Page 46 of A Hexcellent Chance to Fall in Love

Until the Store Closes

Pepper

After what happened at the bar, I did my best to act normal.

I spent my time at the store, met Christina at the haunted house, and pretended there wasn’t a giant ticking clock above my head.

Christina never brought up the conversation again either, which was probably for the best. We only had so much time left together, so I did everything I could to make it as good as possible.

Because if this was it for us, I wanted Christina to know she was loved.

Even if she didn’t remember me, maybe, just maybe, she’d be able to remember the feeling—and maybe that would be enough to make her not want to see anyone else before I returned, or do something worse, like move away.

It was selfish of me, but the thought of coming back to her being with someone else, or not in Clover Creek at all, was too much to handle.

And I had to stay positive. I had to find the bright side in all of this. What else was there?

Halloween night came, and the haunted house was a smashing success.

The school and the kids were in excellent hands with Christina.

One night as I watched a line of excited patrons waiting their turn to get inside, it dawned on me that it could’ve been Christina’s dislike for the holiday that made her best suited for this job.

She had no thoughts or expectations. She didn’t need to do things “her way.” She let the kids run with their imagination.

That was something I should’ve done more of, perhaps—not that it mattered now.

But I’d hoped that seeing their faces, and the sense of accomplishment that came from the event, would have her sticking around another year—or more.

Just as planned, all the Dead of Night employees dressed up with leftover costumes and we partied the night away.

New Guy, of course, wasn’t included. Not that any of us missed him.

I’d be surprised if he made it back next year.

For all his trying to change things, The Dead of Night was how it was.

All its staff was perfectly imperfect—and that was the way we liked it.

Although it had hit me that this was supposed to be the first time I’d be remembered after this event, I plastered on a smile because there wasn’t any other choice.

I couldn’t leave Christina with a frown.

She deserved all the happiness in the world, so I did all I could to give it to her while I still had the chance.

Time may have worked differently when I wasn’t here, but it still felt like being away forever and coming back to everything changed.

I didn’t wake up each day and go through the motions in solitude, but I was left with the lingering feeling that days—weeks—months—were passing by.

My memories of Christina and my hope she’d be here when I returned would be the only things that would get me through the time away from her.

When she wasn’t paying attention, I memorized the way she looked.

The curve of her Cupid’s bow above her cherry red lips and how she’d bite them when she was concentrating.

I memorized the way her hand felt in mine.

The calluses on her palms from working with wood.

The chips in her polish on her short, manicured nails.

The sound of her voice, and how she sometimes hummed to herself in the shower.

I memorized the moments in between the big things because they were just as important.

Every second with Christina was precious.

Before I knew it, and before I was ready, November second came, and I spent the day with Christina doing all the things she loved the most. I wanted to capture the sound of her laughter and bottle it up to listen to when I missed her.

I wanted to slather myself in her favorite perfume so I could pretend she was next to me even when she wasn’t.

I even bought some of her favorite lipstick in a different color so I could always carry something around that made me think of her.

That night—our last night together—the stars kept us company as I took my last walk through Clover Creek with Christina by my side.

She didn’t ask or complain about why I wanted to stroll through town—a completely mundane thing—she happily accepted we would be together.

That was another thing I’d miss about her: the ease of just being together.

My chest clenched so tightly, my whole body ached.

It would be ten months until I saw the stars, the streets, the people of Clover Creek again, so I relished the crisp air, the wind whipping my hair into my face, and the hoots from owls perched high in the trees.

The scents of fireplaces and dead leaves and the possibility of rain hung heavily in the nightly breeze, and I had to blink continually to stop myself from crying.

This feeling was worse than losing Mitchell.

With him, I didn’t know it was coming—I had no time to prepare—and this was categorically so much harder.

Christina and I had been strolling right near The Dead of Night when the first clap of thunder sounded, and we made it inside the store right before the rain exploded from the clouds above.

