Page 5 of A Hexcellent Chance to Fall in Love

Until the Store Closes

Christina

My great attempt at playing Tetris with all the things I purchased from all the different places is turning into a ginormous failure as I stare at my car in the parking lot in front of the Halloween store.

Why I thought I could do this all in one trip, I’ll never know. I should invest in a pickup truck.

“Hey, you left this.” The woman who just helped me in The Dead of Night runs out of the shop with a bag in her hand.

She looks like she should be on the front of a sugary cereal box or on the cover of some kind of beauty magazine, not working at a Halloween store full of creepy clowns and decomposing body parts—even if they are fake.

Her bright sweater and the mix and match prints of her top and skirt do not in any way go with her place of employment—although the tiara is a nice touch, even if she doesn’t look like any princess I’ve seen before.

The only thing that truly seems on point is the color of her hair—black as ink.

“I’m glad I caught you,” she says, a little breathless.

Pepper White, her name tag reads—that’s right.

Not sure how I could forget such a contradictory name as that. Then again…

“I’d lose my head if it weren’t attached some days.” I laugh. Real smooth, Christina. Why don’t you just admit to this total stranger that you are a complete and utter disaster?

“No worries. I got you,” she says. Her hand grazes mine as she passes over the bag, sending gooseflesh rippling up my arm. She gives me a tentative smile. “You have quite the conundrum here, it seems.” She gestures to my car.

The wood I swear I’d secured to my roof has somehow taken a tumble, and part of it has fallen forward onto the hood, and a few other pieces have slipped behind, blocking me from being able to get into my trunk.

Which doesn’t matter much anyway, seeing as it’s full of paint cans.

“You know the hardware store guy could’ve delivered this for you, right? ”

Ritchie mentioned that, but I didn’t want to take any chances. “He seemed busy, and I thought it’d be easier…” I’m wrong. As usual. Maybe I can leave some here and come back for it.

She reaches her hand into her pocket and pulls out a couple of keys with a very unique key chain that sparkles in the dwindling sunlight. “If you want, I can help. There’s plenty of room in the company car.”

I shift my gaze away from Pepper and the mess in front of me to a bird perched in a tree nearby.

It quietly tucks its head under its wing.

Same, bird. Same. “You don’t have to. I’m sure I can figure this out.

Do you think anyone would take this if I left it here for a little while?

” I kick one of the boards and it falls to the ground with a loud slap , almost hitting Pepper in the process.

I jump back, but she doesn’t react even though it scared the bejesus out of me.

Can I make this any more awkward? It seems the answer is yes.

She watches me with her denim blue eyes—her eye shadow shimmers more out here than it did under the fluorescent lights of the store, and her peach skin glows.

Peaches are one of the sweetest fruits…Get it together, Christina. I tug the sleeve of my jacket.

“I bet you could figure it out. You seem like a really intelligent woman. I mean, you did just make a lot of smart purchases for your event.” She looks at the bags from the store. “But truly, it’s no trouble at all.”

I glance from her to the mess. It would save me so much time, and I wouldn’t have to worry about anyone taking this wood until I could come back for it.

My budget is already tight enough for this event.

I can’t waste it rebuying things I’ve already purchased.

Plus, she’s being so nice, and her compliment—no matter how small—warms my insides, which is a sensation I haven’t felt in a long time.

“If you’re sure.” I let out a breath of relief.

“Let me just…” She points toward the store as some college-age boy in khakis and a polo sprints across the parking lot.

“You’re late!” she yells at him, before turning back to me.

“Just give me a second.” She winks, and my cheeks immediately heat up.

I hate that my face is a neon sign announcing my emotions—but there’s no controlling it.

“Of course, no problem,” I say as she walks away.

My futile attempt at making the situation better only makes things worse by the time Pepper pulls into the parking place next to mine.

She wasn’t kidding about the company car having room—although I wasn’t expecting a hearse.

A truck maybe, but then again it is a Halloween store.

The Dead of Night is painted across the side, and a fake hand hangs out of the back.

“Nice wheels,” I tell her as she climbs out.

She flashes a grin. “If you like this, you’ll love how spacious it is.”

My cheeks flare once again. She means for the wood—for hauling things around, so why did that comment make me feel like a teenager getting caught making out with my high school boyfriend in his car?

