“What are your plans today?” Layla asks. She’s looking down at her cell phone, sipping from a coffee cup.

“I don’t know. Figured I’d work on some music. You?”

She shrugs. “I’m thinking about having a pool day.” She sets her phone and the coffee on the counter and walks over to me. She slips between me and the table, so I push my chair back a little so she can straddle me. She’s wearing a fitted T-shirt that doesn’t even cover her stomach, and a pair of pink panties.

Anytime Layla is wearing something this revealing, it’s the first thing I notice. And then once I do notice, she usually ends up no longer wearing whatever it is she was wearing because we end up naked in the bed, or in the shower, or on the couch.

Yet . . . I didn’t notice her this time until she sat on my lap.

I slide my hands to her ass and bury my face in her neck. This is further proof that my focus has been skewed since the day we arrived here.

“Didn’t you say the pool was heated?”

“Yep.”

“You should take a break and have a pool day with me,” she says.

A pool day actually sounds good. Being outside sounds good. Spending time in the water with Layla might feel reminiscent of the first time we were in that pool together, and that sounds really good.

I slide my hands up her back and smile at her. “Bathing suit pool day or naked pool day?”

“That’s a stupid question.” She smiles, and it’s the first genuine smile I’ve seen on her face in a long time. I love it so much I kiss that smile.

I also find that smile misleading. Why hasn’t she asked me about the camera?

Maybe she assumes it belongs to the owner of the house.

I’ll just let her keep assuming that.

 

Layla found an oversize float with cup holders and a Bluetooth speaker, so we’re on it together in the middle of the pool. She’s on her stomach attempting a tan, even though it’s in the low sixties right now. She might even be asleep. I’m lying on my back, shamefully and secretly interacting in the paranormal forum.

It’s late afternoon now and even though I decided I’m no longer the same person I was this morning when I stupidly posted to that forum, I’m still reading the comments like I can’t devour them fast enough.

How long have you lived in the house?

Dude, get the heck out of there.

Has anyone ever been murdered in the home?

I answer a few of them with one reply:

We don’t live in this house. It’s for sale, but we’re only here for a short-term rental. I was thinking about buying it but now I’m not so sure. And I don’t know the history of the home. How could I find that out?

I hit post, just as Layla groans. “You’ve been on your phone for two hours,” she says. She grabs my phone out of my hands, and I try to snatch it back from her, because the paranormal forum is still pulled up, but she doesn’t look at the screen. She just stretches out her arm and sets it on the concrete next to the pool to keep me away from it.

I feel bad. She’s right. I haven’t put my phone away once today.

Layla rolls over onto her back. The float bobs up and down from the movement. Her eyes are closed, and she’s relaxed as she lazily drapes her arms over her head. I stare at her for a moment—my eyes following the length of her. She looks insanely sexy right now.

“Have you ever had sex on a pool float?” I ask her.

She doesn’t open her eyes. She just grins and shakes her head. “No. But I’m definitely up for the challenge.”

 

The lack of food coupled with the alcohol led to us failing at trying to fuck on the pool float. We fell off it three times. We didn’t give up, though. We just moved to one of the nearby lounge chairs to finish.

The wind picked up as the sun was beginning to set, and no matter how warm the water was, the air was getting too cold to remain outside.

We’ve been inside for several hours now, relaxing on the bed. She’s been watching movies, and I’ve been on my laptop attempting to browse the forums, but it’s difficult trying to keep the screen out of her line of sight with as much as she moves around.

I finally decide to take my browsing downstairs. I reach over and turn off my lamp.

“You going to sleep too?” Layla asks, her voice muffled by the pillow she’s snuggling.

“I’m gonna work on a song for a little while.” I lean over and kiss her. “Text me if the piano is too loud.”

She nods, her eyes closed. “Can you turn off the TV?”

I turn it off and head downstairs.

Today was nice. Layla seemed relaxed. Content. There was a moment right after we finished having sex when I almost told her about how I’m considering buying the property. I was kissing her neck, thinking about how nice the day was. How nice all the future days could be. I wanted to ask her opinion on buying the house, but I couldn’t get the words out.

Buying a house is a huge commitment.

Buying a house with a girl I’ve known less than a year is an even bigger commitment.

Today was damn near perfect. But there’s still an uncertainty that lingers, not only with the strange things that have happened in the house, but with whether Layla would even want to make a decision that huge.

I chose not to say anything. Not yet, anyway.

When I get to the Grand Room, I sit at the piano, but I’m really not in the mood to work on my music tonight. I set my laptop on top of the piano with the intention of checking my email, but I don’t. I go straight back into the forum I posted in this morning and start reading the replies in my thread.

Why is the place for sale? You should ask the previous owners why they left.

That comment piques my curiosity. This place wasn’t for sale when we were here the first time. And I remember Layla saying something about how Aspen had to book a year in advance in order to secure the venue. If they were booking out that far in advance, they couldn’t have been hurting for business. Why would they shut it down and put it up for sale so suddenly?

I continue scrolling through the comments until I come across someone with the username UncoverInc. I click on his profile, and the description makes me laugh. Ghosts are people too.

Wow. They really take this shit seriously.

I scroll back to his comment and read it.

Have you tried talking to your ghost yet?

That one comment started a thread of other comments.

I can’t even read them. I can’t take any of them seriously when they’re claiming to have had conversations with ghosts.

I close my laptop, feeling sympathy for all the people who spend so much time in that chat room.

Even if ghosts existed, how the hell would I communicate with one?

As much as I’m trying to put my own intellect above all the people in that forum, I still catch myself looking around the Grand Room. I look behind me, in front of me.

I make sure Layla isn’t anywhere near me when I whisper, “Is someone here?”

Nothing happens.

No one responds.

That’s because ghosts don’t fucking exist, Leeds.

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter. I’m now on the same playing field as the crazies in the forum.

I stand up and stretch my arms over my head. I look around the room, waiting another few seconds, as if someone is actually going to respond to that question.