The house is quiet when I get home — just the way I like it. Emma must be at work still. If she were home, there would be music playing from somewhere in the house or she'd be busy in the kitchen. But when I step through the front door, all the lights are off and there's not a sound to be heard.

I've always enjoyed the solitude. Living with my sister is nice, but when I get the place to myself some nights...well, there's nothing else like it. You can do whatever you want, wherever you want without being watched. The peace is the best part though. It feels like I can think for once.

I close the door behind me and flick on the living room light. It slowly fades on above the cheap L-shaped sectional and average-sized television on the wooden entertainment center Emma got from Facebook Marketplace.

That's one thing my sister and I don't see eye-to-eye on; her easy trust in strangers.

I should probably wash my face, but the bathroom is all the way at the end of the hall. From here, it stretches farther in the dark than it does with the light on. As I take a step, the aching in my legs shoots upward. The couch is calling to me. Come on, Claire. Sit down. I take another step, and my knees practically buckle. Okay, fine.

The couch takes me in. I sigh. Some nights after a haunt, my body and mind are exhausted. The setup is sometimes more hard on the body than the actual event. But the hardest part has to be carrying the gear. The helmets and other equipment are heavy, and they do their damage over time.

I close my eyes and my muscles begin to relax. Toward the end of the sectional, I feel the couch sink in. I barely lift my head when I see a blurry figure come rushing at me. My eyes flash open and I try to sit up fast, but it's too late.

Bailey leaps into my lap and begins to lick my face. I grab him and hold him back.

"Hi buddy," I say to the Maltipoo as he tries to lunge for another wet kiss. "Have you been waiting in the dark the whole time?"

He yips, and I take it as a yes. I lower him to the floor before I stand up. My back cracks loudly. Bailey looks up at me, blindly running forward as he walks with me into the kitchen. I turn on the overhead kitchen light. The off-white lighting washes over the out-dated appliances and cabinets. I wander over to the fridge and open the freezer.

Many frozen single-serve meals stare back at me, but I don't take one. I'm usually not hungry after a haunt. It's funny — I can sit through a gory movie while inhaling a plate of nachos without issue. But after a night in a dark building talking about fake ghosts and pretending to be attacked by them makes me lose my appetite.

I close the freezer and grab a granola bar instead. You need to eat something, Claire, Emma would say if she were here.

Sometimes I think she forgets who the baby sister is.

I head back into the living room with Bailey on my heels. Before I can sit down again, the doorbell shrills through the foyer. Bailey begins to bark, and that's even louder than the damn bell.

I shush the dog as I approach the door. It's well after four AM. There's only a select number of people who it could be, but my mind races. A major fear of mine is that a crazy fan will find out where I live and try to break in. It's not like it's never happened before with less "famous" people.

But when I glance out the side window, I exhale in relief. I open the door, and Bailey is still barking behind me. "Hi,"

Danny smiles sheepishly. "Hey," he says, shifting his weight. "I know it's late, but, uh," He holds up a bottle. "I brought scotch."

I can't help but smile. As if I wouldn't let him in without scotch. I open the door wider, and he comes in. Bailey jumps at his legs immediately.

"You know you're a terrible guard dog, right?" I tell Bailey, but he doesn't care. He keeps trying to climb up Danny as if he's a cat. Danny leans down to give Bailey a little scratch on the top of his head.

"Is your sister here?" He asks after a minute when he hands me the scotch.

"Why?" I tilt my head at him. "You interested?"

He laughs, and his neck goes a little red. I think I make him uneasy when we're alone like this. "Actually, there's this other girl."

"Oh," I feign disappointment. Since he's showed up, I've woken up a bit. He's my caffeine. He's the drug that I get high off always — no matter how many times I breathe him in. I feel a little more alive again. "I see."

Danny's mouth tips into a cheeky smile, and I feel warmth pool into my stomach. I swallow hard before lifting the bottle in my hand. "So, what's the occasion?" I ask.

He's really blushing now. "I was on the channel going through the VOD, and I noticed that it's been sixteen months since we started the channel." He smiles. "To the day."

I blink. "Wow. I didn't realize." I glance down at the alcohol. It looks pretty expensive. "You don't want to celebrate with Georgia and Seth?"

"No. I mean, yes! I mean —" He clears his throat. I try to hold back my smile. "I didn't really notice until after we left." He pauses. "But, no, not really. I wanted to celebrate with you."

My heart begins to beat faster, and I feel so silly for that. But it's there. And I don't know what to say. Besides my teasing, Danny makes me tongue-tied. I gesture to the kitchen. "I'll pour."

Bailey follows us. As I grab the glasses and pour two fingers each, he sits like a good boy as if he expects I would give him some. I grab one of his meat stick treats and I put it in front of his paws. He chows.

"You're really good with him," Danny says when I hand him his glass. I realize he was talking about the dog. I smile. "You know what they say; good with dogs, good with kids."

