Page 53 of The Party Plot

“That was awkward,” Casey said. “No one in line would talk to me. I can’t tell if it’s because of the whole getting fired thing, or because I’m here with you.”

“Yeah, we do seem to be getting carefully ignored,” Laurel agreed. He couldn’t really bring himself to care. Honestly, it was kind of nice not to have to make empty conversation with anyone. The sun was warm on his back, and he was enjoying being here with Casey, smelling caramel and tartness from the apple and watching his eyelashes flutter happily as he took a bite. “Melody said she’d be here. Should we try to find her?”

“Mm-hm. Here.” Casey handed him the apple. “You finish it.”

“You had like two bites.”

“That’s all I wanted.”

“Fine.” He wished Casey would eat more, but he wasn’t going to push. Not now, at least. “But when we go to Belgium, I’m making you try everything. Even if I have to force-feed it to you.”

“God, you make it sound so dirty,” Casey said with a sly smile.

“It will be. Absolute debaucherous filth.”

“Debaucherous?” Casey gave him a skeptical look. “That’s not a word.”

Laurel grinned, taking out his phone. “Look it up. I dare you. The winner gets to—“

“Laurel, hey!” It was Melody, waving from one of the covered picnic tables nearby. She was sitting with Kierra Nelson and a girl who looked fresh out of high school, and there was a shopping basket full of pumpkins at her side.

“I’m getting into baking,” she explained once they had reached her. “And maybe making pumpkin butter. And I guess whatever else you can do with pumpkins. I’m frickin’ bored, is what I’m saying.”

“Well, you look amazing.” Laurel gave her a hug. He was glad to see that sobriety hadn’t influenced her sartorial sense. The boot had come off her foot, and she was in mirrored sunglasses, a denim halter dress, and strappy heels, looking like she’d stepped out of an early-2000s music video.

“So do you two. It’s nice to see you again, Casey.” Melody smiled up at him, a little shyly. Clapping her hands, she said, “Oh! Introductions. This is Kierra Nelson, the librarian at the high school. And this is Lydia Callaway. We’re part of the same volunteer group.”

Lydia gave them a tight smile but didn’t say anything. Her shoulders were hunched, fingers glued to her phone. Laurel was pretty sure she was Birdie Callaway’s niece, though she’d been much younger the last time he’d seen her.

“Casey, I’m glad to finally meet you,” said Kierra. “I hear you’re into floral arrangements. Have you readThe Language of Flowers? It’s really fascinating.”

“No, I, um—“ he looked surprised, like he hadn’t expected anyone to actually care about his interests, and it made Laurel a little sad. “What’s it about?”

“Oh, the Victorians,” Kierra said knowingly. “So, you know. Weird shit.”

Before they could stay and chat more, though, Melody grabbed his arm, tugging on it. “Laurel, come on. I need help loading these pumpkins into my car.”

“You’re leaving already?” he asked. He wanted to stay, if only for Casey’s sake. He liked seeing him engaged, liked the way his face lit up when he talked about flowers Laurel couldn’t name and colors he couldn’t see. But Melody was already halfway across the field, and he had no choice but to follow. In her heels, pushing a cart full of pumpkins with the corn maze as a backdrop, she looked like a particularly silly fashion campaign.

“Yeah, Kierra and Lydia have stuff to work on. And I think Howie is here. I saw his car out in the parking lot, and I don’t want to run into him.”

“I saw it too,” Casey said, catching up to them. “He has a vintage Chevy Camaro, right?”

“What?” Laurel looked at him in surprise. “Since when do you know about classic cars?”

Casey shrugged. “I saw it outside the hotel and recognized the make and model. My dad had one for a while. They’re surprisingly easy to break into.”

“Interesting.” Melody pursed her lips.

“Oh my God,” Laurel said. He had wanted Casey and Melody to get along, but the idea of them teaming up was a little bit terrifying. “Don’t get any ideas,” he told her.

“I’m just saying.” Casey was the picture of innocence in his white suit jacket, a neutral expression on his face, but right then, he felt like Laurel’s own personal, very tempting shoulder devil. “It wouldn’t be too hard to put some raw shrimp in the heating vents. Or ground hamburger under the seat covers.”

“I like the way you think.” Melody smiled, pressing the key fob for her own car. The trunk swung open. “But no, I’m going to let karma take care of Howie. I think, Ihope, that—” She bit her lip and grabbed a pumpkin. “You know what, never mind. I don’t want to jinx it. Do y’all want to help me make some pumpkin bread?”

Laurel held up his hands. “Oh no. You know I don’t cook.”

“I can make boxed Mac n’ cheese,” Casey added. “That’s it.”

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