The Café between Pumpkin and Pie

by Marina Adair

  She let out a breath. “I don’t know, but we’ll figure out something. Love will find a way.”

  As they stood in the carriage house, holding each other, Syd felt Stella’s spirit smiling down on them. I told you so, Syd could hear her say.

  And that’s when she knew for sure that love would indeed find a way.

  Epilogue

  One year later

  The Moonbright Sun

  Sydney Ann Byrne, the granddaughter of the late Robert and Stella Byrne and daughter of the late Richard and Alexa Byrne, was wed to Nicolas James Rossi, the son of Dora and Nick Rossi Sr., Oct. 31.

  The ceremony was held after the Halloween parade at Moonbright’s Church of the Immaculate Conception with a reception that followed at Stella’s Tearoom. More than a hundred guests attended the lavish affair catered by the Corner Café. The bread, of course, was provided by Fern Rogers, the head baker at Stella’s Tearoom.

  After a year of traveling back and forth between California and Maine, the bride is making Moonbright her permanent home. The groom, who has racked up more frequent-flier miles than he cares to count, couldn’t be happier.

  Byrne (now Rossi) said she is relinquishing her day-to-day duties at her San Francisco company, Bread & Cie, to an associate but will continue to own a share of the business. Her plan, she said, is to run Stella’s Tearoom full-time, bake her delectable cheese palmiers for Williams-Sonoma, and write cookbooks.

  Her new husband said he couldn’t be happier with the plan. In the meantime, Rossi Construction has applied for permits to add on to the couple’s Maple Street Victorian. Extra space in case of small visitors in the next few years, Rossi said.

  The new Mrs. Rossi declined to say whether it was the Moonbright legend that brought her and her groom together. However, the Sun finds it extraordinarily coincidental that they chose Halloween as their wedding day.

  Despite the coincidence, their secret is safe with us.

  Romance on Tap

  MARINA ADAIR

  To my friend, Alex,

  who believed in me from

  the beginning and fought for

  me until the end

  Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to

  another: “What! You too? I thought I was the only one.”

  —C. S. Lewis

  Thank you for being my one.

  Prologue

  It was official. Mila Cramer was going to die. A travesty, since she’d barely lived.

  Oh sure, she had a passport with a few stamps, dual citizenship, and had won first place in the county fair art contest. But she’d never snuck out of the house, was still afraid of the dark . . . and even worse?

  She had never been kissed. Sixteen and never kissed was bad enough. But eighteen? And now it looked like she never would be. Either the dark or the embarrassment would kill her.

  “This is why you don’t go to parties,” she mumbled, wiping her sweaty palms on her jeans.

  The only reason she was at Abigail Anderson’s Halloween party was because Abigail had passed her a note in Physics, from Mila’s secret crush, asking if she was going to the after-game party.

  Okay, she’d also gone because last week, on Halloween, her two besties convinced her to cast a love spell. And, just as town lore predicted, when the clock struck midnight her soul mate’s identity was revealed in the reflection of her compact mirror: Moonbright High’s quarterback, homecoming king, and the only student ever to be voted Prettiest Eyes three years running. Ford James, who—according to the whispers in the girls’ locker room—was a kissing legend.

  Her friends had pinups of their favorite boy band or movie posters with the Hemsworth brothers hanging in their rooms. Not Mila. She spent her days after school sitting on the bleachers, watching Ford from afar. Sketchbook in hand, she’d carefully detail his square jaw, electric blue eyes, and those oh so kissable lips. Sketch after sketch filled her journals, the insides of her binders, even the back wall in the attic behind a stack of boxes holding her dad’s old tax returns.

  She was bewitched from the moment Ford chose her first for his kickball team in sixth grade—she’d never been picked first. Not that he knew she even existed. An embarrassing fact, since they’d grown up together, their houses kitty-corner to each other.

  But last week, at the Halloween dance, he’d smiled at her. Or at least in her direction. She couldn’t be positive, but one of her friends swore that his smile was intended for Mila.

  “He’s totally checking you out,” Kira had whispered. “It’s the Princess Buttercup costume. Guys appreciate a girl who reads.”

  “Guys appreciate boobs. That padded bra takes you from mosquito bites to a respectable A cup,” clarified the girl who put the B cup in their BFF posse. And since Dakota knew the most about boobs and guys, Mila believed her. Which was why she’d worn the push-up bra to the party. “And have you seen how many times he’s cracked his head during a game? He probably watched the movie.”

  Either way, he’d asked her to the party and, when she’d arrived, Abigail had told her he’d meet her in the downstairs closet. Everyone knew what happened in Abigail’s downstairs closet.

  Seven Minutes in Heaven.

