I swallow hard, willing away the fresh line of tears that’s appeared on my lashes at the thought of Grandma, and turn to him, a small smile tugging at the corner of my lip. “Yes, of course. I’m fine.”
He studies me for a moment before giving me a slow nod, as if he’s seeing right past my hostess mask. “Right. So, what can I do for you?”
“Well, with you being new to town and me being this year’s host of the legendary Ashwood Haven Halloween festival, I wanted to offer you theexclusivechance to be my personal guest at the Witch’s Market tonight.” I bounce as I talk, giving everything an extra layer of exaggeration and jazz hands in the hopes that I come off more good-natured and less nervous.
He chuckles. “Exclusive, you say?”
“Oh yes, playing host has many perks I’d happily share.”
“Such as?”
I tap my chin with a single finger and purse my lips in thought. “Well, unlimited hot chocolate and first dibs on all the good booths for starters.”
“I didn’t know witches had hot chocolate,” he teases, his eyes sparkling with amusement.
Golden-brown waves bounce, and his shoulders shake, the sound of his soft chuckles making my breath catch. His laugh is warm and inviting, causing my stomach to flip in a way I haven’t felt in a long time.
The corner of my mouth lifts, genuine this time, as I meet his lively gaze. Something about the moment reminds me of a scene from the romantic fantasy I read yesterday between customers. The bold and flirty main character was always ready to say and do whatever it took to get her way. Of course, if flirting didn’t work, she happily turned to a more . . . vicious form of persuasion, usually involving some form of sharp blade. I channel her nonetheless (the less violent side of her, anyway).
“I bet I could teach you a lot of things about witches.”
Embarrassment immediately wraps itself around my stomach, and I clamp my lips together to keep from taking the words back.
But Oliver takes a small step closer, the dimple in his cheek deepening. “Well, I’m nothing if not eager to learn.”
He’s so close I could easily reach out and run a hand over the veins in his arms, heat rolling off him. It makes me want to step into his arms and fold his presence around me like a blanket. Those wintery eyes pin me in place, and I have to stop myself from squirming.
It’s an odd sensation that makes me take a step back instead.
“Then I’ll see you tonight?” The question comes out breathier than I intended, my bravado melting away.
“It’s a date,” he agrees.
Chapter Five
Dry leaves crunch beneath the heel of my boots as I sway on my feet, pushing my hands deeper into my pockets and admiring the arch made of plastic pumpkins and balloons of various spooky colors towering above me. I wait for Oliver, swathed in the glow of string lights and lampposts. Tourists and festivalgoers flow past me and into the market, chattering in tightly packed groups about what treats they might find and the “spells” they plan to buy.
Customers flow in and out of brightly lit storefronts as if it were a Saturday afternoon, bags hanging off their elbows before they’ve even made it to the booths behind me. Two girls bundled in cute coats and scarves come giggling out of Moonlit Pages, steaming lattes in hand as they walk arm-in-arm toward the market. They smile at me as they pass, a spark of recognition in their eyes.
Moments later, Oliver steps out of his new bakery, his charcoal peacoat hugging his frame as he locks the door behind him.
I bounce on my toes when he spots me beneath the arch, resisting the urge to run right up to his side.
“Have you lot ever considered celebrating a warmer holiday?” His shoulders jump up to his ears in an exaggerated shiver.
I shrug and weave an arm through his, pulling him through the entrance and deeper into the market. “You can’t have a Witch’s Market on National Donut Day.”
He snorts. “Can’t argue with that logic. What is a Witch’s Market anyway?” Oliver eyes the passing stalls closely, craning his neck to get a better look at an elaborately carved chess set.
I lead him through the booths and guide him toward one enveloped in shades of sparkling blue and iridescent purples. The table is laden with an array of candles with names likeLove PotionandCalming Essence.
“It’s a normal market, but Halloween-themed. Don’t worry, I won’t let anyone curse you or sell you a bad spell,” I tease, knowing full well that I’m one of only two people in this town actually capable of hexing him.
He picks up one of the candles, studying the scrolling label that readsAbundance.“That is greatly appreciated,” he mutters before unscrewing the top and taking a big whiff before I can stop him.
Instead, I bite my lip, waiting for the reaction I know is coming.
Oliver’s face screws up, and he recoils, holding the candle at bay like a kitten trying to scratch his eyes out. “Oh my . . .” He coughs into his elbow, eyes starting to water, and I can’t contain my laugh. “Whatisthat?”
