Page 27 of Curses and Cornstalks
Well, mostly nothing. I could still be completely wrong about Atticus, and he could easily tie me up and torture me.
My heart lurches.
The beam from my flashlight is swallowed by the darkness a few feet ahead of me, and I slowly make my way through the tall, tangled grass surrounding the cornfield. When my feet hit the dirt pathway, I pick up the pace. The soft sounds ofnight disappear as I make my way between the cornstalks, my footsteps slow but determined.
If what Atticus said is true, he already knows I’m here, but I decide to call for him anyway.
“Atticus,” I say in a normal tone, my stomach fluttering as my voice shatters the silence.
I should’ve paid attention when he walked me out of the field. It would’ve made finding him easier, but I was a little preoccupied then. Distracted and battling nerves.
“Atticus,” I call, a little louder this time.
I don’t want to run around screaming his name in case there are animals or townspeople close enough to hear, but unless he can pinpoint my location with his magic, he won’t be able to find me.
Clearing my throat, I prepare to call out again, but the rustling of cornstalks behind me has ice punching through my veins. I whip around, brandishing my flashlight like a weapon, my heart leaping into my throat. My pulse quickens with every passing second until a form steps out of the corn and onto the path.
I hold the light a little higher, and I’m able to make out a wide-brimmed hat.
“Atticus,” I exhale with relief. A smile immediately finds my face.
“Cassie?” He blinks at me like he’s seen a ghost and doesn’t step closer. “You came back.”
A shiver works through me, and I nod nervously. My thoughts war with themselves, excitement clashing with self-doubt, all while a single question plays on repeat in my head: Did I make the right decision?
“I did.” I nod. “If you don’t want me here, I can leave?—”
“No,” he cuts me off. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t happy to see you. I thought you might have forgotten about me.”
I laugh and shake my head. “I can promise you, a talking scarecrow isn’t something you can easily forget.”
“You’re probably right.” He chuckles softly. “To what do I owe this visit?”
I hesitate, not sure how to answer his question.
How can I admit that he’s lived in my head rent free for the last several days? That I haven’t been able to sleep without first thinking about his face—er, burlap sack?
Embarrassment has my skin heating.
“I just…” I take a deep breath to settle the nerves eating through me. “I just wanted to see if you’re okay.”
Foliage rustles as he takes a few steps forward, closing the distance between us. As he moves into the light that’s shaking slightly in my hand, I’m able to make out the features I’ve spent hours dwelling on. His straw-like blond hair poking out from beneath the wide-brimmed hat, his piercing eyes peering at me through the eyeholes of the burlap sack. A few pieces of straw still poke out at odd angles, but much less than before—like he painstakingly tried to pluck them all free.
My gaze catches on the sliver of pale, grayed skin visible above the collar of his shirt, and my breath catches.
“I am doing much better now,” he says, reaching out with a gloved hand to brush his knuckle along my jaw.
My heart almost slams to a halt.
We stand there for a moment, both seemingly unsure of what to do next. My drive to the cornfield was filled with hypothetical conversations and what might happen, but now that I’m here, my thoughts are fuzzy.
I’m unsure and nervous, which isn’t like me.
Finally, he offers me a hand, eyes still locked on me unblinkingly, and I take it numbly. Electricity skitters over my skin as he laces his fingers with mine.
“Come,” he urges and turns to lead the way down the path.
Pulse racing as I struggle to catch my breath, I follow.
