Devin laughs, the sound rich and warm in the autumn air. "I keep my promises."
His truck is parked at the curb, a dark blue Ford that's seen its share of miles but gleams with recent care. He opens the passenger door for me, and the gesture is so unexpectedly gentlemanly that I momentarily forget how to function.
"Thanks," I murmur, climbing in.
As we drive through Whitetail Falls, golden afternoon light spills across the dashboard. Main Street is decked out for fall—pumpkins lining the sidewalks, corn stalks flanking doorways, and orange and gold banners announcing the Fall Festival.
"Town goes all out for autumn," Devin comments, one hand resting easily on the steering wheel. "I'd forgotten how much."
"It's our specialty," I reply, watching his profile as he drives. "Summer belongs to the lakeside towns. Winter to the ski resorts. But fall? Fall is pure Whitetail Falls magic."
He glances at me, expression softening. "You sound like one of your books."
"Occupational hazard," I say with a small smile. "I start thinking in chapter headings and sensory details after a while."
"So what would this be?" he asks, curiosity warming his voice. "If it were one of your books?"
Heat climbs my neck. "Oh, um... probably something like 'The quarterback and the bookworm embark on a terrifying adventure through plastic skeletons and strobe lights.'"
"Solid title. Needs more adjectives though."
"Theruggedly handsomequarterback and thehopelessly awkwardbookworm?"
His laugh fills the truck cab. "Much better. Though I'd argue with 'awkward.'"
"You haven't seen me try to navigate social situations yet," I warn him. "There's a reason I spend most of my time with fictional people. They're more predictable."
"Maybe I like unpredictable," he says, and the way he glances at me makes my skin prickle with awareness.
Before I can respond, we're pulling into the Fire Station's parking lot, already half-full with volunteers' cars. The brick building is transformed with fake cobwebs draping the windows, skeletons dangle from the eaves, and a massive banner proclaims "FIRE STATION HAUNTED HOUSE" in dripping red letters.
My stomach gives an anxious flip. "Just so we're clear, I wasn't joking about being terrible with haunted houses."
Devin kills the engine and turns to me, his expression suddenly gentle. "We don't have to go in if you don't want to. I just thoughtit might be fun to show you around before the crowds arrive tonight. But we can go straight to The Copper Kettle instead."
His consideration catches me off guard. "No, it's okay. I can do this." I square my shoulders. "Besides, I'm curious to see the masterpiece you and the firemen have created."
The smile he gives me is worth every future jump scare I'll endure.
Outside, a few volunteers bustle around the grounds, stringing lights and arranging hay bales. From somewhere inside, I hear the cackle of a mechanical witch.
Devin leads me toward the side entrance, his hand hovering near the small of my back, not quite touching, but close enough that I feel the heat of him. Chief Hawkins spots us immediately, his round face lighting up beneath his mustache.
"Turner! And Nora Bell!" he booms, striding over. "Excellent! We need someone to test the Tunnel of Terror!"
Devin shoots me an apologetic look. "Sorry, Chief, I promised Nora no tunnel testing. Maybe later?"
The disappointment on Chief Hawkins' face is comical. "Fine, fine. But I expect detailed feedback on the rest. The northeastern fire chiefs' association gave us second place last year. Second! To Burlington! Unacceptable."
As he hustles away, I whisper to Devin, "I didn't realize haunted houses were so competitive."
"Firefighter rivalries are intense," he says seriously. "Last year Burlington had a chainsaw guy who jumped out of a real coffin."
"Please tell me we don't have a chainsaw guy."
His grin is not reassuring. "No comment."
The fire station's apparatus bay has been transformed into a labyrinth of black curtains, eerie lighting, and surprisingly elaborate set pieces. Volunteers make final adjustments to fog machines and motion sensors. Someone tests a strobe light, sending disorienting flashes through the space.