  Had it been any another guy, Mila never would have willingly walked into that closet. Confined, dark places reminded her of the time her cousin locked her in the basement during her grandfather’s wake. And just like back then, the tiny closet made her chest feel tight and her skin feel too small for her body. Not to mention the sweaty hands and armpits.

  Not how she’d envisioned her first kiss going. But she was three minutes into her seven, and Ford James was a no-show.

  She could hear Abigail and her friends on the other side of the door whispering about her. Feel the darkness closing in. Even straining her eyes, she couldn’t see her hand in front of her face.

  “Please, please, please don’t let him stand me up,” she whispered to the universe. “Just one kiss with Ford, and I promise never to ask for another thing as long as I live.” Because according to town legend, that was all she needed.

  After the spell was cast, a single kiss would seal the soul mates’ love forever. It had worked for her parents and her grandparents. In fact, the Cramers had a long history of epic love stories, dating back to her great-great-grandparents, who’d met at the first annual Moonbright Halloween parade.

  Out of the billons of people in the world, every Cramer had managed to find their person. And Mila Cramer was about to kiss hers. Because, as if the universe had heard her plea, the door slowly opened.

  “Mila?” she heard someone whisper. A too-husky-to-be-anyone-but-a-guy whisper.

  Relief flooded her. Partly because she hadn’t been stood up in front of the entire cool crowd, but mostly because a beam of light flooded into the closet, eating away at the scary shadows.

  She nodded and then realized he couldn’t see her. “Um, it’s me. I thought you were going to be a no-show.”

  “I’d never let that happen.” He sounded so sincere that her heart melted into a puddle of goo.

  He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, plunging them back into darkness. Her heart rammed against her ribs so fast, she was afraid she’d pass out. The tightening in her chest didn’t help.

  “Do you think we could open the door a crack?” she choked out past the lump in her throat.

  “That’s not how this game is played,” he said, and she was pretty sure he was flirting. Then his hand bumped her arm, before clumsily sliding down to link his fingers with hers—and she knew.

  Ford James was flirting with her, Mila Cramer, theater geek and art club president.

  Huh, being in the dark wasn’t so scary after all. Not when Ford was holding her hand. In a closet. Where they were about to play Seven Minutes in Heaven.

  “I don’t have much experience with this game,” she admitted.

  “Me either.”

  She felt the air stir around her, sensed his body shift closer.
Uncertainty and inexperience twisted into a complicated knot in her stomach. Taking a deep breath, she mentally recited the tips her favorite magazine had listed in its “How to Get an A+ in French (Kissing)” article, which she’d memorized for this exact situation.

  1. WITTY BANTER, PHYSICAL CONTACT LIKE HOLDING HANDS, AND MAINTAINING LINGERING EYE CONTACT ARE ALL WAYS TO BUILD THE CHEMISTRY.

  Check. Check. And it was too dark to tell.

  2. TO AVOID A STICKY SITUATION, BLOT YOUR LIP GLOSS.

  She wasn’t wearing any, but she’d started sweating again.

  3. TAKE A DEEP BREATH AND RELAX YOUR BODY.

  She exhaled. A little too loudly, because he froze. “You okay?”

  Was she? She was nervous and probably going to throw up.

  “Yes.” Crap. Tip number four: DON’T SOUND TOO EAGER. “Sure. I mean, if you are.”

  “Doing better by the second.” He brought her arms up and slid them around his neck.

  He was so tall, compared to her travel-sized stature, she had to roll up on her toes just to hold on.

  “Is this okay?” he asked.

  It was better than okay. It was sheer heaven. In his arms she felt beautiful . . . seen. Out of all the girls at the party, Ford had chosen her. She’d captured a lot of different sides of him over the years, but she’d never witnessed this side. Patient, gentle, shy even.

  She could feel his gaze on her, sense his slight hesitation. As if giving her the time she needed to feel comfortable. Her mind flashed back to the article.

  4. TAKE SOME OF THE PRESSURE OFF HIM AND MAKE THE FIRST MOVE.

  First move. You totally have this.

  “Did you say something?” he asked.

  She so did not have this. But instead of giving in to her fear, she channeled Bold Mila in the silky top with the push-up bra and made the first move. Only he had the same plan and, instead of making contact, her lips crashed into his chin.

  “Oh my God.” Horror flooded her. “I am so incredibly sorry. And clumsy.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “No. It’s not.” She closed her eyes in embarrassment. “Am I totally blowing this?”

  “You’re not blowing it,” he assured her, but he didn’t move. He just remained still, his hands resting loosely on her hips. She realized he was waiting for her to initiate the next move. Perhaps he wanted to give her time to compose herself or he didn’t want to risk losing an eye on attempt number two.

  “Are you sure? Because it feels like I’m blowing it.” And she was about to cry. She felt tears sting the back of her throat, and no matter how hard she blinked she couldn’t stop them. She’d never imagined she’d be thankful for the dark.

