Page 8 of Midnight Lessons
I force a smile, the kind I give difficult customers when they demand discounts on day-old bread. “Thanks. So, you here for business? Or a walk down memory lane?” I ask, unable to keep the bite from my question.
He rubs the back of his neck, a gesture that tugs at something deep in my chest. “A bit of both. I’ve taken a teaching position at Midnight Falls High School. Biology teacher. And, well, there’s also my parents’ house to deal with.”
Oh. Not a flying visit, then.
The mention of his parents sends a pang through my heart. Leah and Henry Callahan were always warm and welcoming to me. Their sudden death in a car accident a year ago at the hands of a drunk driver shocked the whole town. I went to their funeral, kept my distance, and left without saying a word to Owen. It seemed like the right thing to do at the time to protect my heart and avoid reopening old wounds.
But now, I wonder if I should’ve at least put aside past hurts to offer Owen my condolences. Losing both his parents like that must have been devastating.
“I'm sorry about your parents,” I say softly, my eyes dropping to the counter. “Leah and Henry were always so kind to me.”
“Yeah,” he says, his voice tight. “They thought the world of you.” There's a beat of silence, heavy with the things we’re not saying. “I wish you’d said hello at the funeral.”
I look up, meeting his gaze head-on. “You know why I didn’t. I wanted to pay my respects, but I thought it was easier if I stayed in the background.”
He nods slowly, his jaw clenching. “Easier,” he echoes like he’s tasting the word and finding it bitter. “Right.”
I can't tell if he’s mad at me or hurt. Maybe both. Not that he has any right to feel either. My temper flares.
I’m not the one who left.You’re the one who threw us away.
I want to shout the words at him, but they get stuck in my throat, tangled up with years of hurt and regret. “You had enough to deal with that day. I didn't want to make it about us,” I say instead.
He closes his eyes briefly, a muscle working in his jaw. “Willow, about what happened?—”
“It's in the past,” I say before he can continue. “You can’t change it.”
We both know I’m not talking about his parents’ funeral.
“Maybe.” He watches me for a long moment, his eyes searching mine like he's looking for something he’s not sure he’ll find. “Maybe not.”
What the hell does that mean?
He shifts, glancing at the cookies on display as if they hold the answer to all the questions hovering between us. “I’ll take a couple of those pumpkin spice snickerdoodles,” he says, his tone casual again, like we haven’t dug up a graveyard of old feelings.
“Sure.” I grab a bag and carefully place a few cookies inside. My hands are steady, but inside me, a storm is brewing. I hand him the bag, and our fingers brush for the briefest moment, sending a jolt of electricity through me. “That’ll be five dollars.”
“Thanks.” He hands me the cash, his eyes lingering on mine for a second longer than necessary.
Instead of leaving, he stands there as if he wants to say something. I don’t trust myself to speak. My throat is tight, and a strange hollow ache settles in my chest that I recognize all too well—loss and all the things left unresolved.
I reach for the tray of cookies I was working on before he walked in to give me something to do. My hands are steady, thankfully, as I lift a witch's hat cookie and place it carefully on the display.
His gaze follows my movements. “I guess a lot has changed since I left.”
I snort softly, unable to help myself. “Not really. Midnight Falls is as predictable as ever. You know how it is—people stick to what they know. Especially around here.”Unlike you.The unspoken words hang in the air between us, charged and heavy.
He nods, his expression unreadable. “I suppose some things do stay the same.” His eyes flicker to the cookies, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Your decorating skills, for one. These look incredible, Low.”
I summon a smile. “Thanks. Who would’ve thought baking in my mom and dad’s kitchen would lead to this?”
“Me,” he says immediately. “I always knew you’d make a success of whatever you put your mind to.”
The compliment is so unexpected I’m almost left speechless. Almost. “Thanks,” I mutter as warmth spreads across my cheeks. Damn him for still being able to make me blush. “Halloween's my favorite time of year.”
“Yeah,” he says softly, his voice wistful. “I remember.”
Something unspoken passes between us, something that makes my heart stutter. For a second, I allow myself to remember too. The nights we spent planning our Halloween costumes, how he used to sneak into Mom and Dad’s late at night to taste-test my latest creations, his eyes lighting up with every bite. But I quickly shove the memories away, locking them back in the box where they belong.