Page 28 of Midnight Lessons
She watches me, something unreadable flickering in her eyes. “You always did have a soft spot for things that needed a little TLC.”
“I guess I do,” I say, clearing my throat. “What do you think? Can I snag it for under five bucks?”
She laughs, shaking her head. “If you manage that, I’ll be impressed.”
Challenge accepted.
I haggle with the man behind the counter, pushing my luck with a grin and a wink until—miraculously—he agrees. Five dollars for the watch.
I turn back to Willow, holding up my prize. “What do you think now?”
She’s staring at the watch, her expression soft. “I think… you might have won this round.”
Her smile, warm and genuine, is worth more than any victory.
“Guess I’ve still got my touch,” I say lightly, slipping the watch into my pocket.
She nudges me with her shoulder. “Don’t get used to it, Callahan.”
I grin. “Oh, I’m definitely getting used to it, Winters.”
As we continue through the maze of stalls, our hands find each other almost without thought. It’s natural, the way my fingers lace through hers, how her palm presses against mine. The firmness of her grip is a silent promise, more felt than spoken.
It’s not long before we stumble upon a stall full ofhandmade candles, each one boasting its unique scent.
Willow picks up a candle that looks and smells like candy corn. She inhales deeply before passing it to me. “This smells like Halloween,” she declares with satisfaction.
“Your favorite time of year,” I acknowledge, knowing her love for the holiday rivals that of the entire population of Midnight Falls.
“Non-stop cookie decorating and all the horror movies I can handle,” she confirms.
“Sounds perfect.” I buy the candle without a second thought as a small token, a future shared memory.
We buy little things here and there—a pair of funky sunglasses for her, a leather-bound notebook for me. Each purchase is punctuated with laughter or a gentle squeeze of hands, simple gestures that weave the fabric of our connection tighter. It solidifies with each shared smile, each touch, each moment spent together.
The sun begins its descent outside, casting a golden hue over the flea market. As we makeour way toward the exit, hand in hand, a sense of contentment settles over us. And with every step we take, I’m increasingly certain of our bond, one quirky flea market find at a time.
“Let’s head home,” I suggest, offering my hand to Willow.
“Sounds good,” she replies, slipping her fingers into mine.
We stroll side by side, carrying our ridiculous rubber chicken, her Beatles album, and my pocket watch.
“We should do this more often,” she murmurs as we approach my truck. “Feels like… old times.”
“Yeah,” I agree, glancing sideways at her. “Except better.”
She blushes, looking down at her feet, and I can’t resist reaching out, tipping her chin until she meets my gaze.
“Thanks for today, Low.”
Her smile is soft, almost shy. “Thank you for making me feel like myself again.”
I lean in, brushing my lips against her forehead. “You never stopped being you. Even when I was too blind to see it.”
Willow’s eyes shimmer, and for a moment, everything else fades away. It’s just us in the parking lot, the world around us a blur.
“Game on, huh?” she whispers.