I looked.
I couldn’t deny the compulsion, a familiarity that two weeks couldn’t erase. So, yeah, I lifted my chin and peeked over my shoulder, uncaring of the consequences.
Hallow divided its love between two things—Halloween and high school football. Our school’s team wasn’t anything too stellar, but last year when they’d made the playoffs, the entire community had rallied. I could still remember the excitement behind that final game, and even though we’d lost, the celebration had lasted nearly a week.
Seeing a few guys from the football team walk down the hallway now, though, didn’t elicit nearly the same amount of excitement. Not until I saw who spearheaded the pack.
Once upon a time, I’d fallen in love with Lucas Avery, and things had been perfect. He was the kind of guy who would order extra French fries and let me steal some from his plate. The kind of guy who’d bring me chicken soup when I didn’t feel good, without even being asked. The kind of guy who’d known my coffee order by heart. His eyes would crinkle at the corners, his left cheek would dimple ever so slightly, and his mouth—oh, his mouth—would curl into this smile that left my knees weak. Heartthrob Lucas Avery, a dream come true.
Once upon a time, we’d been happy. Until I shattered that dream like glass.
Lucas walked down the hall now with his friends in tow as if in slow motion, a blue T-shirt hugging his shoulders, worn denim jeans cuffed at the ankles. He’d kept his espresso-colored hair cropped, barely long enough to run my fingers through. Now it swept a little into his eyes as he walked, and I knew without looking that those eyes were blue. Dark, dark blue.
And, out of habit, Lucas’s gaze slid effortlessly to mine. One, two, three seconds ticked by before I came to my senses, turning back to my locker. A curl of pain started to unfold in my chest, a longing I couldn’t easily shove down. Don’t come over here, don’t come over here, don’t come—
“Hey, you two,” a familiar voice said, tone so low that the words caressed my ears, tickled down my spine. I focused on my locker, trying to ignore the internal reaction. “How’s the coffee this morning?”
“Mine’s good,” Donnie replied cheerfully. Traitor. “I ordered extra cinnamon this time, so it’s really—” He glanced over at me and found me giving him a death stare. It made him freeze. “Uh, good. I see you stopped by Crushed Beanz too, huh?”
Lucas shifted in the corner of my vision, his teal cup catching my eye when he lifted it. “All those morning coffee runs left me addicted. I blame you, Blaire.”
The way my name fell so effortlessly from his mouth had every inch of me twitching, as if electrocuted. You were the one who started that coffee tradition, I thought, pretending to carry on the conversation in my head. It made me feel a little better about not speaking to him aloud, like I wasn’t ignoring him.
“Although, I’m not like you,” he went on. “I couldn’t drink that espresso nonsense—I actually like my taste buds.”
I closed my eyes, glad for my curtain of blonde hair to shield my expression from him. I know. You usually get a large hot caramel macchiato, two pumps of toffee nut flavoring, one extra shot of espresso.
The next time Lucas spoke, he lowered his voice, the soft tone a teasing whisper. “You really going to pretend I’m not here, Bee?”
It took everything in me not to shiver from the gravelly tone, to not respond. Especially because he’d used my nickname—the one only he used, a term of endearment more than a name itself. It still made butterflies flutter in my stomach, a muscle memory.
I focused on the back panel of my locker, on the small chip of orange paint near one of the screws, offering nothing but a tense silence.
This was the dance we moved to now—and I played it on repeat. Focusing on everything but Lucas Avery, waiting for him to turn away.
And, after a few moments of waiting hopelessly for my reply, he did. “Well, you two have a good morning,” Lucas said easily, as if I hadn’t full-out pretended he wasn’t there. I could still feel those dark eyes, though, always lingering. “See you around, Donnie,” he added, and headed off to join his buddies.
With him gone, all the oxygen poured back into my lungs.
I thought things would’ve gotten easier. It would’ve been easier to be around him, to see him walking in the hallways, but it wasn’t. Each and every time, it left me breathless. Disoriented. Aching.
“Are you ever going to tell me what happened between you two?” Donnie demanded, watching as I pulled my supplies from my backpack. I didn’t know whether or not he could tell that my hands shook. “I mean, you were together for nearly two years, and two weeks ago you dump him out of the blue? I’m your best friend, Blaire. You can tell me.”
“Irreconcilable differences,” I said blithely, bringing my cup to my lips. The answer came close enough to the truth that I could avoid a longer explanation, but I couldn’t tell Donnie everything about our breakup. I wasn’t sure he’d have understood my decision.
Heck, when I could smell Lucas’s cologne, I wasn’t sure I understood my decision either.
I downed my espresso in a few scalding gulps, slamming my locker door shut while noting the time. Three minutes until the bell. With a pat on Donnie’s shoulder, I said, “Drink up, pumpkin boy, or Mr. Miller will dump your extra-cinnamon nonsense down the drain.”
Gram and I lived in a three-bedroom apartment on Lagos Street, right in the center of all things community. Townhall was four doors down, and right across the street was Hallow Square, the community park that held all the events, the Halloween Boo-Bash included. Even though I hadn’t attended since Mom had died and Dad had left, I still had a front-row seat of that nonsense, my bedroom window overlooking it all.
The shop space directly downstairs was the central hub to Costume Catering, where all the pre-baking and tray-arranging happened.
I clambered through the front door of the apartment, house keys jingling noisily. It had Gram’s spare food truck key on it, though I was never allowed to drive it, as well as the key to the P.O. box. “Gram?” I called to the quiet house. “Are you up here or downstairs?”
“In the costume room,” she returned, voice close.
Gram kept all the costumes and wigs and accessories in the extra bedroom in the apartment, giving us access to princess dresses and pirate hats 24/7. More often than not, I’d find her tucked between the clothing racks, doing some alteration or another. The crafty side of her couldn’t help it—when she got in her head that she wanted to add lace or alter a neckline, it had to be done. And having the costume room upstairs was much easier than running back and forth every time inspiration struck.
When I walked into the narrow room, I found Gram sitting at her work desk, quickly flattening the princess costume I’d worn on Saturday over her knees. She kicked a wad of black fabric tucked behind her chair, nudging it out of sight.
“I found a little grass stain near the hemline,” she explained quickly, fluffing the blue dress. “Nothing major. I’ve been working it out.”
Must’ve happened when I’d kneeled in front of that little scarecrow.
“I booked an order for Wednesday. Mrs. Martin needs twenty cookies for her daughter’s first grade class in the shape of ghosts. You can make them cute. Give them big smiles and edible glitter. Kids love glitter.”