Page 88 of Flirty Fall Fling

“What do I do with this information?” I ask.

She releases my hands. “Panic quietly.”

“Why?”

“Because she doesn’t believe in love.”

A laugh comes out of me. “I’m the one who doesn’t believe in love.”

She shakes her head. “That’s not true. Not anymore. Not since you met her.”

I lean forward. “How did you know about that?”

She smiles and looks directly at me. “The woman who cursed your bloodline is from hers.”

A chill runs up my spine. “What?”

“The two of you are fated.”

Hearing that gives me a shot of adrenaline. Everything inside me tells me it’s true.

“Now, will that be cash or card?”

“Uh”—I pull my wallet from my pocket—“how much?”

“Five hundred dollars.”

I pay her with crisp bills. “Any advice?”

She closes her eyes and lays her palms flat on the table. The woman goes into a trance.

“The spirits say to leave her in November. No matter what.”

I stand up and walk out of the room. I’m told Blaire is the love of my life, my fated mate, but I need to leave her in November? It doesn’t make any sense.

Blaire waits outside on the cobblestones, watching a parade of tiny trick-or-treating toddlers wobble past in pumpkin suits. The October sun catches her hair. The love of my life is watching baby pumpkins barely walk, and I don’t know what to do with that information.

I adjust my mask.

“Well?” She bumps my shoulder with hers as we fall into step. “What did she tell you?”

“I never get readings and tell.” I wink at her through the mask.

She narrows her eyes, and then she lets it go because I don’t know how I’d even tell her what was said. The rest of the day changes shape after that shop. I catch her admiring me as we drink pumpkin lattes, and I can’t help but do the same. Neither of us looks away fast enough. But we don’t talk about it. We just walk closer and hold each other’s hand a little tighter than we did this morning.

21

BLAIRE

Sophia Sanderson knew who I was just by looking at me.

I’ve been trying to process that for the past ten minutes while Jamie and I stroll the streets of Salem. As his big hand holds mine, I glance around, taking it all in. Still shocked. Last month, had anyone told me I’d be walking the same streets as my ancestors, I’d have called them a liar. Being here, during this time, is what dreams are made of.

He leans in and asks, “What?”

“Nothing,” I say with a smile. “You’re looking like a snack.”

“I’m the whole meal, babe,” he says with a wink.