding occasionally and asking questions. After a few minutes, I’ve relaxed. I walk to the stairs, flipping on the light.

“Okay, that’s what I’ve got. Your turn,” I say, gesturing to the second level and trying not to think about how close I was to kissing her the first time we ascended these stairs together.

Dreamer Shelby is too damn tempting by a lot. It’s good that we’ll have camera crews recording our every move.