Page 118 of Flirty Fall Fling

“A date?” he asks.

“Yeah. We’ll pop into the costume shop at the edge of town and then head that way.”

“Let’s do it.”

At four o’clock, we drive to the end of the road, where one bar of service shows up if the weather cooperates. As soon as I get a signal, texts flood in, but I don’t plan on reading them until I’m back in the real world on Monday.

I call Ruthie. She’s owned the costume shop at the edge of Pine Haven for fifteen years, and she buys her sleep tea from me twice a season. She’ll be forty next year, and she doesn’t give a fuck about dating.

“Blaire Wardwell.” Her voice comes through, and it’s way too happy. “You’re Little Miss Popular in town.”

“Don’t remind me,” I tell her.

“Thirty people were lined up outside your place at lunch. Josie was selling them pumpkin loaves for fifteen dollars each. She sold out soon after.” She laughs. “Are you okay?”

“I’m alive. I need a favor.”

“Obviously.”

“Can I come by at the end of the day? I need to pick out two costumes, and nobody needs to know.”

“I close at six. Meet me by the dumpster at the back door.” She doesn’t hesitate for a second. “Take the back roads up so nobody sees a damn thing. Avoid Main Street completely. Traffic has been at a standstill all day because of jaywalking.”

“Thank you,” I tell her.

“Is he as hot as everyone says?” she asks.

“I’ll let you decide when you meet him.”

She laughs. “Does he have an older brother? I mean, even his dad.”

“You’re ridiculous,” I say. “See you soon.”

We leave early because of traffic, and I direct Jamie where to drive so we’re not spotted. As soon as he cuts the engine, the thick steel door opens.

Ruthie’s wearing a flannel, jeans, and combat boots. One look up at Jamie, and all she says is, “Wow.”

“Hi. Jameson. Nice to meet you.”

I’m not used to hearing him say his full name.

“Do you have any single, older friends?” Ruthie asks.

“Maybe.”

“He’s a keeper,” she singsongs, waving us inside.

The dead bolt clicks behind us when the door slams. We move down a long hallway and step into a giant costume room. It looks like the back of a theater with a mixture of fabrics, textures, and accessories. Name it, and she probably has it or will find it for you. The shop is at the edge of town, and most of the tourists are in the square because of the festival. The Charmed Cauldron is in the middle of it all.

“Help yourselves. I’m going to finish my closing duties,” she tells us, moving back down the hallway with a cash drawer in her hand.

Jamie and I move around, holding up silly costumes for each other, then move to the back wall, where all the latex full-head face masks are displayed. My eyes scan over the different colors, furs, hair, and textures. It’s incredible.

“Oh, look at this clown one,” I say, standing on my tiptoes, trying to reach it.

I’m too short, and he plucks it down for me.

“Ew, no,” he says, looking at the ferocious pointed teeth. “Too gross.”