Page 6 of Winning the Quarterback
Nora blinks. "To... build a haunted house?"
"Why not? It's for a good cause. All the proceeds go to the children's hospital." I lean forward slightly. "Unless you're afraid of plastic skeletons and strobe lights?"
"I'm not afraid," she protests, though her expression suggests otherwise. "I'm just not particularly... Halloween-oriented."
"You have a wreath made of tiny pumpkins on your front door."
"That's fall decor, not Halloween. There's a difference."
I can't help grinning at her indignation. "Come on. I'll protect you from the fake ghosts."
She studies me, lips pursed. "I'm really not good with haunted houses. I screamed so loud at the one in college that they asked me to leave because I was scaring the other customers."
The image makes me laugh. "Even better. Your fear will inspire authenticity in our design."
"You're not selling this very well," she points out, but I can see her resolve weakening.
"How about this, come help for an hour. If you hate it, I'll buy you a cider at The Copper Kettle afterward as an apology."
Her eyes narrow. "With one of those cinnamon-sugar donuts?"
"Two donuts."
"And you won't let the Chief make me test the 'Tunnel of Terror'?"
"Scout's honor." I hold up my hand in what Ihopeis the Scout salute. I was never actually a Scout.
Nora doesn't look convinced by my gesture, but after a moment she sighs. "Fine. One hour. But I'm holding you to the donuts."
Victory feels surprisingly sweet. "I'll pick you up at three."
Chapter 3 – Nora
My closet has betrayed me. After forty-five minutes and a pile of discarded options that would make Marie Kondo weep, I'm still staring helplessly at my reflection.
"It's not a date," I remind my anxious expression in the mirror. "It's a haunted house. With cobwebs. And fake blood."
Pudding watches from his perch on my bed, his eyes judging my fourth outfit change with disdain.
"You're right," I tell him, smoothing down the sweater I've finally settled on—russet-colored cashmere that brings out the warm undertones in my skin and happens to hug my curves in a way that doesn't make me want to hide under a blanket. "This is ridiculous. He's just being neighborly."
Yet here I am, applying mascara and a tinted lip balm that tastes like cinnamon, my heart thumping like I'm seventeen again.
The knock on my door comes precisely at three o'clock. Of course he's punctual. That's probably a quarterback thing, timing and precision and all those athletic virtues I know nothing about.
I take one final glance in the mirror, and head downstairs, stopping to scratch Pudding behind the ears. "Don't wait up," I whisper, and immediately feel silly. It's a haunted house, not prom night.
When I open the door, my rehearsed casual greeting evaporates. Devin stands on my porch in dark jeans and a forest green shirt that makes his hazel eyes look impossibly warm.
"Hi," I manage, suddenly aware of my racing pulse.
His smile widens as he takes me in. "Hi yourself. You look great."
"It's just a sweater," I say automatically, then mentally kick myself. Just take the compliment, Nora.
"It's a good sweater." His eyes linger for a heartbeat too long to be casual. "Ready to face your fears?"
"Absolutely not," I admit, stepping outside and locking the door behind me. "But I was promised cider and donuts for my trauma, so here we are."
