Page 40 of A Heart On A Sleeve

“I don’t know if we should go any closer,” I say under my breath. My chest feels heavy as my arm turns tender with what feels like scratches clawing their way from my wrist to my shoulder.

Sam places an arm around me, pulling me into his side. “We don’t have to go in if you don’t want to, but I promise you’re safe with me. The decision is yours.”

“Yeah, Ollie. We’re doing this to help you. If it doesn’t feel right, we can figure something else out,” Ariella reassures me.

Taking a few slow, deep breaths, I shake my shoulders and walk forward once again.

I have less than two weeks at this point to figure it out, I can’t stop now.

As we get closer, the cottage comes into view.

It’s what you would imagine any witch’s lair to look like: a small black house with ivy clinging to the sides sporadically.

The windows appear to be cloudy with age and neglect.

The roof is covered in moss. I’d bet there are all kinds of creatures lurking inside.

“Well, it looks like no one’s been here in a long time. Maybe we can get in and out unnoticed after all,” Ari chirps. She has no clue what we are dealing with, and frankly, the positivity annoys me.

“Should we just try the door?” Howie asks, shrugging.

Sam walks up the small step leading onto the front porch, and the door creaks open with a screech. My stomach flips. It reminds me of the door popping open when I entered Irina’s shop. I glance at Howie. He’s the only other one of us who’s met her, and his face has turned as pale as a ghost.

Sam clicks on his flashlight, peering inside slowly before pushing the half-rotted door completely open. He motions with his arm for us to follow, and I clutch for Ari’s hand as we take the step up.

We walk in, cautiously pushing cobwebs out of the way, and my body erupts in chills. My teeth chatter so loudly that Sam immediately backtracks asking, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, uh. Just cold,” I lie. I’m not okay. She warned me, she told me in the cemetery I needed to embrace it before making my decision. But I have, haven’t I? I came clean to Sam. I’ve tried opening up on my own.

Howie and Ariella head upstairs with flashlights, leaving Sam and me in the main room.

Looking around, I notice a rocking chair made of wood branches placed by a stone fireplace.

A cobweb-covered cauldron lies on its side on a pile of ash.

There’s a small table centered in the room, and what I assume was a kitchen on the left.

It’s basically some shelves and a prep island made of wood, but she wouldn’t have had a stove or modern appliances back then.

Sam nods at me and we walk toward the shelves. I run my fingers across a collection of books, sending dust swirling into the air—they must be first editions. Beau would lose his mind. I’m careful as I extract them, trying to make out the worn titles in only the glow of a flashlight.

“Olive, look, there’s something here,” Sam says from the other side of the kitchen.

I take the ten steps toward him tentatively, stepping over a pile of orange and red leaves that must have blown in when the door opened.

Unease settles low in my belly. It’s a book.

Sam moves to pick it up. “Stop, try not to touch it,” I snip out.

Leave it to my restoration training to kick in at the worst possible time.

“I, uh, okay?”

“It’s fragile. If the society is going to claim this place, there’s a chance that Beau could get these. I don’t want to ruin them.” I try to justify my outburst with logic. The real reason settling into my bones is more that I don’t want him to be the next one carrying a curse.

I shine my light on the book, carefully dusting it off with a featherlight touch. “Oh my gosh, this is incredible. How did it survive in these conditions?” I lean in, careful not to get too close.

“What is it?” Sam asks, rubbing his hand up and down my back.

“It’s Eleonara. She’s so beautiful.” I hurriedly move it over as a spider crawls across the cover, making me gasp.

“Who’s Eleonara?” Ari inquires as she descends from upstairs and crosses the room.

“It’s a book, one of the first of what would today be considered romance.

John Dryden was an English poet, and supposedly he wrote stories about falling in love.

Not that anyone has ever seen an actual complete copy.

” I try my best to explain. There’s a real chance I’m the only person aside from Beau who would even care.

“Did you find anything upstairs?” Sam looks at Ariella and Howie.

“Nothing, she didn’t leave much behind,” Howie explains.

“Or someone cleaned house.” Ari props her hands on her hips.

“Wait, what’s that?” Sam points to a carving in the center of the table.

“Looks like it’s just their names,” I whisper, afraid to draw too much attention to the script.

The wood has been chipped away to spell out: Josephine, Beth, and Irina .

But below the names it notes: Never again will we wear our hearts on our sleeves.

If Sam or anyone else sees it, they will know this is all some sort of trick—that Irina isn’t helping me, she’s playing a game.

Out of nowhere, a loud rumble sounds as the cauldron pops up into place and a fire ignites below it.

A rat scurries across the floor, bumping into Ari’s boot and beckoning a shrill shriek from her lips.

We all take off in a sprint, desperate to get out of the cottage while we still can, or at least that’s why I’m running.

In a matter of seconds, we fly out the door and across the crunchy, dying grass.

“Holy fucking shit! What in the actual fuck just happened?” Ari yells, hands on her head trying to catch her breath.

“Magic, that’s what happened.” Howie shrugs then begins to walk back in the direction of my house as if we didn’t all just receive the fright of our lives. Sam, Ariella, and I exchange skeptical looks before following after him.

In the last hour and a half, we have gone from running for our lives to passing a bottle of wine in my living room. Ari is perched on the armchair in the corner, Howie is propped up on the floor against the edge of the fireplace, and Sam and I share the couch.

“Okay, but seriously, that was some freaky-ass shit.” Ari takes a long sip from the bottle of cabernet she’s clutching. “I can’t believe you both went into her shop with her. Are you nuts?”

“I, uh, well, I didn’t feel like I really had a choice. She kind of forced me in her own witchy way, and I didn’t know who she was,” I explain.

“Yeah, it’s not that easy to say no to her.

She’s very convincing. The only difference between Olive and me is that I wasn’t alone.

And I got the hell out of dodge.” Howie reaches out and grabs the bottle from Ari’s hand.

I can’t help but nudge Sam when I see his cheeks turn the slightest shade of pink after his fingers graze hers.

“You could have had a beard, Howard. Shoulda stayed,” Ariella quips at him.

“Don’t remind me,” he grumbles.

“Alright, you two. Are you sure you didn’t find anything upstairs?” Sam looks at them like they must have come up with something. They both shake their heads no.

I can feel the tears bubbling up. You know, when you get that knot in your throat and it’s only a matter of time before the pressure builds and the wet droplets streak down your face. This whole thing has been a lot, and tonight I was genuinely scared—it felt like the cemetery again, but different.

“Ollie? Are you okay?” Ari asks, a look of concern etched in her brow.

“Um, yeah. I just really wanted to find something that would lead me to her. Instead, I found an early seventeenth-century romance novel. If that’s not ironic, then I don’t know what is,” I say without thinking.

I haven’t explained the whole purpose behind this tattoo to Sam.

Not really, anyway. I’m sure it’s not hard to figure out what I asked for, but he doesn’t know the details.

He isn’t aware that if I remove it, I’ll be destined to be alone and closed off forever.

He also doesn’t know that the very thing that will likely happen to me was Irina’s whole point.

The cauldron tipped before anyone else read the inscription on the table.

“Why is it ironic?” Sam asks, thoughtfully.

“Well, just because, uh, because it’s my emotions on my arm. My heart is on my sleeve, you know.”

“Speaking of your arm, what’s it look like right now?” Howie inquires, shifting to his feet to come closer to me.

I shrug off my black zip-up hoodie as their audible gasps ring out.

Across my arm in giant red letters, it reads: GET OUT: 10/31 .

Along with the message Irina clearly sent me are cauldrons bubbling, my standard items that never leave, and little doors slamming shut.

I’m not convinced the doors are representative of her cottage.

I think those are symbolic of my heart shutting out the possibility of things working out with Sam, not that I’m going to voice that aloud.

A single tear slips down my cheek followed by a cascade of waterworks I’m powerless to stop.

“Hey, it’s okay. Come here,” Sam shushes me gently while wrapping his arms around me.

I melt into him. I wish I could just believe that this is real between us.

But between my fear of him using my arm as a cheat code and my inability to share what I’m feeling on my own, I know it can’t be.

I think this is all a sick game of chess for Irina, so to speak—and I’m destined to lose.

“It’s all going to be okay, Olive. I’m going to head out, but you know where to find me if you need me.” Howie runs his hand across my hair, ruffling it just a tad before slipping on his shoes and walking out.

“Yeah, we can do our girls’ sleepover night another time.

I’m going to let you guys hang.” Ari reaches across Sam, hugging me around his arms and pressing a kiss to my temple.

I love her so much—why can’t I be open with Sam the way I am with her?

I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths while she makes her exit.

“Baby, I feel like you’re not telling me something,” Sam whispers, his tone tentative.

“No, it’s not that. I just, I don’t know if . . .” Another round of tears make their appearance and my voice cracks.

“You don’t know what?” His eyes are pleading for an answer. I take a deep breath, chug down a large gulp of wine, and wipe my eyes with the backs of my hands.

“I don’t know if this is going to work out between us,” I utter, choking on the words as I say them.

His face falls and he runs a hand through his hair nervously. His voice cracks when he asks, “Are you, um, are you dumping me?”

I know he can see my arm, so I almost don’t have to explain.

But I know I need to, for me. “No, but I’m scared.

You keep saying things about how much you care and how important I am.

It’s just that you don’t know enough about me.

I’m bound to let you down, and I’m afraid if we keep this up, then I’ll be heartbroken when you figure it out.

” I cover my face with my hands. I know it sounds so childish.

I keep pushing him away even though he’s everything I’ve ever wanted.

“I told you earlier, I really, really like you. Not just the good parts, but the sad and grumpy ones too. I just need you to hold on long enough for me to convince you. Can you do that? Can you just give me a chance to prove it to you?” Sam doubles down.

“I’ll try, I promise I’ll try.” I pull him tight against me and press a kiss to his lips.

The thing is, I’m not lying when I say I want to try.

I think I’m falling in love with him, but there’s something inside of me that refuses to believe that it’s the right thing.

Is it that I can’t tell if he’s being genuine or just relying on my arm to tell him what I want?

Maybe. Is there a way to find out? Only on Halloween—less than two weeks to go.