I barely listen as she talks, throwing one last glance over my shoulder to where Oliver is standing at the front of the stage. He nods encouragingly, and I’m flooded with a strange warmth that makes my heart want to burst.
For weeks, people have been asking me if I’m sure, if I’m ready. All they see is a scared bookworm who’d rather be shelving novels than speaking to a crowd. And if Grandma were here, she would insist on doing this herself.
But for the first time, I feel understood in my need to hold on tight to this responsibility I utterly loathe.
Oliver doesn’t hate the bakery, at least it doesn’t seem that way. But it wasn’t his first choice in life. It’s something he’s both chosen and been forced into, in a desperate attempt to hold on to family, familiarity, and legacy.
Never in a million years would I have voluntarily signed up to host a week-long event that involved me speaking on stage over and over again. Yet, I can’t bring myself to let tradition die. I can’t stop living my life the way Grandma would want to be living hers, rather than for myself. Just like Oliver can’t let go of his family business, even though he didn’t take over his family’s business.
I climb the stairs to the stage, approach the microphone, and . . . hesitate. All the nerves I forgot to feel suddenly overwhelm me in the face of so many. A sea of people watch me, and my heart thrums against my chest, stage fright making my tongue stick to the roof of my mouth.
My fingers reach for the cuff of my shirt, then pause when my roaming eyes find Oliver. There’s a kinship hidden behind those eyes that makes me feel less alone on this otherwise empty stage. Because the only reason I’m up here is that I can’t let Grandma down. Because I took on this responsibility that she never asked me to. The understanding there isn’t just about my nerves—everyone gets stage fright (except Grandma, of course)—but rather a recognition of why I’m doing this at all. Of why I’m putting myself through this, why I took over the Moonlit Pages, and why I can’t just let Don host, even if I’m scared.
A weight lifts off my shoulders, and the words come easily, my mouth curling into the first genuine smile I’ve had while hosting this year’s Halloween.
“Is everyone ready for the Enchanted Lantern Walk?” Genuine excitement tinges my words, and the crowd feels it. They erupt into cheers and claps, hoisting their lanterns high into the air.
I lose myself in those wintery eyes, as if Oliver and I are the only ones in the square, as if I’m making this speech just for him. My heart lifts at his crooked grin, and I lift my own lantern into the air.
“Then light your lanterns, and let their glow guide the way.”
The magic of Ashwood Haven shudders, a wave hitting me so hard that the only thing keeping me from being dragged beneath its undertow is Oliver grounding me to the stage.
Then every lantern in the square alights at once, flames licking the wicks of every candle. Delighted squeals and gasps echo as the dozens of candles light themselves, as if . . . by magic.
A distant voice, screaming at me from the back of my mind, tells me this is wrong. That nothing good can come of the magic acting on its own like this. But I’m so light and alive that for once, I can’t bring myself to care. The magic of Ashwood Haven buzzes through my veins, lifting my spirits so high that with the help of one of those flying brooms, I could skim the clouds with my fingertips. Let the people believe that they are witnessing an amazing display of ingenuity and creative showmanship because, at this moment, I don’t have it in me to deny the magic what it wants.
With a burst of energy, I hurry down the stairs, adrenaline pushing me right past Stacy, and instead I rush to Oliver’s side.
I skid to a stop before him, so close I brush his chest, rising and falling as he tries to catch his breath. We watch each other, eyes wide, and for a moment, I wonder if he can feel the magic too. His ear-to-ear grin matches my own, and I think he’s about to say something when I grab his hand and pull him between people and toward the beginning of the lantern walk.
His touch sends shivers up my spine, and his large fingers weave through mine as if they were meant to rest there. Every second our hands are connected, the magic grows around us, coming to life with a swell so thick I can taste it like a packet of Pop Rocks on my tongue. By the time we reach the start, my heart is racing so fast I think it might leap out of my chest, a sugar rush that has my blood thrumming.
Hand in hand, we pause at the start of the lantern walk, marked by a wooden arch anchored with hay bales and decorated with orange and red flowers. Little pumpkins, both white and orange, are stacked around the base and placed in strategic intervals between little solar lamps marking the way into the forest. Every little detail of the scene before me is more spellbinding than ever before. The little lights glitter, the pumpkins are a more vibrant orange than I remember them ever being, and the glow from my lantern exudes a warmth I’ve never noticed before.
For the first time in years, the lantern walk feels truly enchanting.
Chapter Eight
It’s not until Stacy appears, huffing and puffing, that I finally drop Oliver’s hand. The moment our connection is broken, the magic exhales, letting out all the tension it had been building. The world around us dims with each passing heartbeat, until all that’s left of the magic’s swell is the residual hum of energy between us.
“Amelia!” Stacy cries, gathering herself. “I thought when you agreed to host this year that I’d be in for an easy festival. I assumed there would be no emotional breakdowns like when Andrew hosts or any dramatic pranks and over-the-top grand gestures like when your grandmother hosted, but you are truly testing me.”
Even pressing my lips together into a sheepish grin can’t stop the giggles that bubble out of me at her dramatic admonishments. “Sorry.”
The coordinator’s eyes narrow, and she punctuates each word with a tap of her clipboard. “We. Have. A. Schedule.”
“I know. I promise, from here on, we stick to it.”
She gives me a doubtful grunt but falls right back into coordinator mode all the same. “From here, you just need tolead the walk. The path should be clear, and the actors will be stationed along the way to ensure no one wanders off. Don’t worry about?—”
“Stacy!” I laugh, giving her shoulder a little shake. “I’ve lived here my whole life. I’ve been doing this lantern walk for nearly thirty years. I know how it works.”
She glares at me, lip curling as she decides whether or not she can trust me. “Fine. But no more improv.”
“I know, I know.” I start walking backward into the woods, watching her the whole way.
Stacy taps her clipboard one more time with extra sass, and I roll my eyes before turning my back on her.
