Page 27 of Midnight Lessons

I burst out laughing, and for a moment, a heartbeat, everything else fades away. It’s only Willow and me.

Then she grins, breaking the spell, and tugs me toward the aroma of fresh popcorn from a nearby food vendor. “Come on, let’s take a break. My treat.”

“Deal.”

We find a cozy spot to sit and talk, surrounded by the comforting chaos of the flea market. Here, with Willow, I’m not only back in Midnight Falls. I’m where I’m meant to be.

Willow tosses a kernel of popcorn into her mouth, then glances at me with a mischievous smile that makes my pulse skip a beat. “So, how’s that comeback of yours going?” she asks, raising an eyebrow challengingly.

I grin, refusing to admit defeat. “Oh, it’s far from over. I’m just warming up.”

She laughs, the sound light and free, and I can’t help but be pulled in by her energy. “Well, I hate to break it to you, but you’ll need more than a squeaky chicken to win today.”

“Who says that’s all I’ve got up my sleeve?” I shoot back, leaning in closer. “Just wait and see.”

With a gleam of determination in her eye, Willow brushes the crumbs from her hands and stands. “You’re on, Callahan.”

We finish the popcorn and dive back into the maze of vendors, shoulder to shoulder, the playful competition between us sparking like live wires. The air is filled with the murmur of haggling, the clink of metal trinkets, and the occasional burst of laughter. Booth after booth, we scout for treasures, egging each other on and bantering like we used to when we were kids.

At one booth overflowing with old vinyl records, Willow gasps. “Owen, look!” She holds up an original Beatles album, its cover art faded but still vibrant.

“Don’t tell me you’re a Beatles girl,” I tease, leaning over her shoulder.

She shoots me a look that could melt steel. “Please. John Lennon was a genius. And this album? It’s a classic.” Her eyes gleam with excitement, and I can see her fingers itchingto make it hers.

I fight the urge to hand over the cash right there just to see her happy, but this is a competition, after all. “Think you can get it for a steal?” I challenge, crossing my arms.

Willow’s lips curve into a wicked smile. “Watch me.”

She saunters up to the vendor, all confidence and charm, chatting casually as she gently nudges the price down, bit by bit, until—somehow—she’s holding the album with a victorious glint in her eye. The vendor is also smiling, shaking his head like he knows he’s been outmaneuvered but can’t be mad about it.

“Five bucks,” she sings, waving it in my face as she returns. “What was that about your ‘superior eye for bargains,’ hmm?”

I shake my head, impressed despite myself. “Okay, I’ll give you that one. But don’t get too cocky, Low. We’ve still got the whole place to cover.”

She laughs, the sound rich and full of challenge. “Bring it on.”

We weave through more stalls, each offering a strange array of items. I spot an old globe, itssurface faded and worn, the countries marked in languages I can’t even recognize. It’s beautiful in a nostalgic sort of way, and it reminds me of how Willow used to talk about traveling the world one day, back when we were teenagers with stars in our eyes and dreams bigger than Midnight Falls.

“Look at this,” I say, lifting it gently. “It’s got character.”

She tilts her head, studying it thoughtfully. “It’s gorgeous, but... don’t think it’s worth much. What’s your angle, Callahan?”

“Sentimental value,” I admit softly, catching the flicker of understanding in her gaze.

“Ten bucks, and I’ll call it my victory piece,” I say lightly, setting it back down. It’s not about the win—not with this one.

Willow’s expression softens, and she nudges my arm. “You sure you’re not just letting me win?”

I scoff, rolling my eyes. “In your dreams.”

We continue wandering, fingers brushing every so often, our laughter mingling with the hum of themarket. I spot an antique pocket watch at a tiny booth tucked away in a corner. It’s tarnished, and the chain’s a bit bent, but it has charm. I can practically feel its history humming beneath the surface.

“Now this,” I say, holding it up for her inspection, “is a find.”

Willow raises an eyebrow. “It looks like it’s seen better days.”

“Like most good things,” I murmur, turning it over in my hands. “But it’s solid. Got some life left in it.” Just like us, I want to say, but I don’t. The words feel too heavy for this playful back-and-forth.