Page 2 of Manors & Mischief

“You found it,” an older woman at the front of the table says then points toward an empty seat.

My cheeks burn again. This is the second time in five minutes. I give myself a little pep talk as I walk past the gentleman from the street. He smirks at me. “Didn’t you enter the building before me?” His cocked head thrums annoyance through my veins, but also a heady rush of attraction. He’s definitely older than me. Probably married with kids.

I shove him out of my mind as the lady at the front of the table calls the meeting to order. A smiling woman pulls out the rolling chair for me as I make my way toward it. I sit with a grateful smile, and she immediately unties the soft scarf from around her neck. “Pumpkin spice latte?” she asks as she hands the scarf to me. “I keep these around for emergencies.”

“Oh my gosh, thank you.” I wrap the scarf around my neck, using the end to drape casually over my chest to hide the coffee stain. “You are a lifesaver.”

“I hear that a lot,” the woman says.

My gaze drifts toward the man who’s now across from me. He’s staring at the woman while leaning back in his chair casually, arms crossed over his chest. He looks bored.

His gaze drifts toward me. Unblinking, we stare at each other for half a second before he moves his gaze to the front of the room as the apparent leader of the meeting lists off the agenda.

I hear “cider” and immediately stop staring at the man’s profile and move all of my attention to the front of the room. I have waited for the perfect moment to try apple cider. I have deprived myself of what I imagine is a delicacy my whole life because I knew I wanted it fresh. The crisp fall air nipping at my cheeks as I swallowed my first mouthful, perhaps drinking it while walking through a corn maze with the remnants of my second cinnamon sugar doughnut dusted over my lips.

I have imagined the scenario my entire life.

It’s rare for me that the perfect set of circumstances come together so it feels like I’m living on a cloud. The last couple of weeks couldn’t have been better. The stars aligned. The angels sang. I’m finally going to experience a real fall. In a house that I own.

The apparent host of this meeting lists off all the upcoming activities. The corresponding person in the room nods. I find out that the woman with the scarf owns the café. No wonder she’s so nice. Anyone who mixes up culinary delights like pumpkin spice lattes can’t be mean. I try to find out what Mr. Hands Over His Chest does, and I’m staring at him again when he looks over at me.

A trickle of unease starts up my neck, and my gaze darts around the room when I find everyone looking at me.

Slowly, my gaze drifts toward the front of the room where the woman is looking at me expectantly.

“I’m sorry?”

She smiles, but it doesn’t touch her eyes. It’s like she’s pasted it on. “Do you have an offering for the festivities? Or did you want to volunteer in some other way?”

“Oh,” I laugh. “Forgive me. I’ve been on the road since early this morning.” Pride swells over me. Photos of the Victorian manor dance in my head as my lips peel into a smile—a genuine one. I swear, fate sits like a sparkly unicorn on my chest. It’s all rainbows and sunshine—or should I say jack-o’-lanterns and haunted trails—in my head. “I’m Ember O’Malley, the new owner of Sleepy Hollow Manor.”

In my head, there’s applause and a chorus of children singing. People are congratulating me and asking me over for dinner. In reality, everyone’s face falls and turns toward one man. My gaze follows everyone, and if I thought Mr. Plaid Shirt looked annoyed before, he’s dialed it up several hundred notches. His nostrils flare, and the leer he gives me sends chills up my spine. He looks like he could be one of the psycho killers I like to watch so much.

What is this guy’s deal?

His fingers curl into fists, straining his orange flannel over his cut biceps. “What the actual fuck?”

2

DEVON

“Excuse you?” the cute newcomer says, her mouth dropping wide.

I can’t believe nearly ten seconds ago, I was daydreaming about what she could do with that mouth. The way she was eye-fucking me was a pretty big clue as to what her mind was on as well, even though I have at least ten years on her. Who knew she’d been sent to ruin my life?

What the fuck kind of name is Ember anyway? My dick responded to it. It screams exotic, fun, but in reality, it’s a name given to a person by hippies, or even worse, millennials.

“You heard me,” I growl.

I’ll give her something. She doesn’t stand down despite the anger wafting off me. Next to me, Flower Joe scoots his chair a couple of inches away. He’s known for his fall displays with cornucopias and the like. Right now, I’d like to throw one of them at Ember. Maybe it would plug her stupid mouth so she couldn’t repeat those words again.

“I heard you being rude.” She peers around at everyone else. “I bought Sleepy Hollow Manor, and I’m not exactly sure what I want to do with it during the middle of the festivities but…” She peers around, that smile that charmed me from moment one comes out again revealing straight, white teeth. “…I’m proposing to end the festivities with a Fall Ball.”

Gasps chorus around the room. I look around for the offending traitors, but can’t figure out who it was because everyone avoids eye contact.

“That place is in rough shape,” Bea says. I snap my gaze to her, and she angles her face away as if she can feel my eyes bore into the side of her head.

“I know it hasn’t been occupied in several years and hasn’t been used for the Fall Spectacular in at least a decade—.” She takes a stack of papers out from a small messenger bag and distributes them around the table.