Page 17 of Halloween Town

She sipped her coffee. “I told you I’m not leaving until, one, I know that you are the owner, and two, I find my pearl.” Both lies, but she was in so deep, her only option was to keep swimming.

“You do know that I could just call the police and have you arrested for trespassing?”

“My grandpa would come back and haunt you, and my grandma would twist your earlobe,” Poppy told him. Threatening him with her grandparents, whom he’d adored and respected, was a low blow, but she needed to use any weapon at hand.

She wasn’t a cute six-year-old anymore, couldn’t bat her eyelashes and expect Thom to cave as he’d done in the past. He’d been so easy to manipulate back then, something she did with alarming regularity—Thom, I’m tired, carry me. Thom, can I eat your cookie? Thom, Isobel is being mean to me. She didn’t think she’d get away with any of her childish crap today.

“I’d love to be haunted by your grandparents,” Thom quietly told her, abruptly removing all the wind from her sails. The truth was, they’d loved him as much he’d loved them. That much was indisputable. He shoved his hand into his damp hair and placed his ankle on his knee. Locking his hands behind his head, he scowled at her. “What’s the plan of action for the rest of today, Poppy?”

She sighed, knowing he was running out of patience. “I need to charge my phone, contact my mother and Benji, and find some clothes.”

“What are the chances of them descending on the inn to haul your pretty ass back to Boston?”

He thought she had a pretty ass. Wha-at? She took a sip of coffee, hoping for a brain boost. “Everyone in my family—and yours, to be fair—hates H-Town with a passion. It’s one of the reasons I ran here, because they’d think twice before running after me.”

H-Town was too much—too gaudy, unsophisticated, and over-the-top—for both of their families, who thought celebrating Halloween year-round was childish, called Luna a lunatic, and sniffed at the old-fashioned buildings, their noses too refined for such nonsense. The store owners lacked ambition, the town lacked hustle, and—the biggest sin—cultural richness.

Poppy suspected that not one of them had actually set foot in the place in over a decade. If they had, they’d know it had a couple of genuinely fantastic art galleries, an award-winning restaurant, and a spa that was booked solid for a year.

Did they know, for example, that Madame Calliope was world famous, with celebrities and politicians among her clients? And that Andrea, Luna’s coven leader, was one of the most influential witches in the country?

Probs not.

Because none of that mattered, since nobody in either family liked to color outside the socially acceptable lines. And ditching a wedding? That was a colossal, social faux pas.

“I’m allergic to drama, so don’t bring any to my door,” Thom told her. He made a show of glancing at his watch. “I’ll give you today. Be out of here by this evening.”

Poppy glared at him and shook her head. “Deed of sale. Pearl. Not going anywhere,” she reminded him, gritting her teeth.

“Police. Trespassing. Arrested,” he countered and walked out of the kitchen and disappeared.

Poppy, for lack of a better response, pulled a tongue at his departing back.

Wren, looking pale and tired, arrived mid-Sunday afternoon. After a long hug and a few tears from both of them, Poppy took the bag Wren handed her and headed for Thom’s en-suite bathroom. After using a toothbrush instead of her finger to brush her teeth, she rummaged through the clothes Wren had bought for her at the superstore on the outskirts of town—Luna, and her people on the council, refused to allow chain stores within the town’s limits—and pulled out fresh underwear, a pair of denim shorts, and a loose-fitting white, button-up shirt. She rolled the cuffs back, slipped her feet into cheap flip-flops and, feeling marginally restored, she walked out onto the porch, knowing she’d find Wren sitting on the steps.

It was where she and Wren had had a million conversations growing up. She sat down beside her best and oldest friend and linked her arm through hers. “Thank you for being here,” she whispered, a lump the size of Texas in her throat. With Wren, she could be fully and utterly herself. There was nothing she couldn’t tell her.

Except really why she’d run from her wedding.

Because this time, the truth wasn’t simply uncomfortable—she could handle that—it was humiliating. To explain would mean admitting that she hadn’t been marrying Benji for love, or even for a shared future, but to please her family. Mostly her mother.

And once those words were spoken, they couldn’t be taken back. An admission like that would change how Wren saw her. Worse, it would confirm what she feared most: that her insecurity was baked into her.

How could she let Wren—the person who loved her best—see that part of her? After her grandparents died, she’d twisted herself into whatever shape she thought would fit whoever she was trying to please. She hadn’t trusted she was enough then, and she still didn’t. So she kept trying harder.

She’d been weak. Maybe she still was. And if she admitted that … what else would surface?

The truth—and the shame that came with it—felt too raw, too exposing. It wasn’t something she could share. Not even with Wren. Not yet.

Wren gripped her hand and rested her head against hers. “How are you doing, Popsicle?”

Poppy almost smiled. “Okay, actually.”

Wren pulled away from Poppy and scowled. “I don’t believe that, and we’ll get back to it. But where is your phone and why is it off?”

“Um … you didn’t buy me a charger.”

Wren winced. “Oh, shit, sorry, Pops.”