Page 51 of Embers in Autumn
Her hum was low, knowing. “Mhm.”
I crouched to wrestle open one of the candle compartments, fingers fumbling with the stiff plastic. “Don’t ‘mhmm’ me.”
Carol smiled faintly, her pearls catching the light. “You remind me of myself when I first met Harold.”
“Was this before or after they invented electricity?” I asked, wincing as I finally popped the back of the candle open.
She rolled her eyes with elegant precision, but the corner of her mouth curved. “Very funny. It was 1973, thank you very much. I was eighteen and working at a diner in the city. My first real job. And before you say anything else stone-age related, yes, there was running water and cars, too.”
I grinned over my shoulder, but my hands slowed as she continued.
“He used to come in every morning before his shift at the post office. Ordered black coffee and cherry pie, even when it wasn’t breakfast time. At first I thought he was just another customer with odd taste, but then I realized… he only ever sat at my counter. He’d wait for my section, even if the place was half empty.”
Her gaze softened, drifting to some far corner of memory. “It took me a month to figure it out. Another month to let him take me dancing. And before I knew it, that was it. My whole life, sitting on a diner stool with pie crumbs on his plate.”
For a moment, the room felt suspended, her voice weaving warmth into the air, mixing with the glow of fake candles and the faint cinnamon scent still clinging from the cupcakes.
I swallowed, something tight pressing at my chest. “That’s…romantic, Carol.”
“It was,” she said simply, smoothing her gloves. “And that’s why, darling, when you find someone who looks at you the way Harold used to look at me, you don’t waste time pretending it’s nothing.”
I stacked a few hardcovers on the display table, smoothing their spines until they lined up neat. “Sure, it’s good to not waste time,” I said lightly, though the words carried more weight than I meant. “But after what happened with Mark, I’d rather take a slower approach to this new… whatever it is.”
The wordrelationshiphovered at the edge of my tongue, too heavy, too soon. It didn’t feel right—not yet.
Carol tilted her head, studying me like I was another book she could read cover to cover. I ducked away from her gaze, busying myself with adjusting the angle of a little paper bat.
“Are you coming tonight?” I asked, steering the conversation away. “The Halloween party?”
Carol pursed her lips, gathering her gloves from her lap. “No, I have better things to do.”
“Chasing off the neighborhood kids when they come to trick-or-treat?” I teased.
Her laugh rang out, rich and elegant. “Precisely. Someone has to keep them honest.” She rose, smoothing her coat, the faint scent of lavender following her. “It’s time for me to go. But have fun tonight, darling. And send me some pictures.”
“Will do,” I said, walking her to the door.
She swept out into the gray morning, every bit as polished as when she’d arrived. The bell jingled in her wake, leaving the shop quieter, but somehow fuller with her words still hanging in the air.
I had second thoughts about the Leia Organa costume as soon as I caught my reflection in the bookstore’s bathroom mirror. The dress, long and white, hugged me in all the rightplaces, modest but flattering. But the hair… oh, the hair. I twisted, pinned, untwisted, and pinned again, my arms aching from trying to wrangle my chestnut waves into those iconic cinnamon buns. After twenty minutes, I looked less like a rebel princess and more like someone had glued dinner rolls to the sides of my head.
Still, when I stepped into the shop and saw how the white fabric shimmered against the backdrop of orange pumpkins and black bats, I had to smile. At least I was committed.
The bell over the door jingled, and I turned just in time to see Dean walk in with Lana. For a second, my breath caught. Dean wore a brown leather jacket, a slightly battered fedora tilted rakishly on his head, and a whip coiled at his side.
Indiana Jones had never looked so good.
His eyes swept over me, widening before he broke into a grin. “Well, damn. I almost came as Jabba the Hutt, but that would’ve made this a very different kind of party.”
Heat flared in my cheeks. “You wouldn’t have made it past the door,” I shot back, though the corners of my lips betrayed me with a smile.
“Lana didn’t let me come as a firefighter,” he added, rolling his eyes. “Apparently that’s just my ‘work outfit.’ So, I improvised. Had the fedora lying around, and Carter—don’t ask me why—had the whip.”
I froze mid-motion as I reached for Lana’s hairbrush. “Why does Carter have a whip?”
Dean raised a brow, his grin twitching. “I’m trying really hard to be grateful I had a costume and not ask him that question.”
I laughed, shaking my head as I guided Lana to a chair near the counter. She was dressed as Katniss Everdeen, bow and quiver strapped proudly over her shoulder, her dark hair falling loose down her back.
