Sam
Equinox eve was in full swing, and everything smelled like wood smoke, damp earth, and essential oils.
Callie was glowing.
Not in a mystical, spiritual way. She was literally glowing from the light of the lanterns strung through the trees, her crazy auburn curls catching in the flickering light. She stood beneath a massive oak, laughing at something, her whole body tilted toward someone in that way people do when they’re fully invested.
It took me a second too long to realize who had her attention.
A dark-haired girl—early twenties with a shy, nervous smile—stood with her, twisting the hem of her oversized sweater. The kind of girl who wrote poetry in the margins of library books and probably had a favorite tree.
And just like that, it all clicked.
Oh.
I’d always figured Callie didn’t have time for a serious boyfriend.
No wonder her awkward first dates never went any further.
Callie had never shared this side of herself with me, but by insisting I join her out here in the middle of nowhere, she was trusting me with her real self. Something weird and warm expanded in my chest, a mix of profound gratitude and secondhand happiness.
This was no cult situation, and the energy of the equinox wasn’t the thing keeping her here. It was this girl—this soft,attentive person who looked at Callie like she was something rare and interesting and maybe a little unreal.
They deserved to find each other. To behappy. And I wanted that for them so hard my heart ached.
I looked away, scanning the crowd before I could get too sentimental.
And then I realized that I was searching, too.
No.
Not gonna happen.
I was most definitely not looking for that Faelan guy. I refused to start mooning over a big, arrogant jerk of a cult member. And yet, when I didn’t see him, disappointment crept in before I could stop it. I scowled and focused on the far more pressing issue at hand—hunger.
There was a golden, perfect loaf of sourdough on the communal table, right next to a little dish of soft butter. No doubt the very sourdough Callie had promised was heaven, or nirvana, or some other out-of-the-body experience.
I wanted it.
Badly.
Unfortunately, something was standing between me and the prize. And that something was Randy.
The bathrobed “elder” was planted in front of the potluck spread, hands raised, attempting to wrangle the suburban cultists into something resembling a ritual.
“Everyone, focus,” he announced. “We need to align ourselves with the cosmic forces at play here.”
He waited for a dramatic pause that never landed because two people near the fire were deep in conversation about which probiotic was best for gut health.
Randy plowed on ahead. “This is a sacred night—”
“Should we pass the chips first?” someone asked, motioning toward the table.
“No, Larry, we should not pass the chips! We should be grounding ourselves in the divine energies of—”
Whatever divine energies he was trying to conjure, they were absolutely not happening.
People were either too relaxed, too distracted, or too tipsy to take any of it seriously.
