Page 12 of A Witch’s Guide to Surviving Halloween

Chapter Seven

Orange, pink, and purple streaks paint a watercolor sky above the turning trees that encircle the town.

A chill from the metal handles of the lanterns hanging from my fingers sends shivers up my arms, and I’m reminded I should have grabbed gloves.

Bundled in thick layers, I trek across the brick road to the bakery, avoiding a long stream of people making their way toward the square.

Giggling children race down the center of Main Street, their parents huddled together, smiling and chatting as they follow close behind.

Squinting, I peer through the glass door, spotting Oliver as he shrugs on his coat, and with a single knuckle, I tap against the glass to get his attention.

The moment he sees me, his face lights up, a gleam appearing in his eye.

My heart flutters at the sight, and I raise one of the lanterns, both an offering and an invitation.

I can almost hear his breathy laugh through the door as he approaches.

He steps out onto the sidewalk, locking the door behind him. “Another can’t-miss event?”

I hold a lantern out to him, letting it hang in the air between us. “With VIP access.”

The corner of his lip lifts as his eyes bounce from the lantern to me and back. “Well, how can I say no to that?” He takes the lantern, the brush of his fingers against mine sending a tingle up my arm. “Lead the way.”

We weave through the crowd side by side, stepping through the long lines of groups and couples waiting to purchase lanterns and find their place among the growing throng.

“So, how are the preparations for opening day coming along?” I ask.

“Pretty good. Since there were only a few weeks between Miss Laura’s closing and the reopening, most suppliers have been willing to work with me and start deliveries ASAP. I already have all my family’s recipes ready to sell, so it’s just a matter of fine-tuning the details.”

I nod along as he talks, pretending I understand anything about opening and running a bakery.

Taking over the bookstore had been logistically very simple.

I’d been working at Moonlit Pages for most of my life by the time Grandma decided to step down and let me run it outright.

Of course, she’d always been around, giving me direction.

Even from the afterlife, it often feels like she’s still standing over my shoulder, showing me the way through life.

And no matter how I try, no matter how much I tell myself I should do things my own way, I can’t help but listen to the memory of her guiding whispers.

The mention of his family triggers something in my mind. I think back to what Lucy said the morning Don told us of Oliver’s arrival.

You’d think a guy so interested in maintaining family tradition would take over a family bakery.

The thought of having to force myself into his personal life makes my skin itch.

I certainly don’t want anyone asking me prying questions, especially strangers.

Honestly, I’ve known most people in this town my entire life, and I still get twitchy when they ask about anything deeper than a spring puddle. But, do I really have a choice?

I use my free hand to scratch at the back of my neck, an attempt to itch away the knot growing from being around so many people. “Don mentioned it’s a family business. I’m surprised you didn’t take over your family’s bakery.”

“It’s . . . a long story.” A heavy pause follows, a dark shadow passing over his face, and immediately, I want to take it all back.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.

That was rude of me.” I glance at him out of the corner of my eye as we weave around another family and start making our way toward the stage steps.

Oliver’s blue-gray eyes have gone stormy and distant, as if he’s somewhere else entirely and not anywhere particularly happy.

“No, it’s fine.” He bites his lip, and we walk in silence so long I wonder if he’s going to respond at all when he takes a deep breath.

“There is . . . was . . . a family business. My dad inherited it from my grandpa. Growing up, I always said I wanted to take it over, but when I turned eighteen, I realized I wanted to see the world first. Then, once I started traveling, I couldn’t seem to stop.

I always said I’d be back to learn the business and take over one day when I no longer felt the need to be anywhere else.

But I wasn’t even around when . . .” We pull up short of the stage, and Oliver turns to me, though his eyes never meet mine.

Instead, they track the lantern swaying in his grip.

Stacy waits for me at the base of the stage, checking her watch and tapping her foot impatiently.

Oliver takes another deep breath as if bracing himself, forcing himself to say the words aloud. “It was sudden. Car crash. My dad . . . He didn’t make it, and I wasn’t there to say goodbye. He left the business to his long-time assistant, who had been working at the bakery for decades.”

“Oh . . . I’m so—”

Oliver gives a quick shake of his head, finally meeting my gaze. The storm clouds in his eyes are full of heavy resignation and grief. “Don’t be sorry. Alex deserved it. He was a loyal employee, working six days a week at my dad’s side. He deserves it far more than my absent ass ever did.”

We fall into a heavy silence filled with the weight of unsaid reassurances.

My instinct is to tell him that that’s not true.

That his father was proud of him and probably didn’t want to burden him with unwanted responsibilities.

That there’s more to life than tradition and family legacy.

But I can’t rightfully say any of those things.

I don’t know Oliver or his father; I know nothing of their relationship, and can’t speak to what his father thought of his son’s travels.

And for me, of all people, to speak against family tradition would be hypocrisy at its finest. Isn’t that why I’m about to walk up on that stage and lead this year’s lantern walk?

Because I can’t let go of Grandma and what she would have wanted?

So, instead, I wave my lantern at an anxious Stacy. “I should get things started.”

