Page 43 of A Witch's Guide to Surviving Halloween
A single tear slides down my cheek, and I wipe at it with the heel of my hand. Oliver reaches for me and then freezes, his hand hanging in midair before clenching his fist and letting it fall to his side, remembering that the magic reacts most when we touch.
“Amelia!” The screech scares me half to death, making me jump and nearly spill my popcorn everywhere.
I spin to find Stacy storming toward me, clipboard in hand.
“There you are!”
“Here I am,” I breathe, trying my best not to sound so despondent about that fact. Before she gets too close, I swipe at my cheeks, forcing away any remaining tears and splitting my face with a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes.
Thankfully, Stacy is too focused on her timetable to notice. “I need you pronto. All the cooking competition winners are waiting for you in the VIP section. Well”—she glances at Oliver, giving him the dirtiest stink eye I’ve ever seen from her, and I almost snort at his berated expression—“almost all of them.”
“I’m headed there now,” I assure her, plastering on a cordial smile. “Just show me where to sit.”
With a snap of her fingers, she gestures for me to follow, leading Oliver and me through the gate toward a roped-off table at the center of the makeshift theater seating. Stacy wasn’t joking; all the seats are taken, all except for two. One in the very center, which I sadly assume is my seat, and one at the very end. She herds me toward the center seat while rambling about the importance of punctuality.
I plop into my seat, holding my bag of popcorn close, and give Ellie a small, friendly smile. She wiggles her fingers in greeting as she slurps her noodles, the ramen truck logo printed on the side of the bowl.
I glance down at the end as Oliver takes his seat next to Charissa, who unsurprisingly won the cocktail/mocktail category last night. They shake hands, and Oliver smoothly slips into a charismatic conversation with her that sends her into a flurry of animated hand movements, probably talking about her latest microbrew.
The sight of him fitting in so effortlessly here warms my heart. If you don’t count stepping on Stacy’s punctual toes, of course, but even the oldest residents of Ashwood Haven can’t avoid that. From what he’s shared, it seems like he could really use a place to call home, somewhere he belongs and can be himself without the pressures of family or his past catching up to him. The bright, easy smile stretching across his face, the dimple forming at the corner, tells me he feels it too—that sense that he’s meant to be here, meant to run the bakery.
Maybe . . . meant to find me.
Sadness takes hold of my heart because what if the magic runs him out of town the same way it did his grandfather . . . and if it does, it’ll all be my fault. Or, more specifically, Grandma’s fault.
I’m reminded that if we are destined to find each other, it isn’t for any good reason. If anything, we’ve been pushed together so I can ruin his life.
“Do you know what’s showing tonight?” Ellie inquires, drawing my attention.
I turn to her, pulling myself out of my spiral long enough to remember the incredibly detailed email Stacy sent me regarding every second of the week-long festival.
“Um, the family movie is Halloween Town, and the not-so-family movie is . . . Saw. I think.”
Ellie’s face screws up with distaste. “Yeah, I’ll be skipping that one.”
I chuckle. “Not a Saw fan?”
“I work for the fire department. I’ve seen more than my fair share of wreckage and ruined bodies. What do you think?” She shivers and jumps, as if the very thought of it makes her skin crawl.
The smile I give her in return is small, but after the week I’ve had, it’s the best I can muster. It’s not that I don’t like Ellie.In fact, she’s one of my favorite people in town. She’s strong, bubbly, and one of the most independent people I’ve ever met, without making me feel like I’m lesser for not being that way myself. But talking to her is still a form of socialization, and I’m just . . . over it.
Thankfully, before I’m forced to make any more small talk, the lights around the square dim, and the opening music of Halloween Town blares from the speakers. I settle into my folding chair, nodding my head to the jazzy tune.
As the movie plays, I can’t help but occasionally sneak a peek over at Oliver at the end of the table. The whole time, he’s completely absorbed in the film, eating spoonfuls of his chili and the occasional cinnamon sugar donut. But when I catch him mouthing the words to Dylan’s scathing review of Halloween and Marnie’s iconic “Halloween is cool” rebuttal, complete with a sassy head bob and everything, I practically swoon. I become very aware of the way the colors from the movie screen cast shadows across his face, highlighting the line of his jaw and the thick column of his neck.
My breath hitches as something stirs deep in my belly, in time for the magic to start stirring as well. It bubbles between us, each pop sending sparks through the air, and I tear my eyes away from his as Oliver meets my gaze. Instead, I direct my attention back to the movie and shove a palm full of popcorn into my mouth, swallowing it down along with my feelings that need to stay right where they are.
A brisk breeze blows through the crowd, cutting through my jacket and making me shiver. Goose bumps rise along my skin until warmth creeps through the fabric, swaddling me like a heated blanket on a cold winter night. The warmth is accompanied by a subtle sizzle of magic, and I glance at Oliver out of the corner of my eye, who’s covering quiet words with a fake cough.
This time, he doesn’t look my way, pointedly focusing on the movie, but his small knowing smile tells me he can feel my eyes on him and is refusing to acknowledge my scolding look. He knows he shouldn’t be doing something as stupid as using magic two nights before Halloween to bring me comfort, especially not with all these people around.
But I’d be lying if I said it didn’t make me want to start kicking my feet and twirling my hair like a middle school girl talking to her crush in the hallway. It feels so good to have someone take care of me without asking first if I’m okay, which has quickly become my least favorite question in the world. To have someone notice my discomfort and take the initiative, rather than trying to convince me to do it myself. So, I nuzzle down further into my jacket, allowing myself to enjoy the warmth and the attention while I can. So long as the magic doesn’t see this small act as reason enough to respond, I might as well enjoy it.
About the time the kids find their way to Halloween Town and start exploring, I straighten in my chair and turn to Ellie. She gives me a questioning glance, noticing me scooting away from the table.
“Water,” I whisper, and she nods, happily returning her attention to the movie.
Without looking back, I make my way down the center aisle of the seats and back toward the long line of food trucks. The lines have died down considerably now that the movie has started, but there are still a few people lingering here and there, grabbing a quick bite or drink. I approach a hot chocolate truck near the end, one far enough in that it’s not visible from the outdoor theater. The agreed meeting point for Oliver and me before we sneak off to find Lucy.
