Page 8 of Kissing the Boss
Abigail eyes the mountain of sweaters on my bed. "You have approximately seventeen cozy sweaters right there."
"Fourteen," I correct. "And they're all moving-day casual, not meet-the-town festive."
"The burgundy one." She points decisively. "With jeans and those boots by the door. Trust me!"
I finger the soft material, wavering. Part of me wants to hide here with a book and pretend I'm not hoping to see Jonathan. The other part, the part that moved to this storybook town for a fresh start, knows I need to step outside my comfort zone if I'm ever going to belong.
"Will there be chocolate?" I ask, already caving.
Abigail's smile could light the bonfire itself. "Hot chocolate with marshmallows. And if that's not enough motivation, Tucker Hughes will bring special edition festival ale that he only serves one night a year."
The thought of running into Tucker makes me wince. Not because I dislike him, he seems genuinely nice despite the flirty persona, but because of how Jonathan tensed when Tucker teased me. That flash of something possessive in his eyes before his walls slammed back up.
"Fine," I sigh. "But if I end up standing alone by the marshmallow station all night, I'm blaming you."
"Deal." She heads for the door, mission accomplished. "Meet me downstairs at seven. And Cassandra? Leave your hair down. The firelight does amazing things with those curls."
Two hours later, I'm following a stream of people toward Harvest Moon Plaza. The night wraps around us like velvet, crisp enough to justify my scarf but not so cold that the crowds huddled along Emberstone Avenue seem uncomfortable.
Main Street has transformed since yesterday. Lanterns strung between lampposts cast golden light over the cobblestones. Shop windows glow with autumn displays—pumpkins, cornucopias, and leaves in every shade of sunset. Musicians have set up near the corner, their fiddles and guitars creating a backdrop of folk music that feels both haunting and homey.
"It's like walking into a movie," I murmur to Abigail.
"Wait until you see the plaza."
She's not exaggerating. Harvest Moon Plaza opens before us, a wide circular space ringed by ancient oaks. At its center, a massive bonfire crackles and leaps skyward, sending sparks dancing into the night. Hundreds of lanterns hang from the surrounding trees, swaying gently in the breeze. The crowd moves in fluid patterns around the fire, some dancing to the music that seems to come from everywhere, others gathered at long tables laden with food and drink.
"This is..." Words fail me.
"Magic," Abigail finishes, squeezing my arm. "Come on, let's get you some of that hot chocolate."
We weave through the crowd, and I'm struck by how everyone seems to know everyone. People call out greetings, share inside jokes, pass children between groups like communal treasures. It's beautiful and intimidating all at once.
"Abigail!" A woman waves from one of the beverage stations. "You managed to drag another newcomer out tonight!"
"Safety in numbers," Abigail replies with a laugh as she steers me toward the table. "Cassandra, this is Eliza Hayworth. She runs the Enchanted Bean and makes the best hot chocolate this side of the state."
"You're the one who broke down in Acorn Circle," Eliza says, recognition dawning. "Jonathan's new bookkeeper."
Of course that's how I'm known. My cheeks warm. "That's me. Car killer and office organizer."
"Don't worry, honey. By next week they'll have found some other newcomer to gossip about." She hands me a steaming mug topped with a marshmallow the size of my palm. "This should help."
I take a sip and nearly groan. "This is incredible."
"Family recipe. The secret is cardamom."
I'm about to ask for more details when the crowd shifts and I catch a glimpse of a familiar figure at the edge of the firelight. Jonathan stands slightly apart from the main gathering, leaning against a wooden fence post, nursing what looks like one of Tucker's beers. Even at a distance, he draws my eye like a magnet, shoulders set in that sturdy way that makes me feel safe, jaw shadowed with stubble, eyes reflecting the dancing flames.
"Your boss cleans up nice," Abigail murmurs, following my gaze.
He does. He's traded his work clothes for dark jeans and a charcoal henley pushed to the elbows, revealing forearms that make my mouth go dry. He looks both part of the town and separate from it, connected but holding himself at a deliberate distance.
Just like at work. Close enough to feel his presence, far enough to maintain those boundaries he's so adamant about.
"Go say hello," Abigail nudges me. "I need to check on the cider station anyway."
"I don't think that's a good idea."
