“A plea,” I said. “Let’s go to Salem.”
She blinked. “You want to party?”
“I want to feel normal for five hours,” I said. “And I think I’m finally ready to meet someone new. Not fall in love. Just—exist around men who aren’t my ex.”
She studied me for a second.
Then she smiled.
“Meeting a hot boy and dancing the night away doesn’t sound like a terrible life choice,” she said. “Salem it is.”
Relief flooded me.
“I went last year with—” I stopped myself.
She lifted a brow. “Him?”
“Yeah.”
“If we run into him,” she said calmly, “I’ll handle it.”
I laughed. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
We decided on sexy witches.
“How original,” I deadpanned.
She rolled her eyes. “It’s a classic for a reason.”
I asked if she wanted to invite her friends.
She grimaced. “No. They’re in the marriage-and-babies phase that I pretend I’m not bitter about.”
“Good,” I said. “Then we can leave when we want. Bar crawl. No explanations.”
We stayed at my mom’s house in Peabody.
Friday night, we turned her guest room into a war zone of makeup brushes, hair tools, and glitter.
Black leggings.
Knee-high boots.
Camisole tops that walked the line between classy and dangerous.
Sage gave me the best smoky eye of my life and stuck enormous glittering spider earrings in my ears.
I stared at myself in the mirror.
“Damn,” I said. “I look hot.”
She grinned. “That’s because you are hot, Beth.”
For the first time in months, I believed her.
Salem was magic.
Cobblestone streets and colonial buildings draped in pumpkins and candles. Picket fences lined with mums. Victorian houses glowing from inside like storybooks.