“That was close,” I said as I shut the door and locked it behind us.

“We won’t get in trouble for being here, will we?” Christina asked. Her head swiveled around, like she was taking it all in—the quiet stillness of a place that hadn’t been still since we opened seventy days ago.

“No, it’s fine,” I told her. It was the last place I wanted to be on the final night I had in this town, but we’d left her car near the restaurant, and when the big sale started, I’d misplaced the keys to the hearse.

They’d show up magically on the hook in my apartment in less than twenty-four hours, and unless someone else was holding them inside this very empty store at the stroke of midnight, it didn’t matter in the slightest.

Even with the lights off, The Dead of Night looked almost exactly the way it had earlier in the day.

The 60% Off signs still hung on mostly empty racks.

No one could resist a sale, and when people clocked out for the day saying Goodbye and Hope to see you next year , no one asked about what else needed to be done because that was it.

The store did all the hard work itself, and no one ever seemed the wiser.

“It’s kind of spooky being in here, isn’t it?” Christina pulled herself tighter into my side.

“I suppose,” I said, even though I didn’t really see it that way.

This place, as much as I was angry with it, at times was home.

It was all I had. “There are some chairs in the back from the party earlier; we can sit back there until this dies down a little.” As if on cue, thunder crashed and rain assaulted the roof, making Christina jump.

“Plus, it’s probably quieter. And there might still be cake.

” I had to speak louder over the sound of the storm as I held out my hand to Christina.

With the store empty, every noise was amplified tenfold.

“I thought for sure that jump scare the kids had at the haunted house would’ve gotten you, but nope, you really aren’t afraid of anything, are you?” Christina took my hand and together we pushed through the door to the back room.

Like I’d said, a bunch of chairs and a table were still set up from the early closing party that afternoon, and half a sheet cake—chocolate with vanilla frosting—sat in the middle.

“I didn’t know you were allowed to drink on the job.” Christina pulled a White Claw out of a tub of melted ice.

“Last day. It’s tradition,” I said.

She placed the can on the table and moved farther back into the store—among the stacks and stacks of boxes. The Dead of Night was never short on inventory. “There’s still a lot of stuff left.”

I shrugged. “It’ll get used next year.” Most of what was left were costumes and wigs and larger lawn decorations. The things that could expire were what always went on sale and got snatched up in the days before we closed.

“How long do you have until it all gets cleared out?” She continued deeper into the maze of boxes—deeper into the back of the store—and I followed.

“It’ll all be gone tonight.” It was the truth. It would all be gone, including me, in only a few hours, and Christina wouldn’t even remember having this conversation. The backs of my eyes burned, so I quickly looked up and blinked.

“How’s that possible?” she asked.

“Do you really want to talk about it?” I closed the space between us and held her around the waist. We didn’t have much time left, I didn’t have to pull out my phone to know that exactly; I could just feel it. It was like a gentle tug that continued to get stronger the closer midnight got.

“Not really.” She licked her lips.

Light filled the room with a flash of lightning, and then the thunder quickly followed.

Christina sucked in a quick breath. “It’s really coming down.”

We stood next to the only window in the back—it overlooked the parking lot, but with the blinds pulled up, we could watch the rain fall.

It sparkled in the light from the lamppost that was nestled among the tall evergreens outside, the individual drops falling like glitter into the dark murky puddles on the blacktop.

“I wish it were snowing,” I said.

“It probably will this winter.”

I nodded but couldn’t say anything. For me, there would be no snuggling in front of a fire, or watching flakes fall from the sky, or studying how the snow would sparkle in the sun.

There would also be no shoveling or dealing with trying to drive in the stuff either—which I supposed I should’ve been happy about, but being happy about anything at the moment was getting increasingly more difficult.

I clenched my jaw and swallowed the thickness at the back of my throat.

“This weekend we should relax, now that Halloween is officially over for both of us,” Christina said.