Page 23 of A Witch’s Guide to Surviving Halloween

Chapter Fifteen

The next morning, I make my usual trek from my house to Moonlit Pages.

Instead of opening the door for Lucy, though, I march straight across the street to the bakery.

She’s close on my heel as I stomp along the brick road, dry leaves crunching underfoot, and approach the glass door with my hands fisted deep in my jacket pockets.

“Hey, hi! Where are you going?” Lucy rushes after me, trying to get my attention as she pulls her jacket’s sleeves down over her hands and burrows her chin into the checkered fuzz.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but it’s basically freezing, and you have the keys to the nice warm store.

This might not be the best moment to bring it up again, but if you gave me back my keys, this wouldn’t exactly be a problem.

I know you didn’t approve of me and Grandma trying to summon a poltergeist, but—”

I cut her a glare that puts an abrupt end to her early morning rambling and pound the side of my fist against the wooden frame of the bakery door as if it’s offended me. Lucy stares with wide eyes, glancing between me and the door as it rattles on its hinges.

“Did something happen last night?” she asks carefully, drawing out the words.

Normally, she would have been the first person I called after learning that the new guy in town is not only a witch but is also using magic to cheat his way into the town’s heart.

After the last few days, I gave her the go-ahead to close the shop at normal hours so she could go home and get some sleep.

Meaning not only did she have no idea what was going on, but I had been left alone with my thoughts to mull over this new revelation.

At first, I felt relieved. Oliver’s knowledge of magic made it so much easier to explain what was happening .

. . but the longer I lay awake in my bed, staring at the ceiling and replaying every moment since he arrived in town, the angrier I became.

This whole time, I’ve been at my wits’ end trying to navigate Ashwood Haven’s increasingly temperamental magic, and he’s over here sprinkling it onto desserts like powdered sugar to win a stupid cooking competition.

I huff through my nose and whirl on her. “He knows.”

Lucy takes a step back, shooting me a wary look. “Knows . . . what exactly?”

“The magic. He knows about the magic. He’s a witch.”

Lucy’s jaw drops, and she spins around, double-checking our surroundings to make sure I’m not angrily outing us to a bunch of tourists, but as per usual, the street is empty this early in the morning.

“Oliver!” I shout, irrationally angry that my pounding on the door hasn’t gotten his attention yet.

“Have you lost your mind? Keep it down!” Lucy whisper-yells at me, continuing her vigilance of the street, as if Stacy is going to jump out of the nearest alley to scold us for throwing off her circadian rhythm.

Finally, the man of the hour makes an appearance. He doesn’t look alarmed or surprised by my pounding on his door, though. If anything, he looks resigned to his fate—like he’s been waiting for this confrontation all night.

The moment he opens the door, I storm inside, pushing right past him until I’m pacing across the black and white tiled floor.

He and Lucy exchange a loaded look as he waves her through the door.

“Please, come on in. I was just doing some prep. Would you like a scone?” Sarcasm drips from his words like honey as he closes the door behind her.

“You cheated,” I announce.

Oliver scoffs, pushing his hands deep into his gray work pants. “You’re joking, right?”

I cross my arms, popping my hip to the side to emphasize my irritation. “Of course I’m serious. You used magic to win the cooking competition. That’s an unethical use of magic and gives us all a bad name.”

Oliver gives Lucy a she can’t be serious look, while Lucy’s face falls into a deadpan stare that tells me I’m focusing on all the wrong things here. The truth is, I know I’m focusing on the most absurd part of this whole situation. I just don’t care.

After a long moment of silence, I flinch beneath their scrutiny, dropping my gaze to the toe of my boot.

“Fine,” I concede, “but you did cheat.”

Oliver rolls his eyes. “You’re a witch, and this whole town is drenched in magic that’s losing its mind. How about we discuss that instead?”

Lucy’s expression strains as she steps forward. “Okay, I don’t think I need to be here for this, so before you two get too deep into this much-needed conversation, I’m just going to take the keys . . .” She lets the words trail off, holding out her hand expectantly.

“Oh no,” Oliver scolds, and Lucy grimaces. “I get the feeling you’re as wrapped up in this whole thing as we are.”

