“The bad stuff sneaks up on you, even during the good stuff.” He pulls out slowly. “What now? Do we go again, or do you have any other last requests?”
I grab the paper towel he hands me and pat myself dry. “I’m hungry.”
Rick cuts me a wary look laced with wry humor.
“You’re safe.” I smirk at him. “I want pie, I think.”
“You got any here?”
“No.”
“There’s always leftover pie at the diner. We could go into town. It’ll still be crowded because of the festival, but—”
“The festival!” I hop off the island. “Kryhollow is playing a late set tonight. They’re an indie band that I absolutely love. We have to go. What time is it?” I glance at the clock next to the fridge, answering my own question. “How fast can you shower?”
Rick looks at me blandly. “I own a diner.”
“And that’s relevant because...”
“I know how to get ready fast.”
“Prove it.”
Thirty minutes later, we’re pulling in behind the Toast & Tide. The streets, lanes, and small parking areas of Crescent Cove are stretched to the limit, overstuffed with tourists’ cars, but thankfully no one has encroached on the two parking spots at the rear of the diner, probably becausethey’re marked in red and boast multiple signs threatening towing, fines, and other dire punishments. Lou installed the signs, but the paint is new. Like his uncle, Rick is prepared to defend what’s his.
I turn off my truck and glance over at him, trying not to laugh at what he’s wearing—a pair of Tess’s sweatpants from before she started jogging with Ashala, and an oversized T-shirt of mine that has a certain demonic boy band on the front. We bandaged each other up after showering, and both his arms have a few bandages covering the worst of the cuts.
“You look super hot, Rick.”
He rolls his eyes.
“No really, you do.”
“Would you stop?” He sighs and opens the passenger door. “We should have asked your sister what she did with my truck. I was unconscious for a while, and I never saw what happened to it.”
I wince. “She probably dragged it out into the bay or dropped it off the top of the bluff. You can tell insurance that it got stolen.”
“Yeah. That’s a tomorrow problem. Let’s get you to the festival.”
We hop out of the truck and slam the doors. Music fills the night sky, echoing from the town square a ways down the street. There’s a space in the square where the organizers erect a stage every time Crescent Cove hosts a performance event. On Halloween it’s where the witches perform their showcase, revealing the new spells and charms they’ve been working on. In December, the stageholds shrines to all the winter legends and deities, while the rest of the square turns into a holiday market.
Spyglass Stables usually has a booth at the market. We partner with a man in town who carves beautiful wooden rocking horses infused with magic to make them extra fun and super durable. We give out brochures, Mega S’mores, and rocking horse rides.
This town is full of so many memories, and I had plans for many more. It’s hard to imagine all those memories and possibilities being suddenly cut off.
If I become a regular horse, how much of my former life will I remember? How deeply will I be able to think or feel? As much as I love and understand horses, I have only an outsider’s sense of their cognitive limits. It’s hard to know what to expect.
Rick is standing by the truck, waiting, his dark hair haloed in the light of the lamp over the diner’s back door. His eyebrow is cocked, the only sign of his impatience.
“I was thinking that I’ll miss holiday markets,” I blurt out. “And coffee, and talking.”
“You do seem to enjoy talking.”
“Hey now. I’m an excellent conversationalist.”
“With so much practice, you should be.” His grin is forced, and there’s a sorrowful strain in his eyes.
I don’t challenge him on it or try to cheer him up. He’s suffering, too. In a twist of fate I could never have anticipated, he fell for me, hard and fast. Facing the tragic end of that love so soon is agonizing for both of us.
