12. Izzy
Izzy
Iblow out a deep breath, gripping the sides of the porcelain bathroom sink.
I can do this. I can do this.
I can.
Still, my hand shakes as I try one more time to draw a killer winged eye.
It’s been a flurry of texts between Jack and me this past week, coordinating for tonight. This time, he’s sent two dozen white roses with a note that reads, Thinking of you.
Subtle touch, but a small part of me knew it was in earnest. Why else would he have DoorDashed coffee to the bookstore each morning while he joined the team for practices this week? Not sure who ratted me out, but he discovered my love of iced blueberry lattes.
The doorbell rings, and I nearly trip on my way to answer. I throw open the door, giddy at seeing his costume, but I’m met with a group of children shouting, “Trick-or-Treat!”
My stomach sinks.
“Oh wow, look at you guys!” I grab my candy bowl from the floor. A pink, sparkly witch, Spider-Man, and two zombies. “You guys are killing it.”
They grin wide, their eyes nearly popping out of their heads when I reach into my bowl and pluck out the treat bags I made. They mumble their goodbyes and thanks before scattering down my walkway and heading to the house across the street.
Back inside, I spray my hair one more time until I’m convinced the giant curls I have will hold, then search for my keys and clutch before there’s another knock at my door, followed by a ping on my phone.
Jack: That’s me. Just so we’re clear. Don’t throw anything when you open the door.
It’s been like this since he helped watch Luca at the bookstore. These short, flirty texts. They were definitely not discussed in our deal, but maybe they should have been because I already feel myself slipping past any smart and reasonable boundary.
Izzy: Why would I waste anything to throw at you? Those Almond Joys are all for me.
Jack: Unbelievable. Do you treat all your dates this way?
Izzy: Only the fake ones.
I switch on the small table lamp I have tucked into the corner of my kitchen counter.
Jack: Open up, Izzy.
I can do this. I can do this.
I pull open the door, revealing Jack on my doorstep.
“Hey.” Jack’s voice is a rough whisper. His bright-blue eyes do this neat trick and burn in appreciation as they scan down my body.
“Hi. You’re a…” I squint, taking in the full picture. Black habit, white collar, rosary beads, and a briefcase with a handwritten sign that says “Business” taped to it. “Wait… is this a Bob’s Burgers reference?”
He lifts the briefcase slightly, deadpan. “Nun of your business.”
I burst out laughing, like, doubled-over, hand-on-my-stomach laughing. “Amazing.”
I ignore the small pang of disappointment that he’s not wearing glasses today.
“Yeah?” He’s grinning now, pleased with himself, but then his eyes do that thing again.
That slow, careful sweep of my pink corset, over the iridescent sequins of my skirt and the way it hugs every curve before the high slit reveals my tanned thigh and the cutest pair of sparkle heels I’ve ever owned.
When his gaze makes it back to my face, his expression softens. “Hi.”
It’s awkward, and entirely too cute.
My breath catches. “Hi.”
For a minute, neither of us moves, then he clears his throat and shifts the briefcase to his other hand. “You look… I mean, you’re a—”
“Mermaid.” I flip my curls over my shoulder before doing a little spin in the doorway.
“Yeah.” He scratches his temple, his eyes darting away before meeting mine again. “Yeah, I can see that.”
“Is it too much? It is, isn’t it? I should—”
“No! Don’t change. I like… you look great.” He smacks his lips together, then blows out a deep breath. “Love the sparkles.”
Sparkles? I’m a human disco ball between the iridescent blue eye shadow, the pink face glitter leftover from the Eras tour, and enough sparkle hairspray to be seen from space.
“Thanks. Well, in that case…” I rush out, my chest tight at his small compliment. I shut and lock the door behind me, following him to the flagstone walkway in front of my house. “I can drive us.”
Mildred sits pathetically in my driveway, freshly returned from the garage. I’m still silently weeping over the cost to fix her.
“I don’t mind the walk if you don’t.”
I nod, suddenly self-conscious as the silence stretches between us. Sometimes I forget Jack grew up here.
I’ve floated along for years, slipping into the cracks of my mom’s life.
I’m grateful an old professor of mine agreed to lease me her rental here in town, even if it still feels like I’ll need to leave.
It doesn’t matter if I have the bookstore.
If the expansion fails, I won’t have enough income to support everyone, and I’ll need to close the shop and move again.
I never finished my teaching degree, so there’s no fallback, no plan B.
Worse, I’ll have to move in with my mom, Peyton, Riley, and Luca.
For twenty-eight years, I’ve learned over and over again that the other shoe always drops.
