Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 89572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Recently? Because of me?
Settle down, Emery. He’s a fling. Stop expecting more.
A cold ribbon of air slides under my coat, slithering against the skin of my arm where the mark rests. It tingles, then settles, like it doesn’t want me to forget its existence.
Nope. Not thinking about that tonight.
The glow from all the lights pushes back the fog creeping along the streets, creating the perfect mood. I dig my camera out of my bag, brush my thumb over the familiar buttons, and hit record.
“Crowsbridge Hollow town square,” I murmur for my future editing self. “Locals appear to be fully committed to the concept of spooky Christmas. We’ve got haunted reindeer, cursed garlands, and—oh, look, a snowman with actual fangs. Isn’t this amazing?” The note of awe in my voice isn’t quite on brand, but I can’t find my usual snark tonight.
Declan snorts. “You mocking us locals, Emery?”
“Mocking? No.” Heat flares over my cheeks. “Admiring, yes.”
I pan the camera over the crowd. Kids in puffy coats dart between vendor booths. Adults stand in clusters, laughing, faces flushed from the cold and whatever’s in their paper cups. A couple of vendors are dressed in Victorian caroler outfits. One guy is straight-up Krampus. Horns and everything.
“I love it,” I admit under my breath.
“Good.” Declan’s fingers brush mine, like he’s not sure if he wants to hold my hand out here in front of people. I hook my pinky around his and give a little tug.
Tension seems to flow out of his body.
“Come on,” he says. “You need real food before all that Applewood sugar puts you into a coma.”
“I resent the implication that baked goods aren’t real food.” Still, my stomach grumbles on cue. Traitor.
We weave through the crowd, passing a few familiar faces. I nod to the librarian and Mrs. Applewood as Declan steers us toward a row of food stalls. The smell hits first—cinnamon, butter, sugar, roasted nuts, grilled something. My mouth waters.
An older woman wearing a purple knitted hat and black-and-purple hooded sweatshirt with bird skeletons all over it, lights up when her gaze lands on Declan. “Mr. Sterling! Think you’ll help me haul the extra bags again this year?”
“I already told you, if you stopped making a hundred pounds of the stuff—”
“Hush.” She flicks a napkin at him, then turns her attention to me. “Hello...” She lifts an eyebrow and swings her gaze toward Declan as if waiting for an introduction.
“Carol, this is Emery. It’s her first visit to Crowsbridge Hollow—”
“Emery!” Carol snaps her fingers. “You’re the YouTuber who likes to poke holes in urban legends and stuff, right?”
My throat goes dry. Another local who recognizes me. “Uh, yeah. That’s me.”
She slides her gaze Declan’s way. “Interesting company.”
He slips his arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer. A zip of heat swirls around my marked arm. From the contact? Or my reaction to his protective display?
“She’s getting to know the town,” Declan says, almost in warning.
Carol nods, then gives me a sly smile. I can’t figure this lady out. “That’s good. Enjoy the energy of the festival-prep before things get too chaotic.”
I glance around at the different vendors helping each other set up displays and admiring items. “It seems more cozy than chaotic.”
“That’ll change,” Carol scoffs.
She scoops an obscene amount of kettle corn into a red paper bag dotted with black skulls and holly leaves, then hands it to me. “This is on the house. Hopefully, when you make our spooky little town famous, you’ll mention the best kettle corn on the East Coast.”
“Wow. Thank you.” The bag warms my hands. I pop a few pieces in my mouth, savoring the crisp salty sweetness. “You’re right,” I mumble around the mouthful. “So good.”
“You’re sticking around to watch Declan give the first Slayride tour of the festival Friday night, right?” Carol asks.
I cast a sly glance at Declan. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
“Good.” Carol nods. “Have fun checking out the rest of the vendors. It’ll be your best chance to see everything before we’re packed for the weekend.”
“Thanks.” I hold up the bag of corn. “And thank you for this.”
She winks and turns to help a customer.
We move onto the sidewalk. Declan reaches into my bag, stealing a handful of popcorn. I squeal with fake outrage and playfully smack his arm.
“How dare you,” I tease, grabbing the bag and dramatically shielding it against my chest.
Declan’s mouth curves into that slow, sinful half smile that turns my knees to jelly. “But that’s a sharing size.”
“What all thieves say.”
My arm tingles again. I shift the bag of popcorn into my other hand and rub the spot though my sleeve, trying to alleviate the strange sensation without calling attention to it.
“Hey.” Declan’s gaze drops to my arm, then back to my face. “You cold?”
“Not exactly.”
He studies me for a few beats, then steers me toward a stall with a garish black, green, and red sign: Krampus Koffee & Cursed Cocoa.