Flirty Fall Fling (Seasonal Swoon #1)

Chapter 1

BLAIRE

“Before we go in, you’ll both need to be aware of a few teeny-tiny things,” I say, staring at the freshly painted purple door of Wardwell Manor. I press my hand against it, knowing the accent colors on the house change with each season.

Everyone in Colorado knows about this place because it’s been featured in movies and it has its own fan club. The manor is an icon.

“This structure was built before Pine Haven was even an established town. It has several spirits living inside, and you’ll need to accept that before crossing the threshold. If you don’t, it could get weird.”

I turn and look at my friend Winter and my cousin Josie.

Winter grew up in the same small town as me, just over the mountain, and is my best friend, Autumn’s, little sister.

Since she was miserable living with her parents in Cozy Creek, I asked her and my cousin Josie to be my new roommates and help me run the shop I’d inherited since all of my workers retired when my aunt passed away. They both jumped at the opportunity.

Winter whistles. “You know, I honestly believed that was just a Pine Haven rumor to help get more tourists to take the drive over the mountain during the fall.”

“A rumor? No. The ghosts were actually the main reason the house tours stopped in the nineties. Apparently, a woman was pushed down the stairs, and after that, my aunt Flora was like nope. It was too much liability. With that said, if you hear or see anything, just say hello, be polite, and go about your business.”

Josie clears her throat, shoving her hands into her pockets. “Should I be scared?”

“Oh, no. They’re friendly. For the most part. As long as you’re respectful, you shouldn’t have any problems.”

The summer I turned fifteen, I was able to get a job at my aunt’s witchy shop. Anytime I tried to sneak out, the house gave me hell. She apologized every time my teenage hormones took over, and I slammed a door or raised my voice.

“After the equinox, there will be groups of tourists standing out front, taking photos. Many of them place battery-powered lanterns on the sidewalk too. Just act natural. Smile. If there are a lot of people, the back entrance is the best way to get in if you want privacy.”

This is the price that’s paid when inheriting a historical landmark. I have just become the keeper of its significance, like I’m borrowing it while I’m here. The historical committee of Pine Haven has made that fact very clear.

“You’re serious,” Josie says, blinking up at me with her blue eyes. She left the life she’d always known back in Coconut Beach to live in the Colorado mountains.

“When you asked me to move into this seven-bedroom home and help you run Charmed Cauldron, you conveniently left out the part where the house also came with spirits.”

“Must’ve slipped my mind. Do either of you have any other questions?” I ask.

Josie goes pale.

Winter clears her throat. “You’re stalling.”

I love and hate that she isn’t afraid to call me out. But this is the first time I’ve been here since Flora passed away, and my feet don’t want to move. However, we’ve been standing out here long enough to draw attention from passersby who are just trying to take pics of the house.

I slide my key into the lock and turn the knob. The door sticks, and I push my shoulder into it, forcing myself inside. I trip over the fuzzy rug in the entryway.

“Hello! I’m home!” I say in a friendly tone, flicking on the crystal lights hanging from the high ceiling.

Flora is everywhere, her spirit still alive in the lavender and woodsmoke that drifts through the air. I remove my orange cardigan because it’s stuffy in here and hang it on the old wooden rack in the entryway, next to her coats and robes. With each step I take, the floorboards creak under my feet.

I’ve avoided this place since I was handed the keys a month ago. But now that I’m officially moving in, there’s a calmness, being here. It comforts me.

“Hey, ghosts!” Winter says, pulling me from my thoughts.

“Don’t do it just to appease me,” I whisper. “They’ll know if you’re faking.”

“Thanks for letting me move in!” She tries again, her voice going up an entire octave.

I hold back a laugh. Maybe when it’s all said and done, I’ll make a believer out of her.

Josie stands in the doorway with one foot in and one foot out. She rubs her hands across her arms, which are full of goose bumps.

“Come in and close the door,” I tell her, gently grabbing her hand and pulling her toward me. “You’ll let Charlie out.”

Her brows rise. “Are the ghosts trying to escape?”

I laugh just as the floor squeaks above us.

Josie and Winter look scared as Charlie, Flora’s fourteen-pound orange cat, takes his time coming down the stairs. He stops on the third step from the bottom and glares at me like I’m late. He gives me his best where the hell have you been look.

“I’m sorry it took me so long, Sir Charles,” I say, holding out my arms, clicking my tongue as I move toward him. “Come here, baby.”

