Page 9 of A Witch’s Guide to Surviving Halloween
Chapter Five
Dry leaves crunch beneath the heel of my boots as I sway on my feet, pushing my hands deeper into my pockets and admiring the arch made of plastic pumpkins and balloons of various spooky colors towering above me.
I wait for Oliver, swathed in the glow of string lights and lampposts.
Tourists and festivalgoers flow past me and into the market, chattering in tightly packed groups about what treats they might find and the “spells” they plan to buy.
Customers flow in and out of brightly lit storefronts as if it were a Saturday afternoon, bags hanging off their elbows before they’ve even made it to the booths behind me.
Two girls bundled in cute coats and scarves come giggling out of Moonlit Pages, steaming lattes in hand as they walk arm-in-arm toward the market.
They smile at me as they pass, a spark of recognition in their eyes.
Moments later, Oliver steps out of his new bakery, his charcoal peacoat hugging his frame as he locks the door behind him.
I bounce on my toes when he spots me beneath the arch, resisting the urge to run right up to his side.
“Have you lot ever considered celebrating a warmer holiday?” His shoulders jump up to his ears in an exaggerated shiver.
I shrug and weave an arm through his, pulling him through the entrance and deeper into the market. “You can’t have a Witch’s Market on National Donut Day.”
He snorts. “Can’t argue with that logic. What is a Witch’s Market anyway?” Oliver eyes the passing stalls closely, craning his neck to get a better look at an elaborately carved chess set.
I lead him through the booths and guide him toward one enveloped in shades of sparkling blue and iridescent purples. The table is laden with an array of candles with names like Love Potion and Calming Essence.
“It’s a normal market, but Halloween-themed. Don’t worry, I won’t let anyone curse you or sell you a bad spell,” I tease, knowing full well that I’m one of only two people in this town actually capable of hexing him.
He picks up one of the candles, studying the scrolling label that reads Abundance. “That is greatly appreciated,” he mutters before unscrewing the top and taking a big whiff before I can stop him.
Instead, I bite my lip, waiting for the reaction I know is coming.
Oliver’s face screws up, and he recoils, holding the candle at bay like a kitten trying to scratch his eyes out. “Oh my . . .” He coughs into his elbow, eyes starting to water, and I can’t contain my laugh. “What is that?”
“It’s the scent of abundance,” I chuckle, failing to hide my amusement and knowing full well it smells like a cross between the sweetest cupcake in the world and a sweaty bodybuilder straight from the gym.
He gives me a skeptical look that I catch out of the corner of my eye before screwing the top back on.
“The abundance of what? Dirty socks soaked in buttercream?”
A genuine smile pulls at my lips at how accurate that descriptor is, my shoulders shaking with laughter as I grab one labeled Sunrise. I unscrew the top and hold it out to him.
“Here,” I offer, swallowing my giggles, “try this one.”
His eyes flit between me and the candle, debating whether or not to trust me after I let him sniff Abundance.
I shake the jar at him, and reluctantly, he leans in and gives it a hesitant whiff.
Instantly, his face lights up, and he takes another deeper sniff, drinking in the scent of oranges, ginger, and cinnamon.
“Oh, that’s much better. I can’t say I’ve ever sniffed the sunrise, but I’ll take that over Abundance any day.” He rubs his nose as if trying to rid it of the memory.
I laugh again, feeling lighter than I have in months. I take a deep, easy breath just as the booth owner notices us standing by the table.
“Hey, Amelia! Find anything you like?” Thomas asks, rubbing his hands together and beaming at me, his rosy pink cheeks reflecting the low lights of the market.
“Oh, I’m only browsing tonight. Though I think Oliver here could use something to help with his grand opening.”
“Grand opening? You must be the young man who bought Laura’s bakery.” Thomas reaches out across the table to shake Oliver’s hand, smiling from ear to ear. “I’m Thomas, nice to meet you. Ya know, I saw you checking out Abundance. That’s a great one to have as a new business owner.”
Oliver does his best to hide his grimace, and I have to cough into my sleeve to hide my snort.
“Actually . . .” He scans the table and plucks the closest jar of Sunrise he can find. “I think I’m more of a morning person. I’ll take this one.”
“Another excellent choice!” Thomas booms, gleaming with pride at making a sale.
As the town’s resident carpenter, Thomas’s candle making is nothing more than a passion hobby that he pulls out a few times a year.
