Page 24 of A Love Like Pumpkin Spice (Wayward Hollow #1)

Nic

“No! Shut up, he did not say that!” Lauren exclaims, excitedly slapping my upper arm.

“Ow,” I complain and rub the spot, but can’t contain the grin tugging on my lips. “He did,” I confirm, noticing my cheeks growing warm.

“I’m so jealous, Nic. You went right ahead and got yourself the perfect guy.” A deep sigh falls from her lips, and she watches Cinnamon as she climbs into her lap, clearly in the mood to cuddle.

She’s completely made herself at home here, like this house was the place she’d been waiting for all along.

Her favorite spot is a bed I impulse-bought and placed right by the window.

More often than not, I will find her curled up there, enjoying the sun, probably dreaming about food.

Or glaring at Pumpkin when she has another of her screaming fits, though they’ve become significantly less frequent.

“He really is,” I say dreamily, hugging a pillow to my chest. “Sometimes I’m scared he’s too good to be true.”

“Makes me want to find a frog too, if the prince follows that quickly,” she says with a dreamy sigh. She stares with an empty expression out of my front window, probably imagining her own, probably grumpy prince charming wearing a backward cap instead of a crown. I shake my head at her.

“Trust me, you don’t want that.”

“ I know.” Her eyes jump back to me. “But come to think of it, Jay does kind of a frog-like face, doesn’t he?”

I tilt my head, and suddenly, the resemblance is uncanny, and I burst into a giggle. “Now that you say it. He actually does!”

“Thank God he’s left you alone since. Do you think he’s gone for good?”

“Oh, no.” I chuckle, but there’s no amusement in it, and shake my head.

“Not a chance. He’s too stubborn. And I think in his delusional mind, he’s convinced that he still has power over me, that he deserves my money and I need to bend to his wishes.

” I take a deep breath. “I fear we haven’t seen the last of him. ”

“Can’t you get a restraining order? He’s harassing you!”

“Nope,” I say, popping the P. “Being an asshole is not enough reason for a restraining order, I’ve learned. And they're still inspecting the evidence of fraud and identity theft. Erik promised to keep an eye out, though.” She lifts her eyebrow, and I shrug.

Both of us have had our fair share of experiences with stalkers and know firsthand how difficult it is to get a restraining order—and how much harder to enforce it.

We’re both jaded by the long and mostly unsuccessful processes of trying to get away from overzealous fans who are convinced we’re besties or in a relationship.

And by the police’s inaction until violence has been committed, pissed at how high our security budget got because we realized that we are the only ones who will protect ourselves.

Then again, this is a small town. Wayward Hollow might not have a ton of cops, but from what I can tell, the ones they have take their jobs seriously.

Erik wrote down everything I said religiously, meticulously labeling and filing all the documents Anna sent over—much more thorough than any city c op would have been.

Sometimes I miss parts of my old life. The five-star hotels, having a stylist, and having a driver. But then I remember the downsides—the not-so-nice fans, the constant camera flashes in my face, the egos in the industry—and I’m glad to have gotten out of there.

“Anyway, it’s a problem for future us. Right now, it’s time for more fun activities.” She puts Cinnamon on the couch and gets up. “Come on, Nic. We are baking a pumpkin pie. I keep getting spammed with recipes on my socials, and I’ve been dying to make one.”

“You have the best ideas,” I say excitedly and jump up, pulling up my sleeves. “I was just feeling snack-ish.”

“Perfect. What better snack than someone’s grandma’s pumpkin pie?” She grabs the bag she brought with her and brings it to the kitchen. “Warm spices, flaky crust, and me dragging your innermost feelings into the open. Pure autumn magic.”

“I’m okay,” I assure her, rolling my eyes when I turn my back to her as I find a mixing bowl. “Honestly.”

“Yeah, you keep saying that, but I don’t buy it.” She pulls a kitchen scale out of the bag and I hand her the bowl. “Nobody is okay after the shit you’ve been through over the past few months.”

I take a deep breath. “Maybe I’ve gotten too used to it.” I shrug as she weighs out flour. “My sister always got my toys, and my parents suddenly decided she deserved them more than I did. Looking back, this situation is not new, but, you know, hindsight is twenty-twenty and all that.”

“Oh, wow, that’s self-deprecating,” she points out, then puts some flour on her palm and blows it toward me. “Away with those thoughts.” I cough and take a step away from the flour cloud. “It shouldn’t feel normal. You should be mad.”

“I’m past being angry,” I say with a sigh that makes specks of flour she blew toward me fly right back at her.

“I don’t have any st rength for that left in me.

I’m so done. Truly, irrevocably done. They’ve made it more than clear that they don’t give a shit about me, and I’m going to return that energy from now on. ”

“Now that’s the spirit!” She cuts some cold butter into the flour, then suddenly perks up. “No, wait, don’t return anything. Pretend they don’t exist.”

“I meant what I said at Jay’s parents’ house. They’re dead to me,” I assure her.

“Good. Hey, by the way, Amanda sold that monstrous table yesterday. The customer said he saw it on the website you set up for her. She was so surprised!”

