Page 95 of The Pumpkin Spice Spell
Our group floods the front like a pack of joyful chaos. Junie darts straight toward the vintage Ms. Pac-Man machine with Ivy on her heels. “Let's do this!”
Finn, already in a backwards cap and hoodie, is hooting and slamming buttons on the pinball machine like a grown child. Remy groans, but smiles. He follows behind with a parental slouch that says,this is my circus and yes, these are my monkeys.
Rowan slides in beside me, shaking leaves from her curls. “Are we feasting or summoning spirits tonight?”
“Why not both?” I laugh.
Lilith and Donna are already making a beeline for Marco’s favorite booth, the one by the big front window with the deep red leather seats and cozy candlelight.
Old Pete stayed home tonight, said something about his knees and Netflix. I think he just wanted to be horizontal by seven, and honestly, respect. He's been through a lot. He hasn't told anyone else yet, and we're waiting for him. I suspect Donna knows because Pete and Donna have been close friends for years. Donna, Pete, and my mom are like the caretakers of the town. They know everyone and look out for all. Not much gets by those three.
We all pile into seats and corner booths, coats flung onto hooks, scarves hung on chairs. Wisteria Cove is rapidly descending into the colder season, and the weather is brisk tonight. The table stretches out in mismatched chairs and elbows, and Marco himself slides over with the first round of garlic knots so hot they steam.
Tate grabs one, breaks it in half, and offers the bigger piece to me with a wink. I accept it like it’s a diamond ring. Because honestly? In this town, a warm garlic knot is a love language. The garlic knots are perfection.
“Okay,” Ivy says, bouncing in her seat as she plays Tic Tac Toe with Junie on her paper menu. “We are ordering everything.”
“Agreed,” Finn says. “Appetizers are just a warm-up lap. I’m here for the buffalo chicken pizza and the meatball sliders.”
“And the prosciutto fig flatbread,” Rowan chimes in, eyes glittering. “We’re feral tonight.”
Tate raises his hand like we’re in school. “And a full order of fried ravioli. It’s not a real Marco’s night without that.”
“Can confirm,” I add. “Also, we’re going to need a takeout box before the food even arrives.”
Junie tugs on Ivy’s sleeve, looking up with big brown eyes. “Can I have more quarters?”
Ivy glances toward Remy.
But before he can even dig into his wallet, Tate pulls out a handful from his flannel pocket and hands them over like a vending machine prince.
“What?” he says as Junie squeals and runs off. “Everyone knows you can’t come to Marco’s and not play the games. It’s like a childhood rite of passage. Just passing the baton here.”
I lean closer to him, heart turning into a puddle. “You’re such a softie.”
He smirks and whispers in my ear. “Only for you. And pizza. Also, there’s nothing soft about me when I think of you.”
Town gossips are definitely watching us from the other tables. You can feel it, the curious glances, the subtle smiles, the phrase “finally” whispered between shared appetizers and sneaky glances in our direction.
Lilith sips her iced tea and chats with Donna and watches us with satisfaction as if they’ve been planning this for decades. Wisteria Cove friendships exist on a whole different time line, seasons and soup nights, and gossip is shared like sacred rituals.
I catch Remy watching Ivy as she and Junie huddle over the claw machine by the window. There’s something in his expression that’s not just fondness.Interesting.Very interesting.
The appetizers land, and we’re all ready to dig in. Piping hot fried ravioli, bubbly marinara, meatballs nestled in soft bread with a mountain of melted cheese, and arugula salad with shaved parmesan and lemon oil that smells so good it doesn’t even count as healthy.
We pass plates and steal bites. There’s laughter, overlapping stories, forks clinking, and enough warmth to melt the fall chill still clinging to my skin.
Marco drops off the pizzas himself. “One mushroom truffle. One buffalo. One margarita. And one special, which is Tate’s favorite. Bacon, sausage, jalapeño, and a secret, very special ingredient.”
Tate lifts a slice like it’s holy.
We eat until we’re full, and then we eat some more. Everyone wraps up leftovers to take home, except Finn, who’s still picking at his like a hungry raccoon.
“I’m gonna need a nap and a full moon detox after this,” Rowan groans, stretching.
Donna dabs her mouth delicately and says, “Well, you do need to stay in good health. I might write you into my next book.”
The table goes silent.
