Ivy nudged me playfully. “You should enter the contest,” she whispered with a grin. “I do every year, but I’m absolutely terrible at baking. Last year, my pie had a soggy middle, and a crust that was burned to a crisp—pretty much charcoal.” She laughed, not the least bit embarrassed by the disaster.
I laughed along, shaking my head. “Trust me, if I entered, I’d probably set the kitchen on fire before I even got to the pie part. My baking skills are non-existent. The last time I tried to make cookies, I ended up with something resembling hockey pucks.”
Ivy burst out laughing, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Well, that makes two of us! Maybe we should team up and make a disaster pie together,” she joked. “At least we’d win for the most . . . unique entry. It’s all about having fun, right?”
I grinned, shaking my head. “Sounds like a plan. We could call itThe Pie That Shouldn't Be. At least we’d give everyone a good laugh.” The idea of participating, even as a joke, was surprisingly appealing. It felt good to share a moment of levity, and I appreciated Ivy’s easy-going nature.
Yet, her suggestion stirred a memory of Sebastian, and suddenly, I was back in that cozy kitchen on a rainy afternoon.
Sebastian stood at the counter, sleeves rolled up, expertly rolling out dough. His dark blonde hair, slightly tousled, had a dusting of flour over it that highlighted the warm beige tone of his skin. With his sleeves pushed up, the muscles in his forearms flexed as he worked, showcasing the definition and strength that made him effortlessly attractive.
“We have to do this right,” he insisted, a playful smile revealing a charming dimple. “My grandmother’s recipe is all about precision.” His focus and light-heartedness as he looked at me were captivating, drawing me in with his effortless charm.
The scent of apples and cinnamon filled the air, warm and inviting. I watched him with amusement and admiration as he moved gracefully around the kitchen. He handed me a bowl of peeled apples, already coated in sugar and spices. “Your turn,” he said, grinning. “Just layer them in carefully.”
As I layered the apples into the pie crust, Sebastian hovered close, his presence comforting and electrifying. His tall, six-foot-four frame towered over my more delicate build, enveloping me in a heady mix of warmth and intensity. I could feel the heat of his body as he leaned in, pressing me gently against the counter. His nearness made it hard to focus, especially when he reached out to push a stray strand of my dark hair behind my ear. His lips brushed against the nape of my neck, sending a shiver down my spine, and causing me to momentarily forget about the pie altogether.
“Not bad,” he murmured, stepping back to admire our work, a satisfied gleam in his eyes. The subtle brush of his kiss lingered on my skin, a sweet distraction that made my heart race. He had a way of making even the simplest moments feel charged and special, and I found myself getting lost in the sensation of his closeness.
As we finished layering the apples and prepared to put the pie in the oven, Sebastian playfully flicked a bit of flour at me. I gasped and retaliated, quickly escalating into a full-on flour fight. Laughter filled the kitchen as we tossed flour at each other, the room becoming a snowy chaos of white powder. Amid our playful banter, Sebastian suddenly pulled me close, his lips capturing mine in a passionate kiss. For a moment, the pie was forgotten, and all that existed was the heat between us.
The kiss was electrifying, a fusion of lingering joy and a hidden longing. His hands were firm on my waist, drawing me closer, while mine tangled in his flour-dusted hair. It was a spontaneous and unguarded moment, free from the usual complexities that often hung over us.
Lost in the memory, I almost missed Ivy’s curious gaze. “You okay, Vinnie?”
I shook off the lingering sadness and managed a smile. “Yeah, I’m okay.”
Mayor Hale’s words broke through my thoughts. “Remember, everyone, the Halloween festival is a joint effort. It’s an opportunity for us to gather, celebrate our traditions, and create new memories. Let’s make this year’s festival one to remember.”
As the meeting continued, various concerns and suggestions were discussed. “Next up for discussion, is the matter of our town’s declining revenue,” Mayor Hale stated, her expression becoming more solemn. “We need to find ways to boost it without compromising our values.”
An older gentleman stood up, frustration evident in his voice. “We’ve all seen those leaflets from Carlisle Enterprises, promising to revitalize our town by opening a chain store. They claim it’ll boost revenue and bring more business, but we can’t let them come in and change what makes Hallow’s End special. These constant mailings are becoming annoying, and we need to put a stop to it.”
He paused, glancing around the room. “We know what they really want—pushing out our local shops, and replacing them with generic stores. Just look at Brookside. They swooped in with promises of development,and now all the unique, independent businesses are gone, replaced by chains. If we let them do the same here, we’ll lose the charm and character that make our town unique. We need to stand up for our community and support our local businesses, not let some corporate giant homogenize our town.”
As he spoke, a wave of discomfort washed over me. I shifted in my seat, avoiding eye contact, and hoping to blend into the background. My father’s influence was clearly being felt here, and the mention of that made my stomach churn.Does everyone read the news these days?I thought, feeling exposed.
The man’s description of the company’s tactics—constant mailings and grand promises—sounded more like hounding. That wouldn’t be surprising. My father’s business style had always been about aggressive pursuit.“Promise big, deliver bigger, and never take no for an answer.”It was practically the family motto, drilled into me from a young age. Hearing the impact of those methods on this community left me feeling conflicted. I knew how his strategies worked, but seeing the negative side of them in real life was unsettling.
Growing up, I had only seen the business side—how my father’s tactics were designed to expand and dominate the market. But hearing these townspeople voice their concerns made me realize the impact on real lives and communities. It was jarring to witness firsthand how something that was just another business move for my father, could feel like a threat to the fabric of a town like Hallow’s End.
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the room. A middle-aged woman with a worried expression added, “John’s right. The chain store promises revenue, but at what cost?”
As I listened, a knot tightened in my stomach. I knew exactly how Carlisle Enterprises operated. My father’s company specialized in acquiringundervalued properties and struggling businesses in small towns. They promised redevelopment and revitalization, using chain stores as anchors to draw in more foot traffic. It was a lucrative model—buy low, rebrand, and sell or lease at a significant profit.
But the reality was often far from the ideal they sold. The same homogenized stores that could be found anywhere pushed out unique local businesses, all in the name of maximizing profit, often at the expense of the community’s character and spirit.
Mayor Hale raised her hands to calm the crowd. “I understand your concerns, Margie, truly. The town council has been aware of the situation, and has been in discussions about it. We haven't made any decisions regarding the free land and properties yet and, as I’ve advised before, no one is obligated to accept any deals they offer. Yes, the leaflets and constant calls to small businesses can be concerning, but I assure you that we’re addressing it, and exploring other ways to improve revenue.”
“Is that the same Margie who owns Willow Cottage?” I whispered to Ivy.
She nodded with a small smile. “Yeah, that’s her. She just got back earlier today from visiting her family in Brookside. She’s always been vocal in town matters.”
A younger man, perhaps in his early thirties, chimed in, “What if we find alternative ways to boost our revenue? We could promote more local events, or create attractions that draw visitors, without compromising our town’s identity.”
Mayor Hale nodded thoughtfully. “That’s a great idea, Scott. Council has been brainstorming similar approaches.”
Ivy leaned in closer to me and whispered, “This discussion has been going on for weeks now, but we’ve made little progress. Everyone's worried about the town’s future, but finding asolution is tough.”
