Page 26 of Flirty Fall Fling

Earlier today, when I decided I wanted to do this at the cabin, I drove up and prepped it for tonight. The firepit is set up, and there’s food and drinks in the fridge in case we get hungry or thirsty. Jamie sets the bag next to the pit and looks at the kindling waiting. I bend down, pulling a flint starter from my pocket and working it until the flame catches. It takes me two tries.

“You set this up?” he asks.

“Yes,” I tell him as he sits on the wooden bench. “Tonight needed to be different. We’re building upon what we started the last time we were together,” I say. “Fire is one of the oldest forms of releasing.”

At the bottom of the tote is a stack of parchment. I grab three pages of parchment and a pen out of the bag. “Tonight, I’d like you to write down three things the curse has cost you. Visualize those things going from your body and onto the page, like you are letting it go. One item per page. You can say as little or as much as you’d like.”

He looks at the parchment and flips the pen in his fingers, but he doesn’t write. “This is a journaling exercise?”

“No. We’re casting a spell.” I grab the salt I brought and flick it around the firepit.

The stars push over the ridge. He stares at the blank paper like I’m asking for a confession. I suppose, in a way, I am.

“Take your time,” I whisper, continuing the protection ward around us.

He exhales through his nose, and I can feel a wall sliding between us. It’s tall and bulletproof, a place where he hides his real self. The session we had at the manor helped lower it, but it’s still there.

“I won’t read it,” I say. “You don’t have to say them out loud. It’s for you.”

The fire pops, and a constellation of sparks drifts upward between us.

I hold his gaze. “You don’t have to be honest with me, but you should be honest with yourself.”

The corner of his mouth shifts into a charming smile, but it’s a real one. Then he begins writing.

I close my eyes, setting intentions and meditating while he concentrates. It’s mutually focused energy.

When I open my eyes, he’s finished and staring at me.

“Ready?” I ask.

“Yes,” he says.

I stand, spreading it onto the flames. Cedar, dried sprigs, bay leaves, and rosemary flutter onto the fire. The smell encapsulates me, curling up into the air. I whisper a banish spell under my breath.

“Take the first paper and read it to yourself three times, and then you’ll fold it in half, away from you. Then you’ll repeat the fold until you can’t any longer.”

He picks up the first card and reads over it with a blank expression.

“Are you ready to release it?” I ask.

He nods.

“Throw it into the fire.”

The parchment curls and blackens, and then it flashes bright before it’s nothing but ash. I throw a pinch of salt into the fire, and the flames burn bluer.

“Now, the second.”

This time, he doesn’t hesitate. The second parchment gets folded and tossed in. His jaw loosens right after, and the tension that was building melts. I scatter a fresh circle of ingredients from the second jar over the coals. The salt hisses when it hits.

Above us, the sky fills with stars. The aspens have vanished into the dark, and it’s just the two of us in the circle of firelight, the mountain closing in on every side.

“Last one.”

He holds the third paper a little longer, spending more time with it than the others. A spark pops off the logs and drifts past his shoulder. He reads it like he’s trying to memorize his own words. His fingers press hard into the sides.

“No rush,” I say.