Page 20 of Flirty Fall Fling

“Sacred is an interesting word choice.”

He isn’t wrong, which is part of the problem.

“I don’t think anyone else can help me with this.” There’s too much truth in his words. “You’re it for me, Blaire Witch.”

I tell myself to think it through, then reach for the pen, placing my signature at the bottom.

6

JAMIE

She signs her name and slides the page back across the table toward me. The pen clicks closed and is placed on top.

“Happy?” She tilts her head.

“Thrilled,” I say.

The front room is warm from the fire. Shelves line the far wall, packed with glass jars of dried herbs and books so old that their leather bindings are cracked. The oil from earlier is sweet on my skin, and every time I smell it, I think of her hands pressing it into my wrists. Reading people is something I’m great at, but I’m struggling with her.

Overhead, a floorboard creaks.

I look up. She doesn’t.

“It’s Charlie,” she says.

“Ah, your boyfriend?”

“I do love him.” A sweet smile crosses her face. “But tonight isn’t about me. It’s about you.”

Wood pops, and our shadows rise across the walls. I’m here for the curse, but I also want to get my money’s worth.

“You’re right,” I say.

She interlocks her fingers, and I glance at the rings she’s wearing. There’s a silver band, and on her pointer finger, there’s one that’s a deep purple.

“Are you wearing a mood ring?”

“Tell me about the curse.” She places her hands in her lap, not answering.

“Guess we’re just jumping straight in?”

“Yeah,” she says, leaning back in the chair. “But please, take your time.”

I roll the stiffness out of my shoulder. Outside, the wind blows through the trees. The house creaks around me like it’s waiting for me to continue.

“How far back do you want me to go?”

“The beginning?”

“It started in the seventeen hundreds.”

She doesn’t blink. “Oh. Centuries.”

I lean forward in my chair. The light in the room makes her look like she belongs in a different lifetime. I’ve told three people this story, and every one of them laughed like I was telling a joke.

“One of my relatives was forced into an arranged marriage.” I stop, trying to recall exactly what my father told me when I was speed-dating through women. A log falls from the stack, sending a spray of sparks up the chimney. “And wasn’t faithful to his wife.”

“Men,” she says. “Unsurprising.”