Page 186 of Pumpkin Spice Promises

The town had transformed again since the last time Carson and I had walked it together.

Every few days, another storefront surrendered to Halloween.

Orange lights still stretched over Main Street from the bakery to the bookshop, glowing against a sky that hadn’t completely lost the pink of sunset. But more pumpkins crowded beneath windows and around lamp posts. Someone had wrapped the old fountain in artificial spiderwebs, and three enormous witches now sat around it with plastic cauldrons between them.

Sugar and Pine’s front windows were painted with tiny ghosts carrying cupcakes. Iris had changed the display at the bookstore. And Rosie stood on a ladder outside the Spicy Pumpkin Tavern, one hand clutching a strand of lights while the other pointed toward the roof.

Jax held the bottom of the ladder.

“Left.”

He moved it.

“My left!”

“How the hell am I supposed to know which left you mean?”

“The correct one.”

“There aren’t different lefts! We’re facing the same direction!”

“There are when you’re involved.”

Carson slowed beside me. I caught her hand before she could stop completely.

Jax looked like he wanted to throw Rosie off the ladder.

Rosie looked like she might just enjoy it.

We continued toward town hall, handled the errand in less than fifteen minutes, and stepped back outside with absolutely no desire to go home.

Carson wandered toward the square. A group of kids ran past carrying painted pumpkins while their mother yelled for them to slow down. Somewhere near the hardware store, a smoke machine released an unnecessary amount of fog across the sidewalk.

Then the mechanical witch screamed.

Carson flinched, then burst out laughing.

“I fucking hate that thing,” I blurted glaring at the witch.

“She’s part of Willow Creek,” Carson giggled.

“She ruined my chance to kiss you.”

Carson’s laughter faded into a grin. Her eyes flicked toward mine as we kept walking. Our hands brushed once, twice, and by the third time, I stopped pretending it was accidental and caught hers.

Carson’s step faltered. For half a second, I thought I’d misread her. Then her fingers moved between mine.

We crossed Main Street holding hands like we’d been doing it for years. It shouldn’t have felt as intimate as kissing her. Yet somehow, it did.

The farther we moved from the center of town, the quieter Willow Creek became. Storefronts gave way to older houses with deep porches and oak trees whose roots had lifted sections of sidewalk over the years. The noise from Main Street softened behind us until I could hear the rustle of leaves and Carson’s boots beside mine.

She eventually glanced around. “Where are we going?”

“Nowhere.”

“That’s reassuring.”

“Do you always need a destination?”