Page 42 of Of Poison & Pumpkins
“Rynnlee!” I run over. I dart between two unicorn foals who wobble on legs thinner than spaghetti. “You okay?”
Uninhibited laughter erupts from the mayhem. When I finally weave around polka-dotted flanks, the flurry opens to Rynn smiling, with golden glitter sprinkled in her hair. Both her hands rest on a unicorn’s shoulders as it licks her nose repetitively.
“That tickles,” she giggles and cringes.
This is the type of scene to be filed away as a core memory. Another tight squeeze in my chest warns me that I’m in serious trouble.
Once the unicorns calm, Viv leads two at a time through the arena’s gate to their stalls. Standing next to Rynn, I pet the nearest unicorn. Even the way she touches the creature shows such adoration and respect.
“Guess we should drive to my uncle’s pumpkin patch soon,” I say quietly to Rynn, wondering if she notices how much I’m trying not to let her rejection get to me.
“I’m pretty sure we passed a bridge on the way in, so the road back might be flooded.”
Another door rattles and then flies open from the wind.
“Can’t go anywhere,” Viv says as she re-enters the arena, but I can barely hear her over the crashing rain. “... all night ... flood warnings … Waken County.”
Quickly, I jog to the side door and lock it shut.
As we each guide unicorns by their leads, I exchange a quick glance with Rynn. She doesn’t seem to be bothered that our journey to collect the ingredients is put on hold.
I shrug. “Well, if we get to stay here, then I’ll help cook dinner.”
“Lovely! I was thinking chicken tacos and I’d love some help in the kitchen.” Viv leads us down a new hall. “Long ago, before The Unicorn Acts were in effect, this place hosted sleep-away camps for kids who wanted to learn to ride. I’m glad it was finally shut down since the animals weren’t treated well, plus they had to carry around little ones for ten hours a day.”
Rynn nods as we follow her through a maze of hallways that are more like long tunnels connecting the barns.
When Viv turns another corner, she says, “This storm won’t let you leave tonight and there isn’t a lack of beds to choose from, see?” She flips a switch and lights flicker on.
Inside a high-rafted barn, decorated with twinkling stringed lights, there are at least ten rows of twin-sized beds, lined up in long columns. I rise on my tiptoes and count. Yup, at least one hundred beds to choose from.
“Which one should we share?” I grin at Rynn, who rolls her eyes.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Rynn
Stomach full of the three-course meal Viv and Elias had cooked together, I watch Elias chuck off his shoes. His back is towards me when he flops one suspender off at a time, letting it drop at his waist. Those damn suspenders will be the death of me.
Purposefully, I stay by my chosen bed—on the opposite end of the row. The eight beds between us should eliminate any lingering temptation. If there are ghosts sleeping in any of them, they’ll get better rest than me tonight because I’ll be tossing and turning until dawn, my body on high alert.
To distract myself, I dig in my bag for my current knitting project, a sweater for Maya, and cast on to start the first row. I wonder if Elias noticed the callouses on my fingers when he held my hand.
After so many years of practice, I barely need to focus. Muscle memory takes over my hands while my mind plans Palooza’s winning marketing campaign and how to afford giving Tinsley a well-deserved raise. That’s not even the least of my worries, though. The Dazed epidemic is at the forefront of my mind. What if I can’t find the antidote’s ingredients soon? Or what if the antidote doesn’t work? Or worse, what if Elias continually asks me out and I eventually cave?
“If you keep thinking so hard, you’ll burn a hole through your skull,” Elias says softly.
I stare at my project like my life depends on it. Five more rows have been added to the sweater without me realizing it.
Thunder rumbles again. Outside the window, it’s as dark as midnight, skewing my sense of time.
“Aren’t you tired?” I ask.
Thankfully, he still has his clothes on.
“Even if I were, I wouldn’t be able to sleep when you’re this freaked out.”
Regrettably, I face him. Shit. It doesn’t matter that he’s fully clothed. The man is my favorite flavor of dessert. He leans back, both palms behind him, supporting his weight on the mattress. And his greatest weapon is on full display—his heart-breaking smile.
