Page 143 of Flirty Fall Fling

She stares at me. “Your cup didn’t say a fling.”

“I know that,” I say.

She looks at me, and her breathing grows more ragged. “How could you possibly know that?”

“I told you, babe, I’ve had my fortune read hundreds of times. Then I met you, and I realized I didn’t need anyone to ever tell me what was going to happen in my life again.”

She holds herself up on the desk. “I read my own cup after yours, from the same pour.”

“And?” I ask, curious.

She takes her time, but it never grows awkward.

“It had the same mark. Once-in-a-lifetime true love.” Her voice comes out weak, but she doesn’t let it stop her. “It was never a fling, and I don’t know if it was ever going to be. And if I cut our love lines, if we’re not meant to be together, we could ruin our chances of meeting the love of our lives. Are you really willing to risk everything?”

The bomb sits between us, next to a two-hundred-year-old spell book.

I take her hand off the desk and hold it between both of mine. “Yep. I’d rather gamble my chance at true love with you than leave here, haunted, wondering about what-ifs.”

Her breathing evens out. “You’re not scared?” she asks.

“I’m a skeptic, Blaire.”

“Exactly. That’s why you’re not fucking terrified!”

“Oh, I am. But it’s not because you want me to play witches with you,” I say.

“What terrifies you?”

“Losing you before Halloween,” I admit. “Everything else doesn’t really matter.”

A smile starts. “You’re something else,” she says.

“Come on. I think we have a date with the moon.”

“Are you sure about this?” she asks.

“I’ve never been surer about anything else.”

I grab her hand and tug her with me. She slides the spell book off the table, taking it with us.

Blaire takes her time packing a bag of items we’ll need to complete this spell.

On the way out of town, we get stuck in traffic, but it doesn’t take nearly as long as on the weekends. She rides with her hand on my knee and the book in her lap, watching the moon follow us along the ridgeline.

The cabin is dark, just how we left it.

She stands there for a long minute, looking at the spot at the bottom of the porch steps, where she pulled the ring off her finger days ago.

“This ends tonight,” she says, going back to the car and grabbing three bags from the back seat.

We go to the fire ring in the backyard. Our breath hangs in the air while Blaire gets the kindling started. Once it catches, we stack wood in the center. Sparks fly high up into the sky.

She hands me two quilts from one of her bags. “This one is for the ground. The other is for us.”

Then I watch her work.

She pours a salt ring wide around where we are without spilling a grain. Afterward, she burns a stick of rosemary. The scent isn’t something I’ll ever forget. The spell book gets set out, along with a silver blade. Blaire sits on the quilt, pulling out the familiar old bottle, along with two small glasses, the slotted silver spoon, raw sugar cubes, and a Stanley of hot water.