All Chapters of Haunting Romantics : Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

She stood on the front porch of her family home and watched as her father disappeared into the horizon. The dust kicked up from his horse settled slowly, drifting back to earth, and she wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders.She would never admit it to her Pa, but she didn’t like being alone out here.The town was a good ride or a long walk from the place her family had chosen to settle. The path to town was hot in the summer and freezing in the winter, and she loathed to walk it alone. The land stretched vast and empty in every direction, beautiful in a way that felt indifferent to her smallness.Father always asked old man William to stop by a few times a week with his horse and cart and escort her into town. William was kind enough, slow-spoken and careful, but all the other days she was by herself.During the day, it wasn’t so bad.The house creaked when the wind blew and groaned when the midday heat reached its worst. The wood swelled fat and heavy, shifting and settling

She faced the large golden mirror her father had gifted her, the one indulgence he’d allowed himself when they’d first settled the land. She turned and twisted her body, examining herself from every angle as if she were seeing herself for the first time.Her fingertips trailed down her face, curved around her collarbone, and drifted lower.An exhilarating mix of excitement and shame filled her all at once.She knew it was wrong. Touching herself for pleasure was a sin. Seeking gratification before marriage was forbidden, and even then, her focus should be on her husband’s release, not her own.But she liked the way goosebumps spread across her skin as her fingers moved. She watched, transfixed, as her soft nipples hardened to rosy peaks beneath her touch.Her boldness grew as did her desire. She pinched her left nipple and startled at the sound that escaped her. A moan. Soft, breathless, unfamiliar. She had never made that sound before.She loved it.Heat bloomed inside her, spreading

Ben tried to be normal for the rest of the day.It was more complicated than he expected.Knowing there was a pretty ghost in his house had a way of worming into his thoughts, rearranging them when he wasn’t paying attention. He peeled old wallpaper from the walls, the sound of tearing paper loud in the quiet house, but his mind wandered anyway.He thought about her eyes.Deep brown. Focused. Curious.He remembered the way she had watched herself undress in the dream, tentative and fascinated by her own body. The image brushed up against the terror she must have felt later, lying awake in the dark, hoping whoever had watched her would leave.The contrast gnawed at him.He wanted to know more.He wanted to know everything. Who would be so awful that they would scare her like that? He knew that her story probably didn't have a happy ending. The fact that she was a ghost, and the small glimpse he saw last night, laid the groundwork for a horrible tale. So he worked to occupy his time an

She hadn't been warm since she died.Not truly.She doesn't feel much of anything. She remembered warmth the way a person would remember sunlight after years of living underground. A concept. A story you told yourself. Something that belonged to other people now. The house held heat in the summer and cold in the winter, but none of it ever settled in her skin because she no longer had skin the way she used to.She was made of something else.She was made of watching and waiting.She was made of longing.For years, for decades, she had existed in the same rooms, listening to other lives move through them. People had come and gone, laughing and shouting and breaking things and fixing things, and she had been nothing more than a silent witness. No matter how hard she tried, the doors would not open for her. The windows would not show her the world. She could touch wood and cloth and dust, but it was like pressing her hand to water. There was resistance without substance. A reminder that

Ben didn’t plan it.That was important. He would realize that later, replaying the moment in his head and trying to pinpoint when the decision had been made. There was no single thought, no sharp turn where he said, 'This is it.' It was quieter than that. A gradual leaning-in. A soft acceptance that settled somewhere in his chest and stayed.He woke slowly, aware of his body before the room.Warmth pressed faintly along his legs, not touching, just close enough to be felt. The house was still dark, early-morning light barely filtering through the curtains he’d finally hung. He lay there, breathing, cataloging sensations the way he’d learned to over the last few days.His heartbeat. Steady.The air. Cool, but not cold.Her presence. Familiar now.She hadn’t left during the night. That knowledge brought unexpected comfort, easing the last remnants of tension from his shoulders. He stretched carefully, mindful of the invisible line they’d drawn together.“Morning,” he said quietly.The w