Always.
“Thanks for agreeing to come tonight,” I say. “I can’t promise it’ll be half as fun as a Halloween party in Boston.”
“Have you met my nana and her friends?”
I shrug, lips twitching.
“Besides, I usually get roped into going trick-or-treating anyway. Bosko’s still pissed at me from last year because Lily dressed up as Boo and insisted I was Sully. Made him go as Mike.”
“Unforgivable,” I joke. “Still, Merritt Point can’t be as exciting as a party in the city.”
He clears his throat, then tries to sneak a peek at me, but I catch him. “I’ll be with you.”
A soft breeze picks up and drags a pile of brittle leaves across the pavement in front of us.
The air is crisp, a touch too cold. That earthy, end-of-fall smell mixes with the salty air sweeping in from the harbor.
The small backstreets leading over to Main Street are full of families trick-or-treating.
Jack and I fall into an easy rhythm as we walk, pointing out the over-the-top decorations, like the towering skeleton dressed as Taylor Swift, or the extra creepy house with way too many clowns. Honestly, that should be illegal.
When we reach a house with a fire pit in the driveway, the older couple warming their hands waves us over like they’ve been expecting us.
They press tiny bottles of Fireball into our hands and insist we roast marshmallows.
Jack jumps right in, chatting about the season like he’s known them for years.
He clinks his plastic nip against mine, then winks.
Trouble.
I tip my head back and take the shot, the warm cinnamon burn sliding down my throat and slipping into my limbs. I can’t tell if it’s the drink or the way he laughs that makes me feel tipsy.
We wander on, and I fall a half step behind him. He’s confident in a way that should annoy me. I was sure it did. Now, I don’t know what to do with the part of me that keeps seeking him out, pulled in by some magnetic force I definitely didn’t agree to.
His hand finds the small of my back as he guides me toward the town hall. Music thumps from inside, and through the windows, I can see bodies dancing beneath the warm glow of purple and orange string lights.
“You ready?”
I look at him—this ridiculous, devastating man in a nun costume—and my stomach twists. “Do I have a choice?”
“Always.” He says it so simply, like I could change my mind about everything, and he wouldn’t hold it against me. Which is new. I’m used to handling everything because there is no other choice.
I run my hands over my costume one last time. A crowd slowly filters into the town hall. “Let’s go.”
We pass through the haunted cemetery that the Halloween committee set up.
Fog rolls low around the hand-painted tombstones, the air thick with woodsmoke from the Rotary Club’s bonfire over on the left of the wide front lawn.
We weave through the maze, colored lights flashing before a projection screen hits the front of the town hall, and a roar echoes over the speakers tucked behind the hay bales.
For a moment, it’s as if the building comes to life.
My hand reaches out, holding on to Jack’s without thinking better of it as we finally make it to giant granite stairs lined with lit jack-o'-lanterns. Their flickering faces cast shadows dancing around our feet.
Jack takes the final step, and an animatronic witch launches itself at him with a mechanical cackle.
“Son of a bitch!” He jumps back, yanking me behind him to shield me from the shrieking plastic decoration.
Maybe it’s the Fireball, or maybe it’s that I’m giggling too hard, but I lean my forehead against his back. My hand grips his hip to keep myself steady, and when he finally turns, his brows drawn, I don’t miss him staring at my mouth.
“Think that’s funny?”
I nod, wiping away tears, and am rewarded with a crooked grin that might as well pull me closer. I sway, focusing on his lips.
“Hey,” he whispers, breaking the spell.
I blink, shaking my head, the heat of embarrassment bright on my cheeks.
I’m not going to kiss Jack. No kissing, no sex, no feelings, right? Those rules are in place for a reason. A good reason…
Pull it together, Izzy.
I spin, grab his wrist, and drag him inside as the Yeah Yeah Yeahs blare over the speakers by the DJ booth.
It seems like all of Merritt Point is staring at us as we step inside. The room is crowded, and I swear, last year, when I baked a cake for the cake walk, there weren’t as many people here as there are now.
My smile tightens. Jack’s hand finds the small of my back again. Just his palm, warm through the thin fabric of my corset. It’s such a small thing. Protective. Possessive, even. I think I like it a little.
“Let’s get a drink,” he murmurs, close enough that his lips ghost the shell of my ear.
I swear the entire room turns to watch as he guides me toward the bar. Linda from the post office stares, her punch cup frozen halfway to her mouth. The Pilates moms cluster together near the PTA baked goods tables, whispering behind their hands.
My heart hammers in my ears to the bass of “Thriller” over the speakers.