Page 38 of Falling for Mr. October

I’m laughing so hard my eyes start watering, and I smack his arm lightly. “Let’s go, funny guy. I know just where I’m taking you next.”

“Shall we?” he asks, getting up and offering me his hand.

I let him help me up, and as we walk toward the door, he waves to Maureen.

She blows him a kiss. A kiss.

I can’t help but marvel at this phenomenon. I’ve gone to the diner many times, and I haven’t exchanged more than a dozen polite words with Maureen before tonight.

We step out into the drafty night, a red leaf lined with green smacking into my chest. I hand it to Giovanni, who looks amused.

“Is leaf collecting what’s next?”

“If I tell you what I’m planning, it’ll ruin the surprise,” I tell him.

“Does it happen to be a visit to the bookstore?” he asks. “Because I wouldn’t mind collecting my perfect book.”

I steal a glance at him, the hat so aggressively pink it’s practically neon. “Oh no. Em’s not working today, and we can’t go in there while you’re wearing one of those new hats. Mr. Campbell might think you stole it.”

He laughs. “The only thing worse than wearing a ‘Smut Slut’ hat is being arrested for stealing one.”

“Exactly. Can you imagine what Eva St. Claire would say? She’d tell everyone I drove you into a life of crime.”

He turns toward me, so tall and well-built, and an undertow of need threatens to pull me under. “So, where are we going, Bianca?”

“Oh, you’ll see.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

GIOVANNI

“A souvenir store?” I ask, amused, as Bianca stops us in front of a store with a red storefront reading: An Apple a Day. The front window is crowded with apples—from stuffed apples with dead-eyed faces and limp arms and legs to every imaginable item of apple print clothing. There’s a handwritten “100s of discounts” sign.

“Absolutely. You need a sweatshirt, and coming here is a crucial part of your Apple Ridge experience. If you don’t leave town with a closetful of red flannel and shirts with Sir Gala-Head on them, no one will believe you’ve even been here.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Sir Gala-Head?”

“Ah, yes,” she says, tapping the window. “Sir Gala-Head is a more recent development. One of the crappy new mayor’s attempts to make us relevant.”

The orange sweater Bianca was wearing unbuttoned earlier is now fully fastened over her chest. She’s cold, and I make a mental vow to buy her a sweatshirt. She won’t like it, but I have no doubt she’ll push me into buying one for myself, and I can argue that I don’t want to look like a corny tourist alone.

“Let me guess.” I poke a finger at the apple stuffy with the dead eyes. “Is Sir Gala-Head that stoned-looking apple plushie? Or has Mr. Mayor started funding apple-themed pornography?”

She laughs, her nose crinkling. “He probably would, but no, not pornography. Unfortunately, that plushie is indeed the likeness of Sir Gala-Head, our new town mascot. The mayor poured a lot of money into it last year. He was convinced it would be the dawning of a new age for Apple Ridge.”

I give the apple head a doubtful, assessing look. “Was his goal to create nightmare fuel for children?”

“Why argue with success?” she asks dryly, then surprises me by taking my hand—possibly because I look like a flight risk—and tugging me toward the door.

A bell tinkles when Bianca opens the door, unleashing a cloud of fake apple scent that reminds me of my sister’s childhood bedroom. The dark-haired teenage boy behind the front counter looks up from his phone, sighs, and sets it down.

“Have you heard about our remarkable contest?” he asks, reciting what’s clearly a memorized speech.

“Can’t say we have,” I reply.

“There’s a green Sir Gala-Head—” he squints at my hat, lifts his eyebrows, then continues, “—hidden in the store. If you find him, tell me, and you’ll get an unforgettable—” He releases a jaw-cracking yawn. “Fall surprise.”

The kid picks up his phone again before the last syllable drops, and I’ve already made up my mind.