Pumpkin Spice & Poltergeist (Maple Hollow #1)

“Harlow?”

“I guess you haven’t met her yet.” I drummed my fingers across the table nervously. “She’s Willow Miller’s sister.”

Juniper inclined her head. “A human?”

“Yeah,” I murmured, remembering the alliance Ramona spoke of. It sounded like the monsters supported the idea of getting rid of the human residents of Maple Hollow. “That’s not a problem, is it?”

Juniper’s eerie green eyes focused on me, her smile faltering. “Why would that be a problem?”

My stomach soured at that smile, and I wondered if she knew we’d fallen asleep by the lake. If anyone would, it would be her. And then she’d tell the whole town about how I fell asleep with a human in the forest. “Oh, I don’t know.” I quickly grabbed the sharpest gardening shears I could find. “I should go catch up to Harlow before she canvases the whole patch. See ya, Juniper.” I turned before the swamp monster could say anything more and raced toward Harlow.

“Got them,” I said, waving the shears in proof.

“So is there an art to pumpkin picking?” Harlow asked with that gorgeous, little grin that made her cheeks dimple. “Do I have to knock on them like melons or . . .”

I really wanted to say that I’d love to knock on her melons, but after the shears debacle, I decided against it.

“Check the skin,” I said. “Nothing too wrinkly or overripe.” I pointed to one that looked like melted candle wax. “Definitely nothing like that. Better to go a bit greener and let it ripen on the sill.”

Harlow winked at me. Goddess, I loved it when she winked. “A pumpkin connoisseur.”

“It’s as compulsory as learning your ABCs here.” I shrugged. “It comes with the whole witchy thing.”

She laughed. “I should get your advice on broomsticks and candles too.”

“Careful.” I pointed at her. “Don’t get me started or I’ll never stop.”

Her smile broadened. “I think I’d like to see that.”

Ugh. My witchy bits were fluttering. How did she do that? Be so freaking charming without even trying?

“So, I’m thinking four medium pumpkins for the windows and a bunch of little ones for the tables.” She bent and picked up two pumpkins and held them up like fake boobs. “Hmm . . .” I guffawed as she weighed them up and down. “No, not right.” She set them back down.

I watched as she examined a few others. “You’re taking this very seriously.”

“Willow is trusting me with the decorations,” she said, digging through a barrel of miniature, speckled yellow gourds. “Begrudgingly,” she added.

“Wow.” I rocked back on my heels. “I’m surprised Willow would relinquish any control over the café. She’s an overprotective mother hen for that place.”

“I think this is her way of trying. Although after today, I don’t know how much more trusting she’ll be doing,” Harlow replied. “Ooh!” She held up a bedazzled pumpkin that looked like a disco ball.

“Are you trying to give Willow an aneurysm?”

“Good point.” She set the pumpkin back on the display table. “Okay, maybe more traditional.” She grabbed a wicker basket filled with an assortment of mini-pumpkins and looked at me for approval.

“I think they’re perfect,” I said with a nod. “Now for the medium ones?”

“I think we should venture farther into the patch.” She hooked her thumb at the shadowed field behind her. “The pre-picked ones all look a bit ready to turn.”

“A discerning eye. We’ll make a pumpkin connoisseur out of you yet.” I chuckled and followed her.

We wandered through the fields until we were past the braziers that heated customers as they stomped through the field. Harlow swung her basket as she walked, veering toward a stack of hay bales that formed the far wall of the patch. Harlow stepped over a bale, sat down, and set her basket beside her.

“There’s no pumpkins out there,” I said.

“I know.” Her shoulders tensed. “But it’s quiet.” She glanced at me and patted the spot beside her.

It was such an endearing movement that I climbed over and sat beside her without hesitation. Straw poked at the backs of my legs, and I really wished I’d worn something thicker than my black leggings.