Everyone in town knows that each new scent will either be amazing or the most vile thing one has ever smelled—with no in between.
But watching him puff up with a childlike glee every time he sells one makes it worth it every time.
Thomas leaves to wrap up the candle, and I burst out laughing, covering my mouth with a hand.
“Thanks for the help,” Oliver teases, elbowing my shoulder. I’m laughing so hard that I trip over my own feet and throw my head back.
“You didn’t actually have to buy anything,” I say between chuckles.
“Tell that to Thomas,” he whispers between clenched teeth, jerking his head in the direction of the candlemaker, but he can’t hide the grin pulling at his lips.
Once we’ve secured Oliver’s purchase, I pull him away and introduce him to every business owner in town with a booth.
He buys something every few stalls, and by the time we’re halfway through, he has a bag on his arm bulging with a crocheted hat, oven mitts covered in moons and stars, a salsa mix, and various other goodies.
“You don’t have to buy something from everyone to make them like you.”
Oliver shrugs, holding out the bag and letting it dangle from his fingertips. “These are all vital purchases, thank you very much.”
I give him an incredulous smirk and pull out the crocheted hat. It’s striped with a rainbow of colors and has a fluffy white puff on top. I hold it up, spinning it with a finger.
“This was a vital purchase?”
“Yes,” he declares, using his free hand to pull it onto his head, flattening those golden-brown curls until they fall into his icy eyes. He turns his chin this way and that, showing off his new look. “I needed a new hat for my winter travels.”
Despite that odd buzzing energy that seems ever-present between us, I’m .
. . comfortable. This back and forth with Oliver is easy, and I realize I hadn’t even braced myself for our night together.
At this point in the night, I’m usually drained from the effort of having to keep up the conversation, but instead, I’m pleasantly relaxed.
At ease even. It’s been so long since I’ve effortlessly fallen into conversation with someone other than Lucy, and even then, sometimes I need my space.
I tip my head to the side, my dark ponytail swishing against my jacket. Suddenly, I realize this could be the opportunity I’ve been looking for to learn more about his life before Ashwood Haven.
“Do you travel often?”
“All year long. Or, at least, I used to.”
Side by side, we continue our stroll through the market, taking a break from the booths and heading straight for the hot chocolate stand. “Used to? Not anymore?”
“Well, I imagine I won’t have much time or money for travel now that I have the bakery.”
“That’s fair. Where all have you been?”
Oliver shrugs again, lips thinning with thought. “A little bit of everywhere.”
I snort, grabbing two fresh cups of thick, luxurious hot chocolate topped with a homemade whipped cream that bobs with the movement.
“That was vague. Here, I’ll be more specific. Tell me about all the winter destinations you’d take your new hat to.”
He blows on his drink, eyeing me over the rim as he seems to seriously contemplate the question.
“It depends; winter travel can be a little finicky. If you’re looking for a getaway to escape the cold, you can’t beat Thailand.
Koh Phi Phi is something everyone should experience at least once in their life, plus the markets are every foodie’s dream.
But if you’re someone who likes to embrace the cold, Iceland is the place to be.
Between the hot springs, northern lights, and glaciers, you can’t go wrong. ”
My hand pauses halfway to my slack-jawed mouth, the steam from my cup tickling my half-frozen nose.
I didn’t expect an answer like that. I thought for sure he’d go on about some ski town he visited with a group of friends in college, or maybe a beach trip to Florida with family.
Instead, he talks about Thailand and Iceland as if he’s been there, and recently at that.
As if he’s experienced those hot springs for himself.
The thought instantly has my mind spiraling, picturing his large frame poking out from a steaming pool against a backdrop of pristine snow and ice.
The mental image has my cheeks heating, something stirring deep in my stomach, and I’m suddenly completely consumed by the need to blow on my drink so I can take the perfect sip.
Anything to avoid those steely eyes that must be the same color as an Icelandic sky.
“So, what are you?” His voice lowers as he leans in closer and removes his new hat from his head as if about to share a secret. The air between us thickens, and this time, I know exactly what it is. Magic. “A beach or glacier kind of woman?”
Briefly, I meet his gaze before quickly looking away and starting our stroll once again. Putting space between us has the magic settling, making it easy to breathe once again. “I don’t know. I’ve barely left Ashwood Haven, let alone enough to have preferences. I’m not particularly adventurous.”
He side-eyes me. “Huh. You don’t strike me as the homebody type.”