  “Inconceivable, Buttercup,” he whispered, and she wanted to cry for a whole other reason. “I could go into all the reasons why, if that would make you feel better, but we only have three minutes left. And I can think of better ways to spend them.”

  “Me too.”

  He chuckled, then slid his hands to rest on her lower back, gently tugging her toward him until she was snug against his body. His head dipped, his cheek pressing against hers, and she broke out in goose bumps—and not the scared kind. They stayed like that for a moment before he slowly shifted, his mouth coming closer and closer, his lips only a breath away.

  True love only a breath away.

  “Earlier when I said I didn’t have a lot of experience,” she began, kicking herself for talking to fill the silence. Quiet always made her uncomfortable. It was a leftover from her first few years at the orphanage, when silence was a rarity. “It’s more like I don’t have any.”

  In front of her, she felt him go still. “This is your first kiss?” he asked.

  “Is that a problem?”

  He swore low, beneath his breath. His hands loosened, not all the way, but enough that she knew he was reconsidering this whole thing. Refusing to miss this chance, she made her second move. And this one hit him square on the mouth.

  He hesitated and, for a heart-pounding moment, she thought he’d changed his mind. Then he groaned, tightening his arms around her so firmly, he practically lifted her off her feet. Ford wasn’t just a kissing legend; he was a kissing wizard, delivering the best first kiss in first-kiss history.

  After a few moments, he pulled back, just enough so that when he spoke she could feel his mouth move against hers. “What came next?”

  Her eyes flew open. “What?”

  “Lip gloss. Take a deep breath. Make the first move.”

  “I said that out loud?”

  He chuckled. “Not all of it. But enough to make me curious.”

  This moment had all the makings of a rom-com. A girl in distress, a dashing knight who comes to her rescue, misunderstandings, humorous antics, the awkward first kiss. Which should immediately be followed by the kiss.

  The heart-pounding, life-altering, fireworks display kind of kiss. Mila had waited eighteen years for fireworks. One silly misstep was just a part of their story; what came next was up to her.

  She boldly tightened her arms. “What do you want to know?”

  “What comes next on your list? Because after that kiss, I’ve got to know.”

  “My favorite part,” she said coyly. “ ‘Practice makes perfect. ’ ”

  He smiled against her lips. “As you wish.”

  And just as she’d dreamed, when his tongue touched hers the darkness faded and the nervousness dissipated, and she could hear the air crackle around them. It was as if she’d been transported to a magical place. If she hadn’t believed in the legend before, she believed it now.

  Mila Cramer had found her person.

  Chapter 1

  Seven years later . . .

  Everyone in Moonbright, Maine, knew that finding true love was as easy as saying, “Mirror, mirror on Halloween, will my future spouse be seen?” Everyone, that was, except Mila Cramer.

  As far as she was concerned, enchantment spells were about as realistic as hopes of winning the lottery. Now curses? That was something she could vouch for.

  “We’re talking about your possible soul mate,” Kira said as if this were the start of a Disney movie.

  “Soul mate?” Mila snorted.

  It wasn’t that she didn’t believe in true love. She just didn’t believe it could ever happen for her. Once upon a time, Mila had thought she’d found her person, only he’d found someone else.

  Lots of someone elses.

  “Yes, soul mate,” Kira said, her gold bangle bracelets jingling together as she tightened the corset of her fortune-teller costume. “Look around—everyone in this room is hoping to find their one true love.”

  “Suckers,” Dakota said, and Mila couldn’t agree more.

  Tonight was the annual Till Death Do Us Part-y at the Thirsty Raven, a hole-in-the-wall tavern off Haystack Lane, where local singles, dressed in spooky garb, gathered to ring in All Hallows’ Eve.

  It was nearly the witching hour and the bar was packed, a sea of zombies and ghouls taking up every booth and stool. In a town that was home to Maine’s largest pumpkin patch, Halloween was the biggest celebration of the year. Cobweb-covered lanterns swayed overhead, pitchers of Oktoberfest beer lined the bar, and a pumpkin the size of a tractor tire hung from the ceiling, like the New Year’s ball counting down to the big drop at midnight.

  Dakota was the recently promoted bar manager, and Kira’s event planning company had been hired to organize the party, which was how Mila found herself at the counter, wedged between a balding Clark Kent and Pennywise, while dressed like Princess Buttercup. Kira swore it had been the last costume left in Mila’s size at Charade, Moonbright’s premiere costume shop, but Mila knew better.

  Kira was trying to play cupid and re-create that wonderfully awful night back in high school.

  “I think it’s romantic,” Kira said, clutching her chest.

  “I think the idea of finding one person for the rest of your life is novel.” Dakota slid two Poison Appletinis and a basket of f
ries across the bar. The fries were salty and hot. The cocktail tart and delicious. “A guