Page 111 of Hot Ghost Summer

“There’s a gym and a spa in there, Baby. People come here dressed like you every day. Trust me, please.” His tone is softer than I expected, and I wrinkle my nose as I look up at the soaring, industrial atrium.

Trust Hollis? I can do that.

Heading up the wide steps, I walk through the automatic glass doors and I’m instantly overwhelmed by high-end Regency decor. A spacious lounge area takes up the wall on my right, where velvet-upholstered chairs are set under statement ceiling lights and an artisan coffee bar serves a handful of customers. I relax when I notice they’re dressed in athleisure.

“Head over toward the lifts at the back, Baby,” Hollis instructs.

The slight pang of sadness that we’re not here to enjoy that stunning waterfront view of the Thames is immediately drowned out by curiosity.

“Um, Hollis…?” I ask, looking for the call button for the lift. “I think this is private access only. There’s a contactless panel for a resident’s card, but I don’t see—”

The lift doors give a soft ping sound before they open to reveal the nicest interior for a lift I’ve ever seen in my life. Jaw hanging open, I step in.

When they renovated this building, they must have kept all the old analogue dials and switches to use as decoration, because tens of little control panels are all cobbled together behind a display case. It’s a distracting glimpse into a long-lost world. I flatten my fingers on the toughened glass covering, wishing I could flip and turn them. What must it have been like to be a switchboard operator? Or whatever these panels helped to control.

The lift doors open to reveal a cream and gold hallway.

“Turn right, and go to the door at the very end,” Hollis’s tone is… hard to interpret. If I didn’t know him like I do, I’d think he was nervous.

My feet sink into the thick pile of the carpet as I pass countless gilt-framed pictures on the walls that showcase sepia-toned photographs of when the power station was first built. But I don’t take any of it in.

The dark door Hollis directed me to is closed, and my world narrows down to only its frame.

There’s no keyhole, nor keypad, just another contactless access pad. Slowly, as if dragged by some invisible weight, I bring my hand up, and a small bolt of bright white electricity jumps the gap. The locking mechanism disengages, and with my breath lodged firmly in my throat, I push the door open.

The first thing I see is an immense window. It’s set into an original red-brick arch and overlooks the Thames. Sunlight reflects off the ripples in the water to give the illusion that we’re floating despite being in the heart of the city, and I take a sharp inhale.

“Welcome home, Baby.” Hollis’s sincerity grounds me.

“Wait. What?” I step further inside, the door latching shut behind me. “Hollis, where exactly are we?”

Threads of pale blue phosphor stem from my skin into the vast and stunningly elegant space that surrounds me. Like a living crystal, Hollis grows from a translucent glow to a solid body to stand before me. He cards his fingers through his blond hair. “This is my home, Theo. Which makes it your home now.”

Speechless, I look between him and the stylish interior. To my left, an impressive glass-topped dining table fills the wall, the softest-looking ivory sofa adorns the space in front of the large window, and an open-plan kitchen with marbled counters occupies the right. In terms of layout, it’s almost exactly the same as my flat, except these two homes couldn’t be further apart. “You… um… promised me a cup o’ tea.”

Hollis’s hands brace the tops of my arms, and he tilts his head as he stares deep into my eyes. Into my soul. Leaning forward, he sets a gentle kiss on my forehead. “I did.”

Keeping one hand anchored across my shoulder, he steers me into the galley-style kitchen.

“Where’s the microwave?” I quip, but it’s a desperate attempt to find solid ground between us.

“I said I’d make you the best tea in London, Baby, not serve you tepid dishwater.” He opens a low-down cupboard and retrieves a ceramic teapot.

Spotting the kettle on the side, I reach for it. Hollis does the same, and our fingers brush as we each take hold of the same handle. Our gazes lock, heavy with unspoken words and lingering promises.

He nods for me to take it, and I rinse it out in the sink. The small amount of water left inside has been there for a week, because that’s the last time he was here. Because that’s when Hollis…

His hands envelope mine from behind, and his touch seems to freeze time.

“You’re thinking loudly over here,” he says gently.

While the kettle fills, I lean back against him. “Thought you couldn’t read my mind?”

He shuts off the shiny chrome tap and hooks his finger under my chin to guide my face toward him. “Your nose wrinkles when you think too hard, remember?”

I make an effort to relax.

“It’s just you and me here, Baby. Focus on that. Cups and saucers are in the cupboard.” He takes the kettle from me and sets it to boil.