She opens the back—and just like she said, it’s quite spacious.

Not that I’ve seen inside any hearses before, but this one is plush—you could even say cozy—with deep red carpeting and bloodred curtains, which I suppose you could close for privacy if you wanted.

But why would someone in a hearse need privacy?

I glance at Pepper, who still has that smile on her lips, and my face feels like it’s on fire.

Oh, I wish it was just, like, a hot flash.

That would be easier to explain. How old are people when they go through menopause? It’s older than early thirties, right?

“Got a lot on your mind?” she asks.

“Always. I’m sorry.” I reach down to pick up one edge of a board, and Pepper goes to reach for the other side.

“Want to talk about it?” She asks it so casually like we’re already friends, and even though we’ve just barely met, I want to answer her.

“You ever have that thing where you start thinking about one thing and then you’re thinking about something completely different, and you aren’t even sure how you got there?”

She chuckles to herself and nods. “I think we all do that.”

I laugh with her. It comes so easily. “Yeah, maybe.”

“So what was it about?” she asks as we keep lifting the wood and sliding it into the back of the hearse.

“Menopause,” I say.

“You’re a long way off from that,” she says without missing a beat.

I stop for a moment and look at her. “How would you know? I could just look very young for my age.”

She shakes her head like she doesn’t believe me. Which of course she shouldn’t. “You showed your ID in the store when you used your credit card.”

Did I? I guess it does say “C-ID” with my signature—not that anyone really ever asks, but it does happen occasionally, and it’s not like I’ve been great at paying attention today—the failure to secure all these boards is evidence enough of that.

“It’s bullshit, though, what we have to go through,” she says.

I tilt my head. Oh, menopause. That’s right. “For sure. Bleeding and cramps every single month—which started for me when I was ten—and then it’s hot flashes and who knows what else. Hormone therapy?” I shrug.

“I honestly haven’t looked into all the details yet.”

“I know, why, right? Like, it’s not something to look forward to. I think I’d rather be unhappily surprised when it all starts happening.”

She nods. “There are upsides, too, though.”

“Upsides to being closer to death?” I brush some hair that’s fallen in my face out of the way from our strenuous activity. “ This I’ve got to hear.”

“I mean upsides to being a girl. Like we smell better. And we have so many more shopping options—”

“And all the guilt because we don’t fit into a certain size pants.” I laugh, but Pepper doesn’t join me.

“Every body is beautiful,” she says without a hint of sarcasm or irony in her voice. “We should never measure our self-worth by some number inside our pants or on a scale.”

I blink a few times. “You’re right.” She is.

Even if I am guilty of doing just that, but it’s easier said than done.

And likely a lot easier for someone who radiates sunshine from her pores—does she even have any pores?

And someone who smells like incense and vanilla—she’s right about that, too; girls smell much better.

That grin of hers is back, and it releases a swarm of moths in my stomach. Did I eat lunch today? Tuna salad. Or wait, was that yesterday?

She giggles like she knows I’m once again not focused on the task at hand, and to be fair, I’m not—I’m just standing here while she holds the last of the boards on one side. “Not still menopause?”

“Food,” I say.

“I’d love to have dinner with you,” she says, and my stomach launches itself up into my throat. “How do you feel about tacos?” she asks like it really isn’t a question—and to be fair, she’s right yet again.

“How does anyone feel about tacos? Very positively, of course.”

“Good. I know a place.” She slams the back door of the hearse and jingles her keys. “Wanna follow me?”

Her blue eyes are wide like she’s hoping I’ll say yes.

How did this even happen? I didn’t technically ask her out, and she didn’t technically ask me, but here we are.

I glance between my car and her again. I have so much work to do—not with just the haunted house but I have grades and dishes and—so much that if I don’t get it all done, who knows what kind of shit will hit the fan.

But she’s looking at me with beautiful, hopeful eyes, and my heart is pushing me to say yes, which is in direct conflict with my head. “Is it far?” I ask.

Her eyebrows raise. “Don’t worry. I got you.” Her lips curl up on one side, and my heart skips a beat.

I really shouldn’t. I have so much to do, but—those eyes, that smile—I say, “Okay,” anyway.