Oliver gives me a tight smile, some of the swirling storm clouds in his eyes dispersing. “I’ll be here waiting.”

Reluctantly, I return his tight smile with a thin one of my own and turn away, feeling as though I received more than I bargained for in that short conversation.

I use the few feet between Oliver and Stacy to collect myself, so lost in his words, both said and unsaid, that I don’t even remember to be nervous.

“Ready, hostess?” Stacy chirps, herding me toward the stairs and rattling off her reminders. “Tonight is super easy. A simple ‘Is everyone ready for the Enchanted Lantern Walk?’ And then give the cue for everyone to light their lanterns, and after that, it’s literally a walk through the woods.”

I barely listen as she talks, throwing one last glance over my shoulder to where Oliver is standing at the front of the stage. He nods encouragingly, and I’m flooded with a strange warmth that makes my heart want to burst.

For weeks, people have been asking me if I’m sure, if I’m ready. All they see is a scared bookworm who’d rather be shelving novels than speaking to a crowd. And if Grandma were here, she would insist on doing this herself.

But for the first time, I feel understood in my need to hold on tight to this responsibility I utterly loathe.

Oliver doesn’t hate the bakery, at least it doesn’t seem that way. But it wasn’t his first choice in life. It’s something he’s both chosen and been forced into, in a desperate attempt to hold on to family, familiarity, and legacy.

Never in a million years would I have voluntarily signed up to host a week-long event that involved me speaking on stage over and over again.

Yet, I can’t bring myself to let tradition die.

I can’t stop living my life the way Grandma would want to be living hers, rather than for myself.

Just like Oliver can’t let go of his family business, even though he didn’t take over his family’s business.

I climb the stairs to the stage, approach the microphone, and . . . hesitate. All the nerves I forgot to feel suddenly overwhelm me in the face of so many. A sea of people watch me, and my heart thrums against my chest, stage fright making my tongue stick to the roof of my mouth.

My fingers reach for the cuff of my shirt, then pause when my roaming eyes find Oliver.

There’s a kinship hidden behind those eyes that makes me feel less alone on this otherwise empty stage.

Because the only reason I’m up here is that I can’t let Grandma down.

Because I took on this responsibility that she never asked me to.

The understanding there isn’t just about my nerves—everyone gets stage fright (except Grandma, of course)—but rather a recognition of why I’m doing this at all.

Of why I’m putting myself through this, why I took over the Moonlit Pages, and why I can’t just let Don host, even if I’m scared.

A weight lifts off my shoulders, and the words come easily, my mouth curling into the first genuine smile I’ve had while hosting this year’s Halloween.

“Is everyone ready for the Enchanted Lantern Walk?” Genuine excitement tinges my words, and the crowd feels it. They erupt into cheers and claps, hoisting their lanterns high into the air.

I lose myself in those wintery eyes, as if Oliver and I are the only ones in the square, as if I’m making this speech just for him. My heart lifts at his crooked grin, and I lift my own lantern into the air.

“Then light your lanterns, and let their glow guide the way.”

The magic of Ashwood Haven shudders, a wave hitting me so hard that the only thing keeping me from being dragged beneath its undertow is Oliver grounding me to the stage.

Then every lantern in the square alights at once, flames licking the wicks of every candle. Delighted squeals and gasps echo as the dozens of candles light themselves, as if . . . by magic.

A distant voice, screaming at me from the back of my mind, tells me this is wrong.

That nothing good can come of the magic acting on its own like this.

But I’m so light and alive that for once, I can’t bring myself to care.

The magic of Ashwood Haven buzzes through my veins, lifting my spirits so high that with the help of one of those flying brooms, I could skim the clouds with my fingertips.

Let the people believe that they are witnessing an amazing display of ingenuity and creative showmanship because, at this moment, I don’t have it in me to deny the magic what it wants.

With a burst of energy, I hurry down the stairs, adrenaline pushing me right past Stacy, and instead I rush to Oliver’s side.

I skid to a stop before him, so close I brush his chest, rising and falling as he tries to catch his breath.

We watch each other, eyes wide, and for a moment, I wonder if he can feel the magic too.

His ear-to-ear grin matches my own, and I think he’s about to say something when I grab his hand and pull him between people and toward the beginning of the lantern walk.

His touch sends shivers up my spine, and his large fingers weave through mine as if they were meant to rest there.

Every second our hands are connected, the magic grows around us, coming to life with a swell so thick I can taste it like a packet of Pop Rocks on my tongue.

By the time we reach the start, my heart is racing so fast I think it might leap out of my chest, a sugar rush that has my blood thrumming.

Hand in hand, we pause at the start of the lantern walk, marked by a wooden arch anchored with hay bales and decorated with orange and red flowers.

Little pumpkins, both white and orange, are stacked around the base and placed in strategic intervals between little solar lamps marking the way into the forest. Every little detail of the scene before me is more spellbinding than ever before.

The little lights glitter, the pumpkins are a more vibrant orange than I remember them ever being, and the glow from my lantern exudes a warmth I’ve never noticed before.

For the first time in years, the lantern walk feels truly enchanting.