I almost choke when I go to take a sip. The scotch burns as it goes down. I cough, feeling my face warm. I try to shrug it off, but I think he noticed. "Sixteen months, huh?" I say as I clear my throat. "That's crazy."

"I know," he says in amazement. He still has that starry-eyed look since he joined our ghost adventures, as Emma likes to call them. "I feel like we've known each other longer."

Me too. But I guess time does that. Makes you feel older than you are, and makes relationships feel longer than they really are.

Pfft. "Relationship." Okay, Claire, keep telling yourself that.

This time, he leads us to the couch. I sit beside him, but I turn so my left leg is up on the couch so I can face him. I watch him as he sips the scotch silently. Then after a minute, he turns to look at me.

"Can I ask you something?"

"No," I say with a smirk. "Let's just sit in silence."

He laughs. I love a guy who gets my sense of humor. "But really?"

I roll my eyes playfully. "Of course. What's up?"

He runs his hand over his jeans. "Do you ever think about...getting out?"

Getting...out? When it clicks, my stomach goes sour and my mouth dries up. "You want out?" I ask in disbelief. My mind flickers back to our many conversations in this room. I even think of the few we had laying across from each other in bed. "You never mentioned wanting out before."

Danny shakes his head softly. "I...don't know if I want out out. But I..." He looks pained, and that makes my stomach flip. "I want more."

"More?"

I hate that word. I hate it so much. It makes it feel like I'm not — like we're not — enough.

He sighs and puts his glass on the coffee table next to my granola bar. He readjusts his position so he's facing me. "Do you remember what I said when you and Georgia interviewed me?"

"Interviewed" is so formal. It was more like Emma told us this a guy from one of her college classes when we were looking for a cameraman, and the three of us had a brief chat over coffee at Starbucks.

"You're gonna have to be more specific than that," I say nervously.

He looks away, his gaze on the front window. "I couldn't believe that there were people who were actually interested in ghost hunting. People that wanted me to join them."

"Okay?"

"I want to do this for real, Claire." His eyes lock onto mine. "I don't want to fake it."

My mouth slips into a frown, so I bite my lip. "You didn't have a problem with faking it before."

He sighs. He's leaning away. His hand was on my arm and it's gone, and my skin is cold. "I didn't say that. I just..." He pauses. "I don't know how much longer I want to keep it up. I want a serious career."

I let out a laugh. "Please! There's no such thing." He winces, and I feel like shit immediately. But I've already put one foot out the door. I might as well go all the way outside. "Danny, ghosts aren't real. This is the best you're gonna get."

He shakes his head. "Don't patronize me, Claire." After a moment, he crosses his arms. "If you really felt that way, why did you even get into this, to begin with? If you don't believe? Even if not a little bit?"

"There's no reason to believe!" I throw my arms up and they smack my thighs. "We create entertainment in a specific genre. It's scripted reality television. We're no different from those cheesy paranormal shows on Travel."

"There is a difference," he says sharply. "This is more personal. We connect with our viewers. We talk to them. They get to be apart of the process. It's real for them."

I shrug. "Well, it isn't for me." I glance down. "I'm sorry."

For a couple of minutes, he doesn't say anything, and neither do I. What do I even say? I've never been good at apologies, so I barely know where to start.

Thankfully, he speaks first.

"Look," he says softly. "I love working with you and Georgia and Seth." He meets my eyes and stares so deeply I want to grab him by the shirt and pull him over to me and kiss him. "I love spending time with you." My breath catches. But he looks away, and my stomach twists. "But maybe this isn't the best place for me."

"Danny —"

He shakes his head. "I think after Grimwood, we should talk about finding my replacement. It isn't fair to you guys and it isn't fair to me if I stay when I'm unhappy."

He's unhappy? He really said it. My heart cracks a little.

I open my mouth. No! Beg him to stay! Convince him to stay! But I can't. If anyone knows about watching someone stick around who's forced to, it's me. It ruins people. It ruins friendships, relationships, and family.

I can't force him to stay if he doesn't want to. And that fucking hurts.

My mouth is dry when I shut it. So, I nod. "Okay," I say hoarsely. "We'll talk after Grimwood."

He nods silently, rubbing his palms over his thighs before he stands up. My heart catches in my throat.

"Wait!" I call out. "Don't you want another drink?"

Danny pauses, but after a second, he shakes his head. "No. I should probably head home." I notice the dark circles under his eyes. "It's been a long night."

You can't force him, I remind myself as I nod. Even though his glass is half-full. Even though I want to pull him to me. "Do you want your bottle back?"

He shakes his head again. "No. Keep it, as an anniversary present." I don't know what to say to that, so I sit here silently on the couch. He gives me that sheepish smile again before he walks to the front door.

"Goodnight, Claire," he says in the doorway, and when I don't reply, he leaves, shutting the door behind him.

I slouch back, suddenly feeling drained. I feel the couch dip as Bailey jumps up again, hurrying over to me to sniff my face.

I close my eyes, and I see his face. Danny... Just another thing that Claire McKinley has ruined. No biggie.

Current word count: 4,815