Page 6 of Flirty Fall Fling

“I’m not paying a stranger to hold my hand and lie to me. That’s what we call a scam.”

“You’ve paid for worse,” he quips. My brother isn’t wrong and takes joy in knowing that. “You know it’s touristy, kitschy bullshit. Go have some fun and get your fortune told. Consider it part of your human experience.”

“Hard no.”

“When did you become so un-fucking-fun?” He shakes his head. “You used to love shit like this. Who knows? Maybe she’ll tell you you’ll find true love.”

I roll my eyes. “You know I’m cursed.”

My brother laughs. “I don’t believe that. However, since you do, maybe you can get this witch to break it?” He smirks.

“Every day, I ask myself why you couldn’t have been the firstborn instead of me,” I say.

A kid blows past me with a candy apple bigger than his fist. The air smells like kettle corn and freshly cut grass from the town square. The violet glow pulls me forward, and Patterson keeps talking to himself because I’ve quit responding to him.

The door says Charmed Cauldron in the same shiny gold on the sign hanging high off the brick two-story building. My fingers tingle as I think about pushing the door open.

“I don’t know if I should enter,” I say.

“You should,” he says.

Through the glass, a woman in a witch hat balances on a ladder, rearranging jars stacked high on the wall.

“Fuck, this is ridiculous,” I whisper.

“And that’s exactly why you’re going to go inside,” Patterson says.

I push through the glass, and the bell dings. I continue to go farther in. It’s warm and glowy inside, like I’ve stepped into one of my dreams.

Crystals hang from the ceiling, throwing random rainbows across the wooden floor. The air smells like sweet vanilla and earth. One whole wall is stacked with jars and bundles of herbs hanging from beams above. The case along the far counter has sparkling necklaces and rings set with stones I couldn’t name.

Behind the counter, under a wide black witch hat, stands a beautiful woman. She finishes what she’s arranging, then turns to me and climbs down the ladder.

“Holy shit,” my brother says, and I end the call, giving her a smile.

“Apologies,” I say. “He has no manners.”

Her brow lifts. “Can I help you?”

“I’m here for a palm reading,” I say, shoving my phone into my pocket, then pointing back to the sign.

She takes her time studying me and isn’t impressed. It makes me smile.

“It’s not my specialty,” she says, moving toward the register and pulling a list of different things she does. It’s a witch menu.

“What are you good at?”

“Coffee cups, tea leaves, curse breaking, and love spells. I can give you a generic palm reading. Or I can give you a detailed cup reading based on your personal life or professional life.”

A blond woman comes from the back, carrying necklaces. She glances at me, then back at the witch.

“Are there rules?” I ask.

She nods. “Very much so. How thick is your skin?”

“Very.”

The blonde coughs beside me.