“I love that she’s into all this paranormal, Wicca stuff, but doesn’t believe in the power of the internet,” I snicker. She slides the bowl toward me, and I turn around to wash my hands to knead the dough, when I see the bowl move suspiciously. “Oh, no, Chaos.”

I catch the bowl at the last second and shake my head disapprovingly. “No more treats as daily night offering.”

“Pfft, as if she cares,” Lauren jokes. She is slowly coming around to the idea of a ghost cat, but I think she’s still trying to come up with “natural” explanations for everything that’s happening. Now she’s keeping them to herself, though.

“Now, to come back to your concern: All of this is terrifying,” I tell her, as I bury my hand in the butter-flour mixture and start squishing it. “It means I don’t have anyone in this world—apart from friends and friendships can fall apart.”

“One thing, Nic.” She steps in front of me and grabs my elbow to make me stop kneading.

“You’re not getting rid of me.” She flashes a smile that might be friendly or might precede a murder—hard to say, really.

“I’ll be the … I don’t know, the pumpkin spice to your pie.

Or coffee. The milk in your cappuccino. The—”

“ I get it,” I chuckle and flick a bit of dough her way. “And same. You’re basically the sister I always wanted, you know.”

“Likewise. I always wanted an annoying little sister.” She grins and walks back to the other side of the counter, where a pie dish has suddenly appeared.

“What in the Mary Poppin’s bag? What else do you have in there?” I ask, surprised, laughing when she starts pulling everything for the pumpkin filling out of it.

“Just about everything we need and a spoonful of sugar.” She wiggles her eyebrows.

“Emotional stability?”

“I meant more along the lines of food. Pretty sure the delivery guy of Wayward Hollow already hates me. Maybe I should bake him some cookies.”

“Make your snickerdoodles. They will make any man fall at your feet. Hell, I was ready to marry you the first time you gave them to me.”

“Is that so?” she asks, gazing out of my kitchen window contemplatively. “You know what? I just might. After Thanksgiving though. They’re Christmas cookies. I can’t bake them before Thanksgiving. Pretty sure there’s some kind of divine rule that would make me burst into flames.”

“That makes sense.” I nod with a grin and set down the bowl, giving the dough a few more kneads on the marble countertop. “Here you go.”

“Speaking of—” She greases the pie dish, then puts the dough in there and pushes it toward the edges until she’s happy with how it’s turning out. “Be a darling and preheat the oven?” I turn around and do exactly that as she continues. “We’re spending Thanksgiving together, right?”

“Erm … I haven’t thought about it yet, but I kind of assumed we would?” I shoot her a look over my shoulder as I set the temperature. “Why? Do you have other plans?”

“ Only with me, myself, and I. What do you think about making a Friendsgiving out of it? If you’re fine hosting because my place is still a mess, and I don’t see that clearing up anytime soon,” she says as she puts parchment paper and pie weights onto the dough.

“Sure. As long as nobody is allergic to cats.”

“We could invite Kieran. He mentioned he’s not too close to his family either. No cat allergy.”

“What about Caleb?” From the corner of my eye, I see her blush and avert her gaze. “If we invite Kieran, we have to ask at least—don’t you think?”

“I mean, if you say so. Sure.” She tries to shrug nonchalantly, but the smile on her face gives her away. “What about Henry? Is he spending Thanksgiving with his family?”

“No idea.” Now it’s my turn to shrug. “Thanksgiving hasn’t come up yet, but I’ll ask him.” I put the dish with the dough and pie weights into the oven and open my cupboards and drawers, trying to find a hand mixer. "He's coming over later today."

“And he's gonna stay the night?" She wiggles her eyebrows at me and that grin is just screaming indecent thoughts so I shake my head at her. But not without grinning myself.

"Nope, just a good old movie and dinner date," I point out, feeling my cheeks fill with heat. I can't wait to see him.

"Aw, you have that smile on your face again!” She rounds the kitchen island again and puts her floury, buttery hands on my cheeks. “I’m so happy for you!”

“Thank you, Lauren.” I giggle and join her in her little happy dance. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this giddy about a man before.”

“Like your whole body is tingling?”

“No. I don’t know how to describe it. It’s … like pumpkin spice! Okay, no. Maybe that’s a crappy comparison.”

“Try me.” She lifts her eyebrow, clearly ready for the challenge that is keeping up with my brain and weird comparisons.

“ You wait all year for pumpkin spice,” I say as I carry the empty dough bowl to the sink.

“And then it shows up, and suddenly … you’re happier.

It’s not something you need , but drinking it, tasting it—it brings this little spark of joy.

It makes life warmer, brighter. Even if it’s only for a season. ”

“I was with you until it turned self-deprecating again.” She pinches my arm, and I swat her hands away. “Henry isn’t only for a season. Pay attention to the way he looks at you.”

“How does he look at me?”

“As if you’re the sun.” She giggles, getting a dreamy look on her face. “And he’ll never let you go. Like he would punch Jay, your sister, and your parents in the face if it meant you’d cheer up. And you know what?”

“What?”

“You kind of look at him like that too.”