Page 49 of A Witch's Guide to Surviving Halloween
I straighten, brows furrowing. “A basket? Did someone lose it?”
The tour guide shrugs, glancing down near their feet. “I don’t know. Looks pretty fancy. Like it’s supposed to be a gift or something.”
I stand, leaning over the counter to try and get a better look. Through the open door, I catch a glimpse of tissue paper peeking out from atop a wicker basket.
“Sure, bring it in and I’ll see if I can figure out who it belongs to.”
The tour guide sets the basket on the counter beside the register before tipping his hat at me and meeting his party on the sidewalk.
The basket is overflowing with stuff, the largest of which is a brand-new blanket knitted with thick fuzzy yarn that feels like a childhood teddy bear. Nestled in the top of the blanket, between layers, is a card with my name scribbled across the front.
For your well-deserved staycation when
your hosting duties are over.
The card isn’t signed, but one glance at the rest of the basket’s contents and I instantly know who it’s from.
There’s an array of things: A pumpkin-pie-scented candle sits beside one of those stuffed animals that can be heated up in the microwave in the shape of a black cat. Next to that is a bag of dark roast coffee and a box of butter-flavored microwave popcorn. There’s a variety box of gourmet hot chocolate bombs sitting inside a ceramic mug with a ghost sipping coffee printed on the front. It’s the handmade sweets at the front that give it away, though. In a bag is a stack of chocolate-orange cookies, and beside those is a container with a single chai apple cupcake.
The desserts Oliver planned to hand out tonight . . . before everything went to shit.
And right in the center of everything is a rose quartz heart.
We have love here in Ashwood Haven.
I don’t doubt it.
Before I can stop them, tears are streaking down my cheeks. I wipe at them, trying to push the longing down and hide behind my customer service smile, but I can’t. The tears continue to fall, and there’s nothing I can do.
I gather the basket in my arms and bolt for the back of the store. Forget the customers, and the ghost tours, and the floating books, and the talking worm. I leave them all behind, refusing to look up as I bolt through the swinging door just moments before I completely fall apart.
I set the basket on a stack of boxes, staring at it through my tears before pulling out the cat and holding it close. There’s a soft ribbon around its neck that’s smooth against my fingertips as I start to rub it in an attempt at comfort. The stuffed animal smells like sugar and butter and spice.
It smells like him.
And that realization only serves to make me cry harder.
“Are you okay? I saw you run past and—” Lucy comes running through the door to the sales floor, frantically searching for me when she spots me crying into the stuffed cat. “Oh, hon . . .”
Lucy wraps her arms around me, pulling me close as my tears turn into muffled sobs against my new fuzzy friend. She runs her hand over my dark hair, softly cooing in an uncharacteristic attempt at comfort. But her concern doesn’t make me feel better. Instead, it makes me realize how much of a burden I’ve become for no reason at all.
Oliver isn’t someone I’ve been in a committed relationship with. He’s not someone I moved in with, adopted a cat with, or started a life with. He was stepping out of my life as quickly as he had entered it days ago, but it was the realization that Ihadn’t really lost anything at all that made the whole thing so painful. I’ve walked away from years-long relationships with far less heartache as a result, because over time, it became clear to me that they weren’t my person. The time had only served as a tool to teach me why walking away was the right choice for me. Did it still hurt? Of course—but it was nothing like this.
As someone easily drained by socialization, it can be easy to become painfully lonely. Being an introvert didn’t mean I didn’t want human connection; it just meant it took the right person to make that connection feel less like a chore and more like a safe place to land. A safe place to be unapologetically myself.
Losing Grandma meant I lost one of only two people in my life who gave me that freedom. I missed her crazy pranks and wild smiles, but I also missed my friend. Lucy is wonderful, but she’s only one person, and it’s not fair to burden her with the entirety of my social needs. She has her own life; her own hobbies, other friends. Now, I just have her.
And, over the last week, Oliver.
I hadn’t realized how much my mask slipped around him. How easily I let myself be . . . me. Talking with him, being around him, didn’t drain me. On the contrary, he’d made me feel truly comfortable and joyful for the first time since Grandma passed. This entire festival has turned into one overstimulating nightmare, and Oliver became my noise-canceling headphones. He didn’t judge my desire to hide in my house. Instead, he remembered all the little things I told him and curated a self-care basket so I could enjoy every second of my self-imposed isolation.
That was more than I could say for any of those old relationships, and the fact that I didn’t even have a chance to see where things could go pushed me over the edge that led to this breakdown. Finding another person I felt comfortable aroundwas already rare, and now I didn’t even get to see if we had a future together.
So yes, I cry over a week-long flirtation. I cry because of all the pressure I’d put on myself to act like someone I wasn’t. I cry for all the pain my presence caused Oliver. I cry because I miss Grandma. I cry for everything I’ve put Lucy through, and all the things I depend on her for.
I just . . . cry.
Chapter Twenty-One