Lucy’s lips press into a thin line, and she turns on the heel of her combat boots. “Kinda, sorta, not really.”

He raises an eyebrow at her. “Are you a witch too?”

“Yeah, but see, I’m not cursed so . . .” She turns back to me. “About those keys.”

My eyes bulge at her slip-up.

What? She mouths at my gawking, utterly unaware of what she just said.

“Excuse me”—Oliver leans forward as if maybe he didn’t hear her right—“cursed?”

I sigh as Lucy cringes.

“Nice one, Luce,” I breathe.

She whispers an apology as I drop the store keys into her outstretched hands and shuffles out the door, sparing Oliver an apologetic glance. He closes the door behind her, leaning against the glass with one hand and pinching the bridge of his nose with the other.

The silence that follows is heavy with unsaid thoughts as Oliver runs a large hand over his face, looking around the bakery as if the answers he’s seeking will write themselves on the walls.

“Cursed,” he repeats, as if dissecting every acidic flavor note of the word. I guiltily shift back and forth on my feet and watch as he starts to pace, deep in thought. “By any chance, does ‘cursed’ mean something different to you guys than I was taught growing up?”

Knowing who his grandpa was . . .

“Probably not,” I admit.

He sighs, a heavy chest-caving sigh that speaks of a bone-deep exhaustion, then he pulls out a chair and props himself on it and gestures toward me. “Please, start from the beginning.”

I take a deep breath. “Do you remember how you told me you wished you had a bakery like Moonlit Pages, passed down through generations and steeped in family history?”

He nods, chin resting in his palm.

I hold my hands out to encompass the whole of the bakery storefront. “Well, congratulations. You do.”

I let my arms fall to my sides with a thump, but Oliver only blinks at me, unamused.

“What?”

“During the lantern walk, Lucy was down in the basement of the shop and found one of my grandma’s old diaries. Turns out she had quite a thing with the bakery owner across the street when she was younger. Richard Blackwood.”

Oliver straightens at his grandfather’s name, his gaze darting around the bakery before landing on me once again. “Wait . . . You mean . . . ?”

I nod. “This bakery was your grandfather’s.” I take a deep breath before saying the next part. “I know why he gave up the family business. I know why he left Ashwood Haven.”

Oliver’s eyes go wide as he stands, mouth falling open. “Why? What happened? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you, but I didn’t know how much you knew about magic and Ashwood Haven, which made the whole process of telling you about the curse really hard.

I’ll show you everything we’ve found; it’s not much, but if you want to read it all, you can.

But the short of it is that Grandma and your grandpa dated for a while when they were younger.

They were pretty serious, talking about marriage and starting a life together, but then her dad died, and she had to fight to keep Moonlit Pages.

In the end, they wound up breaking up, and in a drunken rage, Grandma cursed your grandfather.

At least, that’s what she was trying to do. ”

“What did she actually do?”

I hesitate, biting my lip. “She ended up cursing our families. Basically, the magic of Ashwood Haven is trying to force us together so that it can tear us apart. That’s what drove your grandfather out of town: the magic.

It caused a ton of problems for him and made it impossible for him to maintain the business, so he left.

And if we can’t keep some distance between us, it will do the same to us. Or, more specifically, you.”

He sighs. “Because your grandma cast the curse.”

I nod in answer, even though it isn’t a question.

Oliver’s winter gray eyes take in the bakery around him once again, as if seeing it through the decades, all the way back to when his own grandfather stood behind the counter.

Together, our eyes land on the display case, and I can see it so clearly, it’s like he’s right there.

A younger, leaner version of Oliver, carefully placing biscuits and bagels and bread loaves in rows behind the glass.

I can see him smile, Oliver’s same dimple in his cheek, and it makes my heart ache for what could have been. For what Grandma lost.

Oliver leans over, laying a hand on the wall, as if he can sense his own family history steeped in the very wood and brick.

“Can we break it?”

I grimace, thinking about the bookworm who will be scooting along the coffee bar as we speak to get its daily latte. “We . . . tried. It didn’t go as planned.”

Oliver quirks an eyebrow at me in question.

“It backfired.”

His lips press into a thin line, and he gestures toward the back of the bakery.

“That explains my new talking sourdough starter.”

I gawk at him. “You have a talking sourdough starter?”

