Page 40 of Falling for Mr. October

“So you’re saying they’d display it?” she asks, her gaze roaming around the store.

“Oh, they absolutely would. They want someone to win their contest. And I want us to win, because the prize is going to be ridiculous.”

“Let’s divide and conquer before the bin couple finds it.”

I laugh and lean in toward her, speaking for her ears only. “I thought you liked old people.”

“I do, but you should never let another person win, Giovanni. It’s disrespectful to them and you.”

“Children must love playing games with you.”

She sticks out her tongue, and I laugh in delight.

“This half of the store is my territory,” she says, pointing, “and the rest is yours.”

By the time we meet again in the middle twenty minutes later, the bin couple has left, it’s only fifteen minutes until closing, and we’re no closer to finding the green apple.

“I hate giving up,” she grumbles.

“So do I,” I agree. “But I think I’m going to have nightmares about Sir Gala-Head staring at me.”

“So we call it?”

“For now,” I reply. “We can always send the nonnas in here. They’ll shake the truth out of that clerk in no time.”

She laughs, and we approach the register together. I set the two sweatshirts down next to it, and the teen lowers his phone and frowns at them. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely…” I trail off, realizing I don’t know the kid’s name.

I glance at his name tag, and there it is—a little green Sir Gala-Head next to JASON.

I point to it, grinning at Bianca. “The green Sir Gala-Head.”

“Holy shit,” the clerk says, seeming fully awake for the first time since we came in. “I was starting to think no one would find it this time. That’s so tight. Congrats, man. We only run this contest once a month, so you’re our Mr. October.”

He stoops behind the counter and lifts up an oversized white cardboard box.

I dart a glance at Bianca as he sets it on the counter with a clunk that suggests the contents are heavy. “Do the honors?”

“It’s your prize.”

I’m tempted to say something stupid, like, there’s a different prize I want, but instead I open the box, revealing an ugly DIYed golden crown with tiny plastic apples and pumpkins embedded on the spikes and, nestled in the center of the crown, a clear plastic box containing an enormous candied apple. Sir Gala-Head’s face is molded onto the apple’s surface with dyed white chocolate. It dripped while drying, so he looks like he’s frozen in a scream.

I glance at Bianca.

“Please put that crown on,” she says, beaming at me. “Please.”

“You have a lot of interest in my headwear tonight.”

“Come on,” Jason says. “Let’s see it, man.”

Shrugging, I tug out the cheap crown and swap it for my “Smut Slut” hat.

“Happy now?” I ask Bianca.

She holds my gaze for a long moment, energy zipping between us, before she reaches up and smooths my hair at my forehead. “I’ll be happier if you eat Sir Gala-Head’s face.”

“Yes,” Jason says with surprising interest. “I’ll take another photo, and we can put it on our winner’s board.”