Page 18 of A Witch's Guide to Surviving Halloween
I shake my head. “No. She’s just upset she has to read a book.”
“Ah, well . . .” Don beams at me, giving me his best mayor’s smile. “Perhaps you should make my usual this morning, Miss Amelia.”
“I’d be happy to.” I flash one more smirk Lucy’s way before heading for the coffee bar with Don close on my heel to avoid Lucy’s wrath.
Chapter Seven
Orange, pink, and purple streaks paint a watercolor sky above the turning trees that encircle the town. A chill from the metal handles of the lanterns hanging from my fingers sends shivers up my arms, and I’m reminded I should have grabbed gloves. Bundled in thick layers, I trek across the brick road to the bakery, avoiding a long stream of people making their way toward the square. Giggling children race down the center of Main Street, their parents huddled together, smiling and chatting as they follow close behind.
Squinting, I peer through the glass door, spotting Oliver as he shrugs on his coat, and with a single knuckle, I tap against the glass to get his attention. The moment he sees me, his face lights up, a gleam appearing in his eye. My heart flutters at the sight, and I raise one of the lanterns, both an offering and an invitation. I can almost hear his breathy laugh through the door as he approaches.
He steps out onto the sidewalk, locking the door behind him. “Another can’t-miss event?”
I hold a lantern out to him, letting it hang in the air between us. “With VIP access.”
The corner of his lip lifts as his eyes bounce from the lantern to me and back. “Well, how can I say no to that?” He takes the lantern, the brush of his fingers against mine sending a tingle up my arm. “Lead the way.”
We weave through the crowd side by side, stepping through the long lines of groups and couples waiting to purchase lanterns and find their place among the growing throng.
“So, how are the preparations for opening day coming along?” I ask.
“Pretty good. Since there were only a few weeks between Miss Laura’s closing and the reopening, most suppliers have been willing to work with me and start deliveries ASAP. I already have all my family’s recipes ready to sell, so it’s just a matter of fine-tuning the details.”
I nod along as he talks, pretending I understand anything about opening and running a bakery.
Taking over the bookstore had been logistically very simple. I’d been working at Moonlit Pages for most of my life by the time Grandma decided to step down and let me run it outright. Of course, she’d always been around, giving me direction. Even from the afterlife, it often feels like she’s still standing over my shoulder, showing me the way through life. And no matter how I try, no matter how much I tell myself I should do things my own way, I can’t help but listen to the memory of her guiding whispers.
The mention of his family triggers something in my mind. I think back to what Lucy said the morning Don told us of Oliver’s arrival.
You’d think a guy so interested in maintaining family tradition would take over a family bakery.
The thought of having to force myself into his personal life makes my skin itch. I certainly don’t want anyone asking me prying questions, especially strangers. Honestly, I’ve knownmost people in this town my entire life, and I still get twitchy when they ask about anything deeper than a spring puddle. But, do I really have a choice?
I use my free hand to scratch at the back of my neck, an attempt to itch away the knot growing from being around so many people. “Don mentioned it’s a family business. I’m surprised you didn’t take over your family’s bakery.”
“It’s . . . a long story.” A heavy pause follows, a dark shadow passing over his face, and immediately, I want to take it all back.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. That was rude of me.” I glance at him out of the corner of my eye as we weave around another family and start making our way toward the stage steps. Oliver’s blue-gray eyes have gone stormy and distant, as if he’s somewhere else entirely and not anywhere particularly happy.
“No, it’s fine.” He bites his lip, and we walk in silence so long I wonder if he’s going to respond at all when he takes a deep breath. “There is . . .was. . . a family business. My dad inherited it from my grandpa. Growing up, I always said I wanted to take it over, but when I turned eighteen, I realized I wanted to see the world first. Then, once I started traveling, I couldn’t seem to stop. I always said I’d be back to learn the business and take over one day when I no longer felt the need to be anywhere else. But I wasn’t even around when . . .” We pull up short of the stage, and Oliver turns to me, though his eyes never meet mine. Instead, they track the lantern swaying in his grip. Stacy waits for me at the base of the stage, checking her watch and tapping her foot impatiently.
Oliver takes another deep breath as if bracing himself, forcing himself to say the words aloud. “It was sudden. Car crash. My dad . . . He didn’t make it, and I wasn’t there to say goodbye. He left the business to his long-time assistant, who had been working at the bakery for decades.”
“Oh . . . I’m so?—”
Oliver gives a quick shake of his head, finally meeting my gaze. The storm clouds in his eyes are full of heavy resignation and grief. “Don’t be sorry. Alex deserved it. He was a loyal employee, working six days a week at my dad’s side. He deserves it far more than my absent ass ever did.”
We fall into a heavy silence filled with the weight of unsaid reassurances. My instinct is to tell him that that’s not true. That his father was proud of him and probably didn’t want to burden him with unwanted responsibilities. That there’s more to life than tradition and family legacy. But I can’t rightfully say any of those things.
I don’t know Oliver or his father; I know nothing of their relationship, and can’t speak to what his father thought of his son’s travels. And for me, of all people, to speak against family tradition would be hypocrisy at its finest. Isn’t that why I’m about to walk up on that stage and lead this year’s lantern walk? Because I can’t let go of Grandma and what she would have wanted?
So, instead, I wave my lantern at an anxious Stacy. “I should get things started.”
Oliver gives me a tight smile, some of the swirling storm clouds in his eyes dispersing. “I’ll be here waiting.”
Reluctantly, I return his tight smile with a thin one of my own and turn away, feeling as though I received more than I bargained for in that short conversation. I use the few feet between Oliver and Stacy to collect myself, so lost in his words, both said and unsaid, that I don’t even remember to be nervous.
“Ready, hostess?” Stacy chirps, herding me toward the stairs and rattling off her reminders. “Tonight is super easy. A simple ‘Is everyone ready for the Enchanted Lantern Walk?’ And then give the cue for everyone to light their lanterns, and after that, it’s literally a walk through the woods.”
