Pumpkin Spice & Poltergeist (Maple Hollow #1)

She grabbed me by the shoulders and steered me out the door.

“I’ll keep Lou company,” I said. “You take your time.”

25

HARLOW

The bristles of my scrub brush raked over the wooden tabletop over and over again. Not that there was a crumb left, but my frustration cleaning was going to make every surface shine.

I’d walked around the square for an hour before I’d decided I needed to drown out the noise of countless questions with soap, water, and the shop radio. The local station played Halloween music year-round, but as I’d come to discover after two hours of cleaning, there really weren’t that many Halloween classics. “Monster Mash” was starting up for the fourth time when I heard the radio click off. I popped my head up to see Willow leaning against the doorframe, her golden-blonde hair a frazzled mess as she arched a quizzical brow at me.

“What’d that table ever do to you?” She tugged on the belt of her bathrobe, squeezing the blob of blue terrycloth into an hourglass figure.

I stared down at my rubber gloves white-knuckling a scrubber, the bucket of cleaning solution still rippling from my vigorous dunking.

“I’m just doing a deep clean,” I said tightly.

She looked at the gleaming floors, countertops, and espresso machine. “Something must be really wrong if you’re cleaning at two a.m.” Willow wandered over to the cupboard and grabbed two teacups. “Talk to me.”

“I don’t want tea,” I muttered, but my sister went about her ritual of filling two cups with chamomile and milk regardless. When she finished, she walked to the other side of the booth from where I was sitting. She set the teacups down with practiced ease, barely a clink of the ceramic on the table.

Willow picked up her cup and blew on the hot drink as she looked at me through curls of steam. “This doesn’t have anything to do with a certain brunette witch who works at an apothecary, does it?”

“Maybe,” I hedged as I peeled off the soaking-wet sweatshirt that was clinging to my body for dear life.

She took another sip and watched me over the rim of her cup. “I’m guessing pumpkin picking didn’t go that well?”

I gestured to the half-empty basket next to the register. “It went great until it didn’t.”

She gave the small gourds an approving nod before turning back to me. “What happened?”

“That’s the thing,” I grumbled. “I have no idea. We were making out on a hay bale”—my sister chuckled into her tea—”and next thing I know, she jumps off me like she’s seen a ghost and says she has to go.”

“I mean, how hot and heavy was it? Maybe it was too far too fast?”

I wiped at a little scuff on the table. “It seemed like she was into it. I . . . I’d feel like an asshole if I misread the whole thing.”

“Jordyn is a complicated one,” Willow said. “There’s a reason she hasn’t dated in over a year.”

I raised a brow at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

My sister was protective, but I got the feeling she hadn’t had more than a few short conversations with Jordyn in the years she’d lived here. They both worked long hours as local business managers. How many friends could you make with their schedules?

Willow looked as if she were considering her words carefully. “Jordyn has always struggled with trusting anyone outside the coven.”

It was a diplomatic answer. A nonanswer answer.

“Why?”

A flash of surprise covered her face as she looked past me. “Looks like you get to ask her that yourself.”

I looked out the window to see Jordyn pacing the sidewalk. I battled with the urge to run to my room and hide—or fling the open door and demand answers.

Willow got to her feet and gave Jordyn a small wave before turning to the stairs at the back of the café. “I’m just going to go back to bed,” she said with the smallest amount of subtlety possible. “Go talk to her.” And then she shut the door loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear.

At the sound, Jordyn’s eyes locked with mine.

Thanks, Willow. Really nice.