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I glance at my girl, who's practically bouncing with excitement. “What do you think, baby? Should I risk it?”
She nods emphatically, and I turn back to the scarecrow with a confident smirk. “You're on.”
The ring sails through the air, wobbling slightly before settling around the neck of a bottle with a satisfying clink. Shiloh lets out a whoop of joy, throwing her arms around me. “Oh shit, you did it! You actually did it!”
Holding her tight, I breathe in the berry scent of her hair. “Of course I did. I always get what I want, don't I?”
She pulls back, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Is that so? Then I want that one.” She points to an enormous plush bat with cartoonishly large eyes.
The scarecrow hands it over, and Shiloh immediately buries her face in its soft fur. “I'm going to name him Vlad.”
I roll my eyes again but can't keep the fondness out of my voice. “Of course you are.”
“Oh! Cotton candy!” She’s already dragging me towards a nearby vendor, fishing in her purse for her wallet. I swear, she turns into a toddler at these things.
I beat her to it, handing over a crisp note before she can protest. “My treat.”
The vendor–a pale-skinned Dracula–passes over an enormous cloud of pink spun sugar, and Shiloh wastes no time tearing into it. I watch, bemused, as she devours the confection with gusto, leaving a sticky residue all over her lips and fingers.
“Want some?” she mumbles around a mouthful, holding out the rapidly diminishing treat.
I shake my head. “I'll leave the sugar high to you, thanks.”
Shiloh shrugs, popping another piece into her mouth. “Your loss. This stuff is heaven.”
“I'm more interested in how you manage to eat your body weight in sugar and still keep this tight ass,” I tease, running my hand down her side before giving said ass a playful spank. She swats at me away with a muffled laugh, still chowing down on her tenth dessert of the evening.
We wander past more carnival games and food stalls, eventually finding ourselves in front of the ominous-looking structure with "HAUNTED HOUSE" spelled out in dripping, blood-red letters.
Shiloh's eyes light up. “Oh, we have to go in again!”
I raise an eyebrow at her. “Again? We've already been through twice.”
“Third time's the charm,” she insists, tugging on my arm. “Come on, it'll be fun.”
“We already know every scare,” I point out bluntly, even as I allow her to pull me towards the entrance. “Where's the thrill in that?”
Shiloh's grin turns devious. “Who says we have to be the ones getting scared? Imagine how funny it would be ifIjumped out attheminstead!"
I can already picture the chaos that would ensue–fake zombies and ghouls scrambling away from my pint-sized terror of a girlfriend. The mental image is almost enough to make me agree on the spot.
I chew on my cheek for a moment, already knowing I've lost this battle. “Fine. But when we get kicked out and banned for life, I'm blaming you.”
Shiloh's victorious whoop draws curious glances from nearby fairgoers. She throws her arms around my neck, peppering my face with sticky, cotton candy-flavored kisses. “You're the best, you know that?”
“I do know that, actually,” I reply dryly, but I can't keep the smile off my face. “Now come on, let's go terrorize some minimum wage workers.”
Several hours and countless scares later, we're finally pulling up to the quaint cottage we've rented for our stay here in Cornwall, England. The narrow, tree-lined road is bathed in moonlight, casting eerie shadows that would be right at home in any of the horror movies Shiloh loves so much.
As I cut the engine, Shiloh is already unbuckling her seatbelt, practically vibrating with excitement. “That may have been the best Halloween date nightever,” she gushes. “But we need to get some sleep before the best part of this whole trip tomorrow. Did you know the Museum of Witchcraft and Magic has over three thousand objects and books related to folk magic and witchcraft? There's even a recreation of a witch's cottage!”
I smirk at her enthusiasm, vaguely wondering how much I truly smiled before I sauntered back into this adorable woman’s life. “Is that so?" I ask, playing along as we stroll up the charming garden path.
Shiloh nods emphatically, following me to the cottage door. “And they have all sorts of exhibits on the history of magical practice in Cornwall. Did you know this area was known for its'pellers’–people who used charms and rituals to heal the sick?”
“I did not,” I admit, turning the key in the stiff, old-fashioned lock. “But I'm sure I'll know all about it by the time we leave.”
Shiloh cackles, unrepentant. “You bet you will! I've got our whole itinerary planned out. We're going to learn so much!”
