Page 68 of The Pumpkin Spice Spell
I blink.Wait. What?
Before I can react, Betty Lou calls out the number.
“Ticket 1083!”
I glance at the paper in my hand.Well, hell.I hold it up.
A cheer goes up from the crowd, mostly because Ivy yells, “Tate won!”
Across the room, Willa gapes at me and looks down at her ticket number in disbelief. “You didnotjust winmyquilt.”
I lift a brow. “Looks like I did.”
“That’s the one with the crescent moons and marigold flannel backing,” she says, narrowing her eyes like I’ve stolen an irreplaceable family heirloom.
I smirk. “You gonna thumb wrestle me for it?”
She smirks at me, probably at the same memory that I have of us thumb wrestling for everything with as a kid.
She strides over, arms crossed, lips twitching. “What’s a man like you gonna do with a quilt that cozy, hmm?”
I glance at the prize in my hands, then back at her. “Dunno. Might need it to keep me warm at night.”
Willa raises a brow. “Is that so?”
“Unless…” I lean in a little, lowering my voice. “You’re offering a better option.”
She doesn’t miss a beat. “If you needed to be kept warm, Holloway, all you had to do wasask.”
My grin sharpens. “Well then. I’m asking.”
Her cheeks flush pink, but she doesn’t look away. “Maybe you can share it.”
Oh,she’sgood.
Carlene practically sings as she hands me the quilt. “Treat her right, sweetheart. She’s made with love and about a ton of Hallmark movie hours.”
“Sounds like just my type,” I say, just loud enough that Willa hears and scoffs.
But I swear, she’s smiling as she turns and walks off. And I’d follow that smile anywhere.
Later that night, the town square is packed for the outdoor movie night. Blankets are strewn everywhere. Lanterns are strung between trees. Cider steam curls into the crisp air.
I show up with the quilt, and I find her sitting on the grass in a sea of pumpkins, mums, and teenagers in plaid, sipping from a thermos.
“You came,” she says, like she’s surprised.
“You invited me. Sort of. With a veiled threat and mild bribery.”
I unfold the quilt, plop down beside her, and toss half of it over her lap without asking.
“I see you broughtmyquilt,” she says.
I grin. “It’s our quilt now.”
“I’m letting you borrow it. Temporarily.”
“Sure, you are.”
