Page 33 of Not Just Gal Pals

“Well, you aren’t the only one. There’s actually another Scream costume here.”

I couldn’t see any sign of another Ghostface, or Jenny, for that matter. “Oh, I can’t see anyone wearing it. Who?”

“Jasper,” George said, eyes twinkling. I’d told her about the barn incident on Saturday night, including Jasper and Maya’s appearance.

“Ah, I see. Maybe he’s off with Maya, then,” I said, still looking around. I spotted Olivia in a cute Rosie-the-Riveter outfit consisting of a denim shirt and jeans with a red-and-white polka-dot bandana, deep in conversation with a Batman I didn’t recognize, and smiled. My sister was the lucky recipient of fashion genes that had skipped me.

“Jenny’s not here yet, in case you’re wondering. Are you going to talk to her about the kiss?” George asked.

I’d told George the whole story on Sunday morning, hungover and stressed. It wasn’t that I hadn’t enjoyed our kiss. I had. A lot. But now I’d finally satisfied my teenage fantasy, the question of “What next?” kept swirling around in my head.

I didn’t want a relationship.

Jenny was leaving in three months.

There should be no more kissing...or any of the other things I’d been dreaming about.

But I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her—flashbacks to her warm, soft lips pressed against mine, her hand under my shirt, tugging my hair. I started sweating under my black robe just thinking about it.

“Blake, you guys need to talk about it.”

“I know. I know. It’s just super awkward. I don’t have a clue how she feels about the whole thing. I don’t want to be presumptuous and assume she’s interested in something more, so I...I don’t know what to say. I suck at these conversations.”

“I don’t think you do. You have difficult conversations as a doctor all the time, and based on what I overhear here”—it wasn’t called Novel Gossip for nothing—“you do an excellent job of it. You just need to channel some of those skills for this situation.”

“Yeah, but it’s different. With my patients, I can keep my composure and go into professional “Dr. Blake” mode. But when it’s personal, when it’s about my feelings, it’s not so easy.”

“Well, maybe you should try to harness some of that Dr. Blake energy, because look who just walked in.”

I followed George’s gaze to the front door, where Wednesday Addams, AKA Jenny Lynton, was taking off her coat.

My heart sputtered, and the rest of my body froze.

Unlike me, Jenny had actually made an effort with her costume.

Her blond hair was covered by a jet-black wig with two long pigtails that fell down her front. An oversized, sharp-edged white collar poked over her long-sleeved, knee-length, black dress. Black stockings, chunky black loafers, dark eye makeup and white foundation completed the look. It was a complete contrast to her usual laidback, colorful, warm style. And yet she still looked incredible.

I was suddenly thankful for my mask. Perhaps this outfit wasn’t such a bad idea after all, and I could just spend the evening ogling Jenny without her knowing. But unfortunately, my anonymity was short-lived. George caught Jenny’s attention and waved her over to us.

“Jenny! You look fantastic!” George leaned down and hugged her.

Jenny broke into a very un-Wednesday Addams smile. “Thank you! I love the stripes, and the decorations are incredible. Thanks so much for having me. And thanks again for saving the wedding with your cake-baking skills.”

I stood silently next to George, hoping Jenny wouldn’t notice me.

“Well, I couldn’t have done it without my sous-chef,” George said fondly, patting me on the back. I silently cursed her for giving me away.

“Blake?” Jenny turned to stare at me, her voice full of surprise. I thought I saw a faint blush of pink under her white make-up.

“Yeah, hi.” I kept my mask on to hide the heat on my own cheeks. Be cool, Blake.

I frantically tried to think of something intelligent to say to the woman I’d been fantasizing about for the last five days—well, the last seventeen years, more like it—but my mind was blank. Shit. Not again. I thought I’d gotten over this.

It suddenly felt like it was 110 degrees in my outfit.

“Sorry, I’m...er, feeling a little hot. Think I need some fresh air,” I mumbled and hurried to the front door, wincing at my ineptitude.

Shit, shit, shit.