Page 118 of Falling for the Enemy

Esther’s eyes dropped to the tumbler in her hand, and she lifted her chin like a woman scorned, too prideful to act as it bothered her. “I think your recent glow has something to do with that cup you’re always carrying.”

“My diet’s the same old caffeine, sugar, and wine it’s always been.”

“I didn’t mean what’s in the cup. I meant the man who gave it to you. And by the looks of that pink in your cheeks, he’s given it to you good.”

“Esther! Get your head out of the gutter.”

“That’s not a denial.”

“No, it is not.” She snatched her box up and smirked.

Esther reached over the counter and handed Cordelia a homemade dog biscuit from the jar, and off they went. “You be a good girl now.” Her words sounded as if they were for the dog, but her gaze lifted to Jocelyn’s.

The town was littered with hay bales, mums, and cornstalks. Pumpkins dappled every doorstep. Storefront windows were painted with ghosts, witches, and a cornucopia of fall accents to complement each business. Even Astrid had hung dried orange slices in the paned windows of the Wilde Kettle to catch the amber rays of sunlight.

She didn’t remember loving fall this much. The radiant colors, the cozy smells—it was all so warm and comforting. Each day, she fell more and more in love with the season until she finally realized it wasn’t the season at all.

“Oh, shit…” It hit her like a rogue gourd to the head and stopped her dead in her tracks.

This didn’t have anything to do with fall or the pumpkin-scented everything. This had to do with her. Her and her stupid heart. She’d written it a hundred times, but somehow didn’t recognize it happening right under her nose.

She was in…love.

Lock, stock, and barrel L-O-V-E, love.

She’d fallen, hook, line, and sinker for her childhood frenemy, and now they were smack dab in the middle of a messy old love pie.

“Oh my God,” she muttered.

Cordelia looked up at her, wondering why they stopped walking when it was well past her morning nap time.

“Mommy’s in trouble.”

She was in love. With Soren Hawthorne.

How had she gone from pigtail pulls on the playground to riding him like a sailor on leave? She had officially written her life into the laziest trope there had ever been.

“Your mommy’s a big, fat cliché.” Rubbing her head, she groaned and dropped onto a bench.

It didn’t matter if she avoided saying the word like the plague. The moment she formed the full thought in her head, it was there, setting up permanent residence in her heart.

Drifting like a fallen leaf down Main Street, she aimlessly retraced her steps, wondering how she got there. It wasn’t a bad thing. Just a really real thing.

Inhaling a shaky breath, she ripped open the pink box from Esther, going right for the cider donut. As soon as the apples and glaze hit her tongue, she shut her eyes and moaned, letting the sugar ground her.

Her panic settled. She finished the donut while giving herself an emotional pep talk with each nibble. Everything was fine. Nothing was different. She was already handling things like a champ, and there was no reason to…

Her eyes did a double-take on the kiosk in front of her.

“No,” she said over a mouth of crumbs.

Shoving the remainder of the donut back with the others, she pushed the box aside, and beelined to the newspaper rack, snatching up a copy of the newest issue of The Beacon.

Hideaway Bay’s Most Reliable Adversaries are Getting Especially Cozy this Autumn.

Jocelyn stared, unblinking, at a picture of her and Soren kissing. “Where the hell did they get this?” She angrily flipped to page six to find the full Lady Lovewatch column. Her eyes bulged when she saw the size of the Op-ed.

Spotted: our resident wordsmith and a certain maritime mogul, sharing far more than their usual barbs on Main Street. Hate, it seems, isn’t always a vicious passion, and sometimes, it leads to the sweetest romances of all.