Page 92 of Flirty Fall Fling

It’s been two days since Blaire and I returned from Salem. We didn’t see each other last night because she was exhausted from jet-setting, then working all day.

The silence of this big-ass house gives me too much time to think.

The words the energy-reading witch told me won’t stop repeating in my mind. “… leave her in November. No matter what.”

Sophia peeled back my layers and spoke to my soul. I’ve not been the same since.

A part of me has been trying to figure out how to make this work, how I can extend my stay a little longer to see if Blaire is the one for me.

The mood ring from the museum gift shop hasn’t left my pointer finger, and it hasn’t turned any color other than purple since I put it on. Blaire’s hematite necklace rests on my chest under my shirt. When I was in New York, I wore a watch every day. Now I can’t remember the last time I put it on. My life is changing with the season.

By nine thirty, I take the Mustang down the mountain and keep the top up with the heater on full blast. Main Street is packed with seasonal traffic. People stroll the crosswalks with cider in both hands. Paper bats and big pumpkins are in front of most of the boutiques, and the temperature is perfect. Pine Haven goes all out for October.

Roasted Bean smells like brown sugar. Plastic pumpkins crowd the antique shelves, and I read the chalkboard under the hand-drawn ghost twice while I wait my turn. There are tons of drinks and treats listed.

Doris Jean and her matchmaking friends are parked at the long table by the window. They’re bent over, staring at something on a cell phone. Blaire waits at the pickup counter in her green coat with her back to me. This is the one place I know I’ll run into her as long as I’m here before her shift starts.

We do our stranger routine. She collects her cinnamon maple macchiato with a small smile and a twinkle in her eye. She’s gotten it the last few times she’s visited. I order a large black coffee because it doesn’t take long to make. I meet her by the condiment station.

Since Salem, things have been more intense between us. I linger too close, and I can’t help but notice how her breathing changes. Weeks ago, we stood in these same spots, and it wasn’t like this. The act has gotten harder to continue. I want to turn my face and kiss her good morning in front of everyone. Then I remember our rules.

Four tourists take a table in the middle of the room. One of them props her tablet against the napkin holder and reads to the others.

“Oh, what I’d do if I ran into him,” the woman says to her friends. “Somebody posted that they saw him in Salem this past weekend with another woman. I heard he was here.”

“Isn’t he married? To the coach’s daughter.”

“That’s the scandal. His wife is back in New York, and he’s out there, holding hands with some mystery woman.”

This makes my Spidey-Sense go off. I add cream and sugar I don’t even want while Blaire sprinkles cinnamon in hers.

“Salem must be a popular place,” she whispers.

I keep my voice low. “I have to get out of here.”

She meets my eyes but stays where she is. I slip out of the front door and walk away from the crowd until I’m on a side street. I pull out my phone and google myself, but nothing comes up. I google my brother, and there are images of Blaire and me in Salem, along with a rumor that he’s cheating on his wife.

The first photo is the kiss beside the caramel apple truck. Blaire is on her toes, smiling. The second is us standing in line for the museum. The final is us on the harbor bench at sunset, laughing together. For about two seconds, I forget what I’m looking at and enjoy the day all over again. Whoever took them followed us everywhere. So far, she’s been listed as the mystery woman, but I know the internet doesn’t sleep. It’s only a matter of time before the sleuths find Blaire. The paparazzi will track me down.

In the first two pictures, it really could be anyone. In the last one, she’s looking right at me with the sun on the side of her face. Anyone who has ever met Blaire would know exactly who she is from that photo alone. But I can’t help but notice how absolutely fucking happy she looks with me.

They slapped Patterson’s name on the headline because it’s a bigger scandal if he’s cheating than if I’m flinging. My involvement with someone could affect my contract renewal because the women and parties needed to stop. Before marriage, Patterson would cover for me when I got mixed up with shit like this, but it’s no longer an option. Any rumor about him cheating was a line he drew in the sand, which I promised I’d respect.

I have some time to prepare for the paparazzi hell storm, but not much.

“Fuck,” I whisper.

I call my brother to try to figure out how we’re going to solve this scandal before it gets any bigger. He doesn’t answer.

Just as I open his contact to text him, I receive one.

Blaire

You left like you saw a ghost.

Jamie

It’s better than the alternative.