“I do now,” he grumbles, glaring at the back room.

“Not that he’s cared to introduce me to anyone,” a high-pitched voice squeals; it reminds me of nails on a chalkboard, grating and earsplitting.

Oliver’s head falls back in exasperation, and he runs his hands over his face again until they knot in his hair. “It’s . . . sour.”

I have to press my lips together to hold back the giggle building in my throat.

“It’s not funny,” he chides, but I can’t help it. Exhaustion from the last couple of days is starting to take its toll, and my face splits into an ear-to-ear grin as my shoulders shake.

“It’s a little funny,” I tell him quietly between giggles. “Maybe we can introduce your sourdough starter to our new bookworm. I think they’d be quick friends.”

With that, Oliver breaks. His face screws into an expression that speaks of his own amused disbelief at this absurd situation, and we both fall into fits of laughter.

But when the chuckles eventually die out, we’re left with an awkward silence filled with unanswered questions and seemingly unsolvable problems.

“So, what do we do now?” Oliver asks, and I feel as though he’s asking about more than just the curse.

I shake my head. “I don’t know. Grandma didn’t teach us much about curses, let alone how to break them.

She always emphasized staying away from them altogether.

When I was younger, I thought it was just common sense; now I realize there was more to it than that.

Lucy thinks our only hope is to go about things the old-fashioned way: Solve the riddle, break the curse. ”

His lip curls, and I can see the gears of his mind turning with thought.

“My grandpa and dad taught me what they could. Shockingly enough, grandpa had a small obsession with breaking curses.” A laugh bubbles out of him at that.

“But my hometown didn’t have much magic to speak of.

Enough to learn by, but nothing like Ashwood Haven.

All his lessons were more theoretical than practical. ”

We fall into a thoughtful lull, listening to the sourdough starter whine and moan about loneliness and manners. Oliver stares in that direction, hand on his chin, eyes distant as if reliving those old memories.

“I’ll have to pull out some of my old notes, but I think I might have an idea. Can we do it tonight?”

“Oh, sure.” I cock my head at him, my words flat with sarcasm. “We can do that right in the middle of the movies tonight.”

He blinks at me. “What movies?”

I cross my arms over my chest, all the irritation I built up overnight flooding back. “The movies. You know, the ones you cheated your way into getting complimentary tickets to?”

A cocky grin splits his face. “Oh, yeah. Forgot about that. I won a VIP ticket to attend tonight’s movie fest alongside this year’s sponsor.”

I roll my eyes.

Men and their egos, I swear.

“So we sneak away. Who cares?”

A blush creeps up my neck at the thought of everyone seeing Oliver and I sneak off in the dead of night. After all the shit they were giving me last night about my love life? No thanks. “I do. Everyone will think we’re hooking up.”

His brows tick up, and that dimple in his cheek makes an appearance, a mischievous look that says he’s perfectly okay with that.

That look sends my thoughts spiraling, wondering what it would be like to actually sneak off with him in the night.

For him to grab my hand and lead me off into the shadows, closing the space between us and showing me what that kiss two nights ago would have felt like if we could have followed through.

But just like that, the already buzzing magic we’ve been keeping at bay starts to build.

This whole time, we’ve kept distance between us, kept the conversation focused on the seriousness of this curse, but now that it’s turned flirty, the magic is starting to roil.

Despite knowing the consequences, it pushes my thoughts and eyes further south.

Moving from his lips to the full expanse of his chest, the sleeves of his shirt hugging his arms .

. . and lower. When I feel the heat of his gaze on me as well, the magic starts to grow ever more antsy, becoming a crawling sensation along my skin, warning me away as it pulls me closer.

Oliver steps closer, narrowing the space between us, but the moment is immediately ruined by a screeching wail coming from the back room.

I stumble back toward the door, allowing the heat between us to cool off and the magic to begin settling again.

“So . . .” I start, determinedly holding his gaze and refusing to let my mind wander anymore. “Sneak away from the movie tonight. Got it.”

Oliver’s face is blazing red as he turns away, running that hand through his hair. “Got it.”

I rush out the door and back to Moonlit Pages. The moment the glass is between us, the town’s magic fades away, returning to a state of happy contentment.