Since I didn’t have an answer to that, I stood, officially done.

“Wait. Stephanie. Where are you going?” Lucas asked.

“To the library to see if they have this stupid documentary. Something tells me I’m better off watching it instead of trying to get something coherent out of any of you.”

“Don’t,” said Lucas, and I jumped when his hand, warm, caught me by the wrist.

I swung with a glower to face him, and he released me, retracting his hand as though my skin had burned him.

“Don’t watch the documentary, I mean,” he said, probably as aware as I had become of the three sets of eyes now trained silently and unblinkingly on the two of us. “Let me come over first.”

“What?” Charlotte and I both blurted in unison.

“Let me take a look around the house,” Lucas said. “Inside, I mean. Make a preliminary sweep. Document your experiences before you get any more outside information.”

“Dude.” Patrick’s brows lifted. “You sure that’s a good idea?”

“Information is why I’m here,” I said. “And did you say some guy died of a heart attack inside the house?”

“Not in the house,” corrected Wes. “Three months after filming.”

“In his sleep,” amended Patrick.

“But there was also the piano guy who died,” said Wes.

“The piano guy?” I asked Lucas.

“I’ll tell you everything you want to know.” Lucas held a staying hand up to Wes and Patrick, who went obediently silent. “I promise. I’ll even let you borrow my DVD of the P.S. documentary. But first, let me come over.”

“Um,” I said, still caught off guard by the notion. Because if he was asking to come over to my house right in front of a bristling Charlotte, and she wasn’t chiming in to forbid it, wasn’t that pretty solid evidence for them not being a thing? “Well. My dad’s doing a lot of work in there. We’d . . . have to stay out of his way.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” said Charlotte.

“I’m coming, too,” said Wes, his words tumbling out fast, as if he’d only been waiting for the invite to drop.

Patrick saluted us. “Y’all have fun. Send me a postcard from the fourth dimension.”

“Just Lucas,” I said. “My dad would have a coronary if I brought home a paranormal investigative team.” As if having Lucas over wasn’t going to be tricky enough. “You can come tonight. Six o’clock.”

“Lucas, we have practice tonight,” Charlotte said, her voice quieter now.

“We can practice tomorrow,” replied Lucas.

Huffing, Charlotte spun and marched away.

“Listen,” I said to Lucas, staring after her. “If you have to practice for something—”

Lucas shook his head. “It can wait. And don’t mind Charlotte. She’s this way with everyone when she first meets them.”

I glanced to Wes and Patrick to see if they would back that statement up, but both avoided meeting my stare.

“I’ll be there tonight,” he said, rising to his towering height and collecting his tray. “Six.”