Page 48 of Curses and Cornstalks
It was their house or the cornfield, and I refused to let him stay there a second longer.
The rest of his backstory required more creative storytelling, like explaining why he showed up with nothing more than the clothes on his back. I told them his luggage was lost, and they bought it. That, or they didn’t care enough to pry.
Either way, miraculously, we played it off.
Uncle Wayne even had some clothes Atticus could wear until the online order I placed arrived.
With a grin, I glance at his new black jacket, T-shirt, and jeans. He looks good and fits in, which is the most important thing.
I glance down at his hand on my thigh, his fingers slowly creeping closer to the end of my maroon sweater dress. If I wasn’t wearing leggings, there’d probably be no stopping him. I’d be getting finger banged in the middle of this cozy little diner before we even had our orders taken.
My face heats.
It’s suddenly gotten several degrees warmer.
“Behave then,” I whisper. “You’re going to get us into trouble.”
He laughs. “Didn’t you know? Trouble is my middle name.”
I purse my lips to keep from smiling and grab his hand, lacing my fingers with his, admiring their warmth. He’s no longer the frigid, cursed scarecrow I met weeks ago, and I take every chance I can to remind myself of that incredible fact.
He’s real, he’s alive, and he’smine.
“Yeah, well, you’re going to be grounded if you get us kicked out of here,” I warn.
A second later, Mrs. Lucinda slips up to our table with a wide grin. “Good morning, Cassie. Is Madelyn joining you today?”
“Morning, Mrs. Lucinda.” I shake my head, knowing my cousin’s gone four-wheel riding with friends. “Not today.”
Her gray eyes slide to Atticus, who offers her a charming smile.
“G’morning ma’am,” he says in his thick southern drawl.
“I don’t reckon I’ve seen you before,” Mrs. Lucinda says. “Are you new around here?”
“Quite new.” He tips his head in a nod. “But you could say it feels like I’m coming home.”
My stomach flip-flops at his words, and I squeeze his hand beneath the table. If only Mrs. Lucinda knew who he really is, that he’s been here longer than she’s been alive. That he might have known some of her ancestors if they lived in town when he did.
She already knows of him, even if she doesn’t realize it.
Everyone has heard about the Watcher.
But no one knows Atticus Taylor, the town’s newest—and oldest—resident.
“Well, welcome to Cold Springs, sugar,” she says warmly. “What can I get you today?”
“Two milkshakes,” I cut in. “And some apple pie.”
The old woman winks in my direction. “Coming right up.”
After we finish our dessert, I offer to take Atticus window shopping, but he politely declines.
“There’s something else I’d rather spend time admiring,” he says before lifting my hand to his lips and kissing my knuckles. “And it’s nothing any of these stores have on their shelves.”
A stupid grin spreads across my face, the way it does anytime he says something sweet.
I’ve got it bad, and I know it.
