Page 31 of Flirty Fall Fling

“Yes. We’ll wait five minutes, then take another.”

“Another?”

“I have to strip you bare.”

“Please don’t tempt me with a good time.”

“Energetically.” She playfully turns the empty glass in her fingers. “Are you always like this?”

“Be more specific.”

“Flirty. Charismatic. Confident.”

“It’s just who I am. Who I’ve always been.” I lean back in the chair. The sweetness stays on my tongue.

Her eyes flick to the clock on the wall, and then she reaches for the bottle and pours the second round. I look at the spoon, sugar, the slow stream of water, and then the green glowing brighter. She slides my glass across the table, then lifts her own, and we drink without a word.

The second one goes down sweeter.

I lean forward and rest my forearms on the table. “You’re so pretty.”

Blaire tries to fight a smile and loses. “Come with me.”

I want to reach for her hand and grab her fingers in mine, but I don’t. Instead, we walk down the hallway to the opposite end of the large home. The walls are tall, and I feel like I’m being watched. At the end, there’s a door, and soon, she’s guiding me out of it. We walk beside each other down a path that leads to a cemetery.

“I didn’t know you lived next door to a graveyard.” I almost laugh because it’s too perfect.

“This was one of many family homes of the settlement that came here before Pine Haven was established. The cemetery is just as old.”

The moon hangs low above the tree line, half full. Every headstone turns silver under it.

She takes me to a memorial garden. In the center, on the grass, are blankets, surrounded by mason jar candles.

“Romantic,” I say, lifting my brows.

“Ritualistic,” she corrects as we move closer.

“Is that a radio?” I ask, noticing a small black box with a dial and a stubby antenna.

She leans down to click it on. “It’s a spirit box.”

“Oh,” I say, like I know what the hell that is.

Static fills the cemetery. It sounds like it’s cycling through seconds of a.m. radio shows. A half second of country guitar, then white noise, followed by a voice.

“Old souls rest here. Sometimes, they talk. Sometimes, they don’t.”

She sits on the blanket and pats the spot next to her, and I don’t hesitate to be close. The wool blanket under me is warm, and the candlelight creates a dreamy ambience.

“I’m glad I met you,” I say, staring up at the moon.

She guides me down until my back is resting on the ground, then joins me. Our arms touch as the darkness surrounds us.

“Most people think I’m weird.”

“I think the proper word is eccentric. I find it adorable.”

She chews on the edge of her lip, then turns her head to look at me.