Page 54 of Flirty Fall Fling

I take another forkful and let it sit on my tongue. Under the cinnamon and the butter lingers a warmth that has nothing to do with temperature.

“You know what this tastes like? Intention. Home. It’s cozy and the epitome of fall. People would pay great money to experience this. If it keeps coming out ugly, put it in a jar with a lid.”

“You’re serious?” Josie asks.

“Yes! You could tie a bow around the lid and absolutely sell it in the shop. Charmed Cauldron will be your first retail buyer. I mean, if you want to.”

Josie’s whole face lights up. “Wait. Really? You think I could sell this?”

“I swear, it’s so good,” Winter says, taking another bite. “I volunteer to be your official taste tester.”

We demolish half of the pie, and Josie makes us swear we’re not lying. Then she forces us to promise we’ll give real opinions while she practices for the contest. It’s the easiest thing to agree to. After ten, they head upstairs, arguing about whether the ghosts will haunt tonight or not. I pet Charlie under his chin, and then he rushes to follow Josie like he’s keeping tabs on her.

I take the world’s fastest shower, towel-dry my hair, and pull on one of my favorite black silk robes. Then I return it to the hook on my bathroom door because I get in my head about it being too much. I throw the thought in the trash and put it on anyway. He’s already seen everything I am. And if this is too much, he can go find someone else to fling with. Being sexy and having fun is the point, isn’t it?

At eleven, I lie across my bed and pull up his contact. My thumb hovers over the keyboard, and I type a message.

Blaire

Still on for tonight?

I delete it and type another.

Blaire

Thanks for today. Did you give that pretty woman your number?

Delete.

I set the phone face down on the nightstand and stretch out in the dark, listening to the old house settle around me. The hint of cinnamon and sugar still lingers.

Jamie will show up at midnight, or he won’t. I don’t know why I’m so worried.

14

JAMIE

I’m parked two streets from the manor with the engine off. The cold is seeping through the vinyl roof, and with these temperatures, it might’ve been a stupid idea to rent a convertible. Midnight is still a few minutes off, but I was going stir-crazy up on the ridge. Her instructions were very clear, so here I sit, exactly how she instructed. I almost feel like I’m in my twenties again, sneaking around.

The last bottle of Little Black Cat wine sits in the passenger seat. Blaire insisted I take the last bottle at the grocery store and told me to report back with my opinion. I’d rather share it with her since it’s her favorite. I brought one of mine too. I had it shipped in just for tonight.

My phone vibrates in the cupholder, and I see the preview of an email. The nonprofit’s board assistant sent me another meeting request for the day I’m flying back to New York. I’m sure the attachment is an itinerary of all the things the board wants to discuss with me. I’d open it, but they forced me out of the city and stressed that I needed a vacation. So, I’m going to take one. Whatever is going on outside of Pine Haven, I’ll deal with it in five weeks. For once, New York can wait.

That’s a new sensation completely.

When the dash clock shows five till midnight, I grab the wine and get out of the car. It’s brisk as fuck. The cold nips at my ankles as my breath turns to smoke in front of me. Ahead of me, warm light fills the manor’s kitchen window. I take the back sidewalk, like she said, and the door swings open before I can knock. Blaire grabs my jacket with both hands and pulls me into her. Our lips desperately crash together, like we are each other’s air.

“Hi,” she says against my lips, almost worried.

I wonder if she was concerned I wouldn’t show.

“Hi, yourself.”

The house smells like cinnamon and butter. Her hair is still damp, curling where it’s drying. She showered for tonight, and I shaved for the same reason.

I hold up both bottles of wine. “Thought we could drink these together. Both of our favorites.”

She takes the second one from my hand and tilts the label toward the lamp. It’s the Bordeaux I’ve been drinking since before I was legally old enough to have it. My parents are fans. Maybe it’s an inherited taste.