He rushes up the stairs like I insulted him. I drop my hands by my sides.

Josie’s mouth hangs open. “Did he just throw a kitty fit?”

“Yes, he just turned five and has a very bad cattitude. Sir Charles has always treated me like I need to pay him rent anytime I show up.”

“Along with the spirits,” Josie mutters.

“Would you quickly like the tour?” I ask.

They both nod.

I take them into the front room because it’s the heart of the place.

The afternoon light makes it seem romantic.

I’ve read until I fell asleep by the fireplace on several occasions.

The card reading table sits in front of the bay window with sheer curtains that filter the light, making it softer than usual.

Two mismatched wooden chairs face each other.

In the corner is a burgundy wingback chair, whose seat has conformed from a lifetime of use.

There’s a brass banker’s lamp with a green glass shade and a deck of Flora’s favorite cards on the table where she left them.

The cards are soft from years of shuffling.

This is where she did her daily personal readings, with the cards spread out in front of her. She always took her time, like the next minute wasn’t guaranteed.

Winter runs her hand along the back of the chair. “Can you read tarot cards?”

“Of course. But I specialize in reading coffee cups, casting spells and wards, and removing curses.”

Winter doesn’t blink. “Love spells?”

“Oh, yes. Love spells are one of my specialties. One hundred percent track record. How do you think your sister and Jules found partners?” I pretend to brush my shoulder off.

Julie is my other best friend. I used to work at her family’s coffee shop just over the mountain and only left to take over my aunt’s business.

Winter holds my gaze for a beat too long. She’s a skeptic who doesn’t let anything get past her, thanks to her background in psychiatry.

“Have you ever cast one on yourself?” Winter asks.

“Once.”

“Did it work?”

“It worked. They always work. The spell found me a lover. It just couldn’t make him worth keeping.”

Winter doesn’t push, which I appreciate.

“What happened?” Josie asks. Her eyes scan over the jars stacked on a shelf that goes from floor to ceiling. She gulps.

“He wanted a trad wife. He wanted me to stay pregnant for five years straight since I was so old. Granted, I was twenty-six then.”

“Ew.” Winter makes a face.

“He was really good in bed,” I tell them. “I considered doing whatever made him happy and almost lost myself. The witch stuff … he hated. He wanted Glinda, not Elphaba.”

“That’s frightening,” Josie says and reaches for a jar. “Are these … intestines?” She immediately starts dry-heaving.

“They’re ingredients. Nothing more,” I say, taking the glass and placing it back where she got it.

I guide them through the rest of the downstairs, giving them the history of the house that I can remember.

The dining room has a long table, where Flora used to throw her monthly energy cleansing parties.

Past it is the huge kitchen, where copper pots hang over the island.

A single teacup sits on the drying rack by the sink, like she stepped out for the afternoon.

We continue down the wide hallway, and I crack open the door to the huge study that spans half of the downstairs.

The room smells of old paper and candle wax.

Reading glasses sit folded on the large, dark oak desk, along with tall candles.

Next to them is a neat stack of papers, books, and a spell she must’ve been working on.

I pull the door shut, not ready to go inside.

“This is the study. Shall we go upstairs and choose rooms?”

Josie nervously laughs. “Sure.”

The three of us rush up the stairs, and I open doors for them.

“Choose any empty room you’d like.”

There isn’t a bad view in the house, and each room has a small balcony. As they decide, I walk to the end of the hallway toward the room that’s always been mine. Flora set it up for me back when I was a teenager, the same year she recognized my gifts and started preparing me to take over one day.

I move inside the cozy space. The antique king-sized four-poster bed is the showpiece of the room. Everything is still in its place, overly tidy and untouched from the last time I visited. After a few minutes, I go downstairs and grab several boxes from the back of the U-Haul.

As I’m carrying one up the steps, a soft voice calls from behind me, “Yoo-hoo! Blaire. Honey, is that you?”

My aunt’s best friend, Doris Jean, is wearing a quilted vest and waltzes through the gate with a casserole dish in both hands.

Foil is crimped tight over the top. She lives a block over, in another historic home in town, and has fed me home-cooked Southern food more times than I can count.

She took care of Charlie for me until I moved in.

“Doris Jean!” I set the boxes down on the step and rush toward her.

She climbs the stairs and sets the dish on the porch railing, then pulls me into a hug.

“How are you?” I ask, meeting her pale green eyes.