Page 9 of A Hexcellent Chance to Fall in Love

Until the Store Closes

Pepper

Christina. Since spending time with her, I couldn’t stop myself from watching the door each time that witch cackled, waiting to see if it might be her. Hoping to catch a glimpse of ashy blonde hair and cherry red lips.

It seemed silly—I mean, I barely knew her. But I wanted this girl to like me. I didn’t want her to think of me as the weirdo girl who practically begged to do free labor for her—but the fun girl, the nice girl, the girl she could maybe also want to spend more time with.

She crept into my thoughts even in moments I wasn’t thinking about her.

The way her hair fluttered in the breeze.

The way her cheeks lit up like bowls of sweet red fruit.

How she seemed to let out a deep breath before divulging something personal about herself—or sometimes after she’d rambled on—like she was releasing it from her body for the wind to carry away.

In those moments she seemed lighter, more relaxed. I loved that she shared with me.

Christina was like a beautifully layered crepe cake, and I couldn’t break through each layer fast enough—always wanting more.

To say there was something different about her wouldn’t have done her justice.

It wasn’t just her, but me when I was with her.

She had this way of making me forget and live in the present—no thinking of the past or planning the however many days I had of the future.

But the now . It was a gift—a feeling, a lightness in my heart that I hadn’t had for a long, long time.

Which was why that day, I found myself out in the hearse, driving over some odds and ends—things I’d found in the depths of The Dead of Night storage—to the haunted house, just to see her again.

It was quite the predicament I’d gotten myself into—this wanting to see her and also being scared…

no, more like excited…about what that meant.

I’d been stuck to the store for five years, and in all that time I’d been through all the stages.

Denial. Anger. Depression. Bargaining. But I’d done it.

I’d reached acceptance about my predicament.

I’d been an only child, so I reasoned it didn’t hurt my parents much to think I’d never been born.

It was one less thing for Mom to worry about—and worrying about me was her favorite hobby.

My friends had other friends. And Mitchell was already gone anyway.

None of them ever had to grieve for me. They forgot all about my existence.

They were fine. And if they were fine, I convinced myself I was fine, too.

There weren’t many people who could eat, and do, and buy whatever they wanted, and all I had to do was pretend I worked at a Halloween store.

I was basically the CEO of a company. Yes, there were downsides, but did those cons really outweigh the pros?

I didn’t have anything to worry about. At all.

Ever. No bills to pay. No expectations. No one I could let down.

But there was Christina.

Was it even reasonable to think I could spend time with this woman without wondering what it would be like to kiss her?

And how could I possibly think of wanting to start anything with her when there was no way I could finish it?

Then again, sixty-eight days from now she wouldn’t even remember I existed, so where was the harm? It wasn’t like I’d be forcing myself on her. And if it was clear she had zero interest in me, I’d back off.

We could at least be friends for a short while, couldn’t we?

It would make my limited days here more interesting and exciting, that was for sure.

Plus, she did seem in over her head with this whole haunted house thing—and maybe I could convince her Halloween wasn’t as terrible as she thought; then maybe she’d be better off when she had to do this all again next year, and the year after that, and the year after that.

Now I was really getting ahead of myself.

As I turned off Peach Street, I decided helping the town by helping Christina was the right thing to do.

And if we also happened to become friends in the process and then she happened to forget all about me, it wouldn’t really hurt her.

She’d be none the wiser, and I’d have much more purpose in my current situation—something more than just fall days and tachos at Cheesy’s.

And maybe even someone to spend my time with.

It had been so long since I’d had a real friend.

When I had Christina’s job, they’d given me an end-of-the-day planning period, so I’d have time during this event to get to the house and get things prepped for when kids arrived after school.

It seemed reasonable to think that much hadn’t changed since my time there, which meant I’d have the chance to be alone with her before her attention would be needed elsewhere.

