A candlelit path leads through the trees, guiding partygoers back to the field, where a shuttle is running periodically to take tipsy guests back to town. Blossom is deep into the forest when I catch up to her.
“Aren’t you going to say good-bye?”
At the sound of my voice, she whirls around, frowning deep at the sight of me. I’d rather have her lovely smile and some heated eyes, but I’ll take this over cold indifference, which is what Blossom tries to affect around me most times.
“It’s been twelve years,” she spits. “When are you going to let this go?”
Absolutely fucking never.
“Hmm. Sounds like someone wants to go back on their word. I mean, if that’s how you choose to live your life, Bud.”
I swear she growls, and the noise does things to my gut.
Still, Blossom doesn’t move to fulfill the bargain she made with me back when we were teenagers. The bet she was so cocky about.
An important thing to know about the Fernmore sisters is that they are both extremely competitive. Heather had been on a three-year Pumpkin Wars winning streak. A Pumpkin Queen unwilling to give up her reign. And Blossom loved poking me about it. Trying to get a rise out of the wolf, not knowing that simply being near her and that delectable scent of hers put me on constant edge. Young Blossom made a remark about how excited she was to watch me lose for the fourth year in a row, and I couldn’t help myself.
I dared her to place a bet.
She scoffed with all the cocky confidence of a fifteen-year-old who thought her older sister was the coolest person on the planet and unable to fail at anything.
“Fine,” Blossom said, her smirk taking on an evil twist that made me want to drag her against my body and tongue her lips. “If Heather wins, you have to lend me your car whenever I want.”
“You’re fifteen,” I pointed out. “I’m not breaking the law for you.” False. I would have broken tons of laws for her if it meant Blossom kept paying attention to me.
The sassy little witch rolled her eyes. “Obviously, I mean when I get my license.”
I loved my Jeep.
But I loved Blossom Fernmore more.
Also, I had no intention of losing.
“Sure,” I said with a shrug, enjoying her glaring response to the unconcerned note in my voice. “If Heather wins, you can borrow my Jeep whenever you wantafteryou get your license. But …” I dragged out the statement, partly to watch her mossy-green eyes narrow, but also to give myself time to think of the perfect prize to request.
One that straddled the line. That would give me a taste of her, but wasn’t too much to have her running. One that was disguised as torture when, really, it was a desperate plea for her to want me back.
Inspiration struck, and I pasted on a mocking grin. “If I win, every time we part ways, you have to kiss my cheek and say, ‘Good-bye, darling. I’ll miss you.’”
The way the wood witch gaped at me was glorious. Before she could outright refuse, I offered another insolent shrug.
“Stakes too high for you?” I asked. “I’ll have to let Heather know how little faith you have in her.”
“It’s a deal,” sweet little Blossom snarled.
That was the first year I gave the games my one hundred percent. And when the pumpkin crown sat on my head, my eyes sought out Blossom, who stood on the sidelines, scowling. Because I was an eighteen-year-old asshole, I made sure to tap my cheek as a reminder.
And true to her word, for twelve years, Blossom has given me the good-bye I asked for.
Though never with the sweet intent the words alone might convey. She tends to wrap her fingers around my throat in a subtle threat as her soft lips barely graze my cheek.
“Good-bye, darling.” She likes to hiss the words. “I’ll miss you.”
Sometimes, she’ll lick my cheek after the kiss. Or give me a wet willy. Or pinch my side. Or yank my hair.
Every little attack coaxes my wolf to the surface in a way I doubt she intends.
And I always make sure to keep track of when she’s visiting town. I’ve sprinted across Folk Haven to make it to her dad’s place in time to claim her good-bye. It’s a rush to drive up and see Blossom stepping off the porch, keys in hand, ready to leave, and a scowl on her face when she spots my approach, knowing what she has to do.
