Page 36 of If The Shoe Fits

The twinkle lights cast a soft, magical glow across the room, highlighting the glittering centerpieces and lush garlands draped along the walls.

The ancient crepe paper and disco balls are long gone, replaced with sleek, modern touches that make the space feel like something out of a fairytale.

“Not bad,” I murmur, surveying the scene as students begin to filter in.

They’re laughing, spinning around the dance floor, and snapping enchanted selfies by the photo booth we set up in the corner.

Agatha appears beside me, dressed in a stunning emerald gown and grinning from ear to ear. She always looks hot.

Like a 1950s pinup girl or something. But it’s her warm and sunny disposition that makes people like her. She’s truly a great friend.

“We pulled it off,” she says, giving me a little nudge.

“Yeah,” I reply, trying to focus on the satisfaction of a job well done instead of the hollow ache in my chest.

But then, I feel it.

A familiar warmth washes over me, prickling against my skin like static electricity. My pulse quickens, and I don’t even need to turn around to know who just walked into the room.

Wulfy.

“Um, yeah. It looks amazing,” I agree, probably repeating myself in my efforts to ignorehim.

I take in the thousands of fairy lights glittering all over the ceiling and walls.

Midnight blue drapes are hung behind them, and the effect is like we’re floating beneath a perfect sky.

The heavy mahogany furniture is polished, as is the floor.

Tables with dark cloths, and stacks of floating candles atop light up the space gently, creating an otherworldly atmosphere. There are also beautifully carved pumpkins that sit as centerpieces with tall cattails and bouquets of colorful fall foliage placed about.

A dozen place settings adorn each table with the finest dishware and shiny crystal goblets. The cutlery isn’t silver. Of course not, with all the allergies and such. But I believe they might be plated with 24 karat gold.

The pièce de résistance, of course, is a large, lifelike replica of the Harvest Moon hanging where the usual chandelier would be in the center of the ballroom. The warm glow emanating from it is simply stunning.

Everyone stops tooohandaah, and I feel pride for my part in all this. There’s a DJ playing dance music in the background, but nothing too loud or garish.

Wonderful scents are coming from where the caterers are prepping their trays to serve appetizers and pumpkin punch.

Everything looks perfect.

Smells better.

But I am nervous as all get.

Agatha is chattering away while people arrive, and I admit I am on pins and needles myself.

Wulfy is prowling the room, speaking to guests. But aside from one or two glances he hasn’t made any headway in my direction.

Standing in the auditorium and pretending nothing happened between us has been hell and I admit I skipped the last few daily announcements. Aggie has reported increased visits to the faculty lounge whenever my breaktime rolls around, but coward that I am, I’d been taking them at my desk.

No, I haven’t seen much of him at all lately.

But every night I hear a Wolf howl outside my window. And when I go to bed beneath my floral sheets and sky blue comforter, and I secretly hope it’s him.

Wulfy.

Hopefully, after tonight, I’ll know for sure.

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