I wasn’t, however, prepared for the rush of emotions to hit me as I pulled into the parking lot next to the pumpkin patch and took the short drive to the front of the haunted house.

Like everything else in town, it looked exactly like it used to and yet completely different at the same time.

The paint on the outside was a little duller—which really helped with the ambiance.

The hedges on the far side of the house had been only knee-high the last time I was here, but they had to be at least waist-high now.

It was strange measuring the passage of time with how much the foliage grew.

This had been my happy place, which was likely why I avoided coming back during the day—instead opting to drive by from a safe distance on the street from time to time—until Halloween, when I couldn’t not come and see what they’d done.

But that felt safe. I was just a person enjoying the show.

This, being here now, reminded me of the before—of how much I loved being a part of the process.

The engine rattled along with my nerves.

This was for the town. For the kids.

I couldn’t believe how silly I was being.

Coming here was a good thing. I took a deep breath, double-checked that my pigtail French braids were still perfect and that there was no lipstick on my teeth, and exited the car.

I had a few bags of old costumes and things the store would never sell, and the kids would for sure go wild for them.

Hopefully it wouldn’t be weird to try and hang around long enough to see the looks on their faces when they rummaged through these bags.

The way they would light up always brought me so much joy.

I couldn’t wait for Christina to experience that as well.

The buzz of a power saw greeted me the closer I got to the house.

Whoever it was had to be around back, likely between the staging house and the actual haunted house itself, so that was where I went.

It seemed strange that the school would hire a carpenter, but maybe the house needed some repairs before the big event.

The buzzzz got higher pitched as I came around the corner, and there was Christina—hair pulled back with a headband, safety goggles on—using a big-ass saw.

My stomach did a somersault. I wasn’t sure if everyone looked that hot using power tools, but I guessed that they didn’t.

Butterflies started a full-out party in my belly as she swiped an arm across her brow.

She lifted the handle on the saw, and she glanced up in my direction. I didn’t want to alarm her, so I raised the bags like being here was totally and completely normal.

“I hope I didn’t startle you,” I said.

She flipped a switch on her table saw. “What are you doing here?”

Not exactly the welcome I’d hoped for, but I couldn’t blame her.

It probably did seem a little odd to do a pop-in.

But small towns meant sometimes people just showed up.

She’d get used to it living here. “I’ve been doing inventory and came across some things we can’t sell anymore that I thought you all could use. ”

“That’s awesome. I’m glad you caught me.”

Yes, because how was I supposed to know she was here? Real smooth, Pepper. “What are you doing?” I asked to steer the conversation to safer territory.

“The kids want to have someone basically strapped down to a dining room table like they would be eating a live human sacrifice, and it’s not as if tables with straps like that are common, so I’m building them one.”

“So aside from being a culinary expert”—I winked, remembering how the last time she was in the store, she told me about her boxed mac and cheese catastrophe—“you know how to make that? Impressive.”

She rolled her eyes. “Butter-to-milk ratios are hard. This…” She shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. “I’m good with my hands is all.”

My whole body heated up. The temperature today was unusually high for this time of year. “Maybe we should take these inside.” I gestured at the house.

“Oh yeah.” She removed her safety goggles, grabbed one of the bags from me, then we both headed toward the back door of the haunted house.

She walked in before me. “Watch your step.”

As soon as I crossed the threshold, I was slapped in the face with the familiar scent of someone overusing the fog machine, and the back of my throat got thick. God, how the kids loved to overuse that dumb machine.

It was still early in their construction, but already the space was transforming. A couple of tree cutouts stuck out from the wall, and more were leaning against it.

“You want to put those here?” Christina motioned toward a space at the side of the room where a pile of different Dead of Night bags already lay.

“You’ve made a few more trips, I see.”

Her cheeks turned red like candied apples. “Every time I think I have everything, it seems like I forget something else and have to go back. I wasn’t, like, stalking you or anything. You weren’t even there the last time I went.” She pressed her lips together and turned away.