Page 89 of Flirty Fall Fling

“Don’t I know it?”

A man dressed as a headless horseman waits at the crosswalk beside us, holding his own head in a pumpkin under one arm. It’s clever, and it makes me grin. But somehow, my mind keeps drifting back to Sophia’s eyes. She saw straight through me. My truths might as well be written on my forehead.

My aunt used to tell me there were only a dozen true practitioners left in the country. Sophia is one of them. I could feel it the moment I set foot in her shop. Had I not been spooked, I’d have asked if she knew my aunt. Most did. It was my first time meeting someone who read auras and energy. She said I was too scared of the truth. And she was right. Now I want to know what she told him behind the curtain because things feel different between us. Not in a bad way, just not the same as they were.

Jamie would probably tell me if I really wanted to know. But I understand how deeply personal readings can be, so I don’t push.

A witch museum sits in an old brick building with a line out the front. Jamie pays for two tickets in cash. It’s dim and quiet inside. I whisper corrections at the first three placards because they’re not actually correct.

Jamie glances at me.

“Sorry. Wrong information is a pet peeve of mine.”

He reads every card and asks real questions. He leans in and listens to me explain things he doesn’t understand. A glass case near the back of the museum makes me stop walking. It holds a list of family names in faded ink. I scan the page, and halfway down the list is my family name—Wardwell.

Jamie notices too.

I press one finger to the glass, as lightly as I can. Three hundred years later, and people are still calling us witches in the streets.

We move into the gift shop, and Jamie picks up a mood ring that has a witch stamped into it.

He buys it and slips it onto his finger. “Now we match.”

I glance down at it and see his ring has turned purple too.

Afterward, he takes me to a place that serves the best chowder in town. It’s a hole-in-the-wall, where he orders for both of us without touching the sticky menu. Our food is delivered in big Styrofoam bowls, and we take them outside and eat on the bench while we people-watch.

“I’ve never brought anyone here,” he says, the sun warming us.

Leaves rustle across the ground. A brass band, dressed as skeletons, marches past. We watch the entire foot parade while we eat.

“I think this might be the best date I’ve ever had,” I admit.

“Really?” He pauses for a few seconds. “I can’t remember the last time I went out and just enjoyed myself. Usually, I’m performing.”

“And now?” I ask.

He thinks about it as the skeleton band rounds the corner. “Now I’m a guy on a bench, eating chowder with the prettiest witch I’ve ever seen, which is saying a lot.”

I giggle. “All or nothing.”

He winks at me. “I actually really enjoyed the hay maze. And afterward. Unbelievable night.”

“Now you’re just flattering me.” I throw oyster crackers to the pigeons.

“I’m serious. I get to be myself with you. That doesn’t happen often.”

My heart flutters, and I try to push it away.

After we eat, we take a shortcut down a side street to avoid the huge crowd of people. On the corner, I spot a woman dressed as a fortune teller, sitting at a card table with a velvet cloth and a big crystal ball in the middle. A painted sandwich board sign on the sidewalk says: READINGS $5.

“Intuition readings,” I whisper, watching the afternoon sun reflect off the crystal.

“Get one,” Jamie says, nudging me toward the folding chair, already pulling out a five. “Live a little.”

“Peer pressure,” I say, sitting down at the wobbly table.

The woman in the cloak gives me a smile. Her fingernails are long, black, and shaped like coffins. She stares into the ball, pulling it closer to her.