Page 46 of Sort of Seeing Someone

“Let’s go six feet to the right. That way, if the Lady in Red tries anything funny tonight, we’ll have enough room to get out of those doors before the flames engulf us.”

“Is this place really haunted?” I ask.

“Only if you believe in that kind of stuff.”

I think he knows the answer to that.

“Good thing I brought a bulk order of smudge sticks. I’ll keep everyone protected over here.”

“I can’t believe that Mr. Macnider hired the witchy girl from TV,” he mumbles under his breath.

“What was that?” I say, even though I heard every word.

“I was just saying I can’t believe Mr. Macnider is into all this crap.”

I remember when I saw Ollie at Tin Lizzie and he made fun of the books in my bag. And now, here he is referring to my life and my business as “all that crap.” As a former nay-sayer myself, I understand where his skepticism is coming from. But—

“You don’t have to be so rude,” I accidentally blurt out.

“Pardon?”

“Yeah, I mean, are you just always in a semi-shit mood? Or is my sheer existencethatoffensive to you?”

“Let’s take it easy with the language, eh? Guests are arriving soon,” Ollie suggests, although it may be a little late for taking it easy.

“It’s just that our only interactions thus far have been me trying to protect you from a falling ceiling, politely returning what was rightfully yours, and then showing up to a party I was invited to by your boss. None of those scream ‘criminal’ to me, so is there a reason why you talk to me like I’m some weirdo whose sole purpose is to inconvenience you?”

Just then, the doors to the Palm Court open for the evening and a flood of employees dressed in their finest spooky cocktail attire all enter the ballroom at once. A jazz band begins playing “The Monster Mash” and caterers descend with passed canapés that look and smell delicious.

“The party has started. I need to make my rounds. Good luck tonight, Ms. Miller,” he says before leaving me to my freshly-moved table.

He never answered my question. What a coward.

I watch Ollie head toward the bar. In a sea of men wearing black suits, Ollie—all six-foot-three-I’d-guess of him—sticks out in his oatmeal-colored cowl neck sweater and tailoredmaroon pants. At least I’ll be able to find the building’s engineer easily if I get another vision of a ceiling tile crashing down. Although, this time around, the sassy Swede may not deserve the courtesy of a heads up.

14

Chapter Fourteen

Even though there were other stations and activities at the party—I heard about a mobile escape room, a gourmet macaroni and cheese bar, and an exotic petting zoo—it seemed like all of The Brockmeier’s employees made an effort to visit my table specifically. Mr. Macnider’s wife even made an appearance, asking for a “selfie with the witch.”

Misnomers aside, seeing people supremely excited to take part in my DIY smudge stick station—not to mention, wiping my collection of rose petals and lavender flowers clean—validated this new direction I knew my business could go: in-person events. And I can’t wait to explore that more. Plus, I already saw a bunch of attendees unbox their candles, take photos, and upload them to social media, which sent a steady stream of new order alerts to my phone all throughout the evening.

But despite all the traffic to my table, when the lights come up in the room, I’m still left with one unclaimed gift bag meant for a certain someone who seemingly has it out for Moon Batch Apothecary.

I set it aside and plan to give it as a duplicate to Mr. Macnider before I check out of the presidential suite in the morning. I’m sure his wife will appreciate getting an extra candle and then I’ll really feel like I earned his generous cash tip.

“Need a hand with anything?” Ollie reappears by my table, drinking the last sips of what looks like a watered-down Manhattan.

“No thanks. As you can see, there’s not much to pack up here. Just this,” I say, picking up his unclaimed gift bag and motioning it his way.

“Have you been holding on to that especially for me?” he asks.

“I haven’t been holdingon to anythingfor you. Mr. Macnider told me to bring one for everyone—you are part of ‘everyone.’” I attempt to minimize him the way he has done to me thus far. “Do you want it, or not?”

Ollie smiles at me as he ponders the question, a version ofRed Rover, Red Rover, let Ollie come over.

As he contemplates accepting the party favor, I notice things like his straight, super-white teeth and how marble-like his bright blue eyes really are. He’s got a close-trimmed beard that matches the color of his sandy blonde hair and frames out his full pink lips. On the whole, his facial features are softer than his personality. He may be an ass, but it hits me how good looking he is right in this very moment.

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