Page 9 of A Heart On A Sleeve

seven

Olive

The Hollow Hearts Festival

“Yes, Mother. I understand.” I nod as if she can see me. Thank heavens she can’t or I’d definitely be up a creek for the numerous eye rolls I’ve tossed her direction over the last . . . Ack! Thirty minutes.

“I just don’t want you to think that anyone would judge you if you came home.

I mean, we all know this is a phase and you will realize you need to settle down.

I wouldn’t want Theodore to be snatched up while you’re up there gallivanting.

” Teddy is the esteemed son of an oil tycoon.

In other words, the perfect husband for Anne Bowman’s one and only daughter.

“Mother, it’s not a phase. It’s my career, and you know, I just looked at the time.

Ari will be here any minute for the festival.

You wouldn’t want me to look disheveled now, would you?

” I twist the knife, preying on what has to be her greatest fear.

Someone could snap a photo of one of us looking average. The horror.

“Okay, make sure you wear Pillow Talk lipstick. It’s your best shade, dear. And for God’s sake, don’t slouch.”

Don’t slouch? I’m walking around an outdoor festival, how would I even pull that off?

“Okay, Mother. Pillow Talk lipstick and no slouching. Gotta run.” I hang up, immediately slouching further into the couch just to spite her.

You’d think after years of trying to fit the mold she crafted for me, I’d be used to it.

But her words still sting every time just as much as the first.

A knock cuts my pettiness short. I hop up to greet Ari and Meg at the door.

“Hey, wow you look . . . Is that Pillow Talk?” Dang it, I can’t help that it’s truly the best shade.

“Yes, but don’t tell my mom.”

“Why would I tell your mom? She hates me,” Ari says.

“Never mind. Is this okay to wear?” I spin slowly to show off my outfit. I opted for tight black jeans, Doc Martens, an oversized cream cable-knit sweater, and a bow in my half pulled-back hairstyle. The bow, a pale rust color with creamy lace, is my favorite part.

“You look perfect. Do you have a tank on in case you get hot from all the smooching?” Meg coos.

“Shut up, Meg.” Turning to Ari, I ask jokingly, “When does she leave again?”

I grab my crossbody, and we head out. A quick lock of my door and I’m in the fresh air, heading toward the first of what I hope is many Mage Hollow events. As I step off of the porch, an image of Sam flashes in my mind.

I think he was trying to be sweet last night.

He was endearing with the way he wanted to take care of me.

No one’s ever worried about me like that before.

And a part of me wanted to keep talking to him, but when I started to feel the slightest bit of comfort, he called me princess and took me right back to all the ways I’ll never live up to that title, not the real me anyway.

I wish I could. I wish I was open and fun and .

. . normal. But just like all the other times I’ve had a slight interest in someone, the thoughts of them seeing my flaws overwhelms me.

With Sam, it’s tenfold: He’s handsome and funny, gruff and demanding.

He makes my head feel like it’s in one of those paint mixers, all shaken up and confused.

I don’t know how I could ever anticipate what he wants or needs in a relationship, how I could ever meet expectations.

As we turn the bend into Mage Square, I’m hit with a myriad of emotions, pulling me back into the moment.

Shock. Awe. Insane wonder. If every resident brought three friends, there still wouldn’t be this many people in the square.

They're everywhere, pouring in and out of the Brewhouse, lined up to get in the tavern, hunkering down on the curb and stuffing a variety of seasonal delicacies in their faces. I love it.

Beau refusing to open the shop today suddenly makes so much sense. Far too many sticky fingers to be touching our precious gems of history. I honestly can’t decide where to look first. Ari leads the way, and I’m thankful I don’t have to choose.

We browse the craft section, chock-full of tables lined with handmade gifts, decor, and the occasional home-cooked soap or lotion sprinkled in.

Meg buys some fall-scented wax melts to stave off her roommate’s “affinity for sweaty men.” I pick up a string of pom-pom garland that’s the perfect shades of pink and peach to match my hippie Halloween vibe.

“Are you hungry?” Ari asks us.

“I could eat,” Meg replies.

“Sure,” I say, my stomach rumbling at the suggestion.

“You have to try the pumpkin ricotta tortellini that Mrs. O’Reilly serves.” Ari grabs our hands and leads the way.

“O’Reilly? As in Sam O’Reilly?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at her.

“Yeah, she’s his mom. She only makes them once a year, and it’s a must-have,” Meg explains.

“Sounds weird but okay, if y’all insist.” I’m helpless to resist. I don’t want to admit it, but meeting the woman who made Sam is an opportunity I can’t miss.

We link arms and walk toward the end of the square.

I can’t help but notice the way the trees lining the street get more vibrant every day.

Fall is beautiful here, captivating in a way that even if there wasn’t an event, it would still feel like Mother Nature was hosting her own party, with ribbons of scarlet and orange strung from each tree.

At the other end of the cobblestone street, the tents and tables are spaced wider to accommodate the food section, allowing people to spread out.

I spot Howie at the tavern’s booth and give him a brief wave.

He’s become somewhat of a friend now that I frequent his work for lunch and am emotionally invested in the crush he shares with Ari—the one that neither of them will confirm but that I’m convinced needs to happen.

“Figures the line would be long,” Meg complains.

She’s not kidding. There are at least fifty people in front of us waiting. The tortellini must really be worth it.

“After we eat, we should check out some of the games.” Ari wiggles her brows at me.

“I’m not kissing anyone,” I spit out, putting my hands up in surrender. Inside, I’m frustrated. I wish that I could let go of worrying about what others might think or how I could be perceived. That I could open up and be carefree, just for one day.

“That tracks,” a familiar voice growls out to me, in passing. I turn to look, and yep. As suspected, it’s Sam. Except he’s not alone. He’s walking in the other direction with his arm draped around another woman. My heart flutters as heat and annoyance crawl up my neck.

“You okay?” Ari wraps her arm around my shoulders.

Desperate not to show the angst I feel, I respond, “Totally. Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?” My voice shakes with unease.

“I just . . . Look, we were just giving you a hard time the other night. I know you aren’t with anyone because the right person hasn’t come along, not because there’s anything wrong with you,” she reassures me.

“No, I know that. I told you. He’s not my type. He’s a . . .” I glance behind me, watching him retreat. “Um, he’s a walking red flag.” I don’t know if I believe the words I’m saying, but he’s so hot and cold, it’s the only logical conclusion I can make.

“He’s the furthest thing from a red flag.” Meg presses her lips together, like she’s thinking of a way to explain. “I know he looks like your everyday bad boy, but he’s super kind, the type that would carry your grandma’s groceries to the car, that kind of nice.”

“I’m sorry, but that’s not the version of himself he’s shown me.

He’s so wishy-washy. First the flashing incident and rubbing my face in it.

Then scolding me for running alone and giving me a vest to mock me.

Not to mention trying to pay my tab last night, like I’m not a big girl who can take care of herself, and then showing up to my house with a sandwich.

” I’m rambling, the onslaught of encounters pouring from my lips.

“Hold the fuck up. Did you say the flashing incident?” Ari gasps, pulling both my arms so I’m facing her completely.

“Umm. Yep. There was one witness.” I groan, shaking free from her grip and covering my face.

Laughter erupts from our small circle. Ari and Meg fall apart so loudly I can’t help but join in. We cackle to the point of wheezing, the kind of laughing that’s silent because it’s coming from so deep.

An older gentleman behind us in line clears his throat, dramatically crossing his arms and nodding as if to say, You’re next, move it along .

“Hello, girls. I assume you want the special?” a beautiful woman with chocolate-brown hair and soft features inquires. Ari and Meg nod emphatically. “Who is this darling little thing?” the woman asks.

“Hi. I’m Olive. It’s nice to meet you, ma’am.” The politeness drips from my words like honey.

“A Southern belle, oh boy. My sons are going to be like a pack of ravenous vultures when they see you. My name’s Mabel O’Reilly.

Please look me up if they give you any trouble.

” Her words are sweet but there’s a sternness to her brows, like she actually expects me to find her and tattle if they are ever up to no good.

“Sam already has his eye on her, from what I’m told,” Meg chimes in. When is this girl going to learn to quit airing my business? I might kill her before she goes back to college.

“That sounds right. He’s always been a sucker for the cute ones.

But Max might give him a run for his money this time.

Wait, are you the new little thing working for Beau?

” Mabel winks at Meg like they are conspiring to conjure up my dating dreams. She’s asking, but it seems like she already knows the answer.

“Yes, that’s me.” I can feel the pink painting my cheeks.