Page 69 of Wishing for a Werewolf
“You like it sweet.” Autumn grins up at me.
I lean over and growl low in her ear, “I like you sweet,” making her turn bright red.
The crowd’s thicker at Cake My Day, and why becomes clear when we finally get inside. Pepperpot hands out her popular pumpkin sugar cookies, which are as delicious as everything the brownie baker makes. Autumn snags one and breaks it in two, handing me the larger piece, and the sweet pumpkin treat washes away the last trace of bitter coffee.
Even the dress shop joins the celebration, with the shadow fae who own it offering the children a selection of fruit chews, the bright treats matching their colored Faeriesilk dresses, which set off the black shadow wings sprouting from their backs.
“Are you angels?” a little boy asks, making the woman laugh.
“What’s watermelon?” Agnar whisper-yells at Autumn, sniffing at the pink square in his palm. “I don’t think I like it.”
“I love watermelon!” She reaches for it. “I’ll take it if you don’t want it.”
He snatches his hand back. “No, I’ll try it.”
I snort in amusement and lean over to murmur in her ear, “I’ll have to remember that trick.”
Her breath catches, and I can hear her heart speed up. The sweet and spicy scent of my fire fills the air. Being so near Autumn yet unable to take her again is torture, especially in that outfit. All I can think about is the sweet taste of her kisses and the even more alluring taste of her juices coating my tongue.
The pups race ahead of us down the sidewalk to I Touch My Shelf, where Naomi hands out little “I love books” candies shaped like hearts. She wears a black dress and a strange wide-brimmed hat with a canonical crown that ends in a pointy tip, and she has a rustic broom propped against her side.
Autumn chuckles. “Going full witch, I see.”
“It seemed appropriate.” Naomi grins.
On the other side of the green, the orcs set up a table on the sidewalk in front of The Thirsty Tusk, giving away water and non-alcoholic cider. Thorvinn stands behind it, arms crossed over his wide chest, scowling and growling atthe children, who shriek with delight every time he flashes his tusks.
Instead of their leaf clothing, the gnomes at Bling It On wear blue cloth jackets and red cone caps, which have Autumn chuckling and saying something about “yard gnomes.” They offer all the children plastic rings topped with large candy gemstones.
Back outside, the pups hurry to the final shop. Instead of having an open door, the pixies at Slice of Life insist people enter in batches. We arrive right at the last set files out and join the next group going in.
The tables and chairs are gone, and the interior of the restaurant has been turned into a clearing in a nighttime forest, with trees lining the walls of the room. Branches crisscross the ceiling overhead, shivering in impossible breezes. The walking tulips scuttle back and forth among the tree trunks, and the rolling pumpkins sit perched on various horizontal branches, turning this way and that so their little faces can look at everyone. The lights are low, making the pixies the brightest things in the room as they flit about, draped in little white sheets.
“Oh, my god.” Autumn laughs, her voice full of delight. “They’re dressed like tiny ghosts!”
“Whoa,” a little boy says. “The special effects in this place are next level!”
Each glowing ghost comes to hover in front of one person, and a high-pitched voice yells, “Hold out your hands!”
When everyone does, the pixies drop a small waffle cookie onto each person’s palm, then chorus a loud, “BOO!”
Several people let out shrieks, followed by embarrassed laughter.
Then the pixies all fly up to join one another in spiraling over our heads, yelling, “Happy Halloween!”
I lean over to Autumn and growl low in her ear, “This BOO is fine, but I much prefer yours.”
“What?” she yelps and startles, wide eyes finding mine. Even in the low light, I can see her cheeks turn red. She whisper-yells over the murmur of the crowd, “We donottalk about my kind of BOO in public.”
“What’s your kind of BOO?” Astrid asks, sharp little shifter ears perked forward.
“Waffle cookies! Yum. I haven’t had these in ages.” Autumn shoves the entire treat into her mouth, making a production of chewing so she doesn’t have to answer.
I smirk down at her, smelling the alluring scent of her arousal.
The pixies shoo us out of the restaurant so they can bring in one last group of people, and Autumn leads us to the town green. “It’s almost time for the costume contest. Come on!”
The pups race ahead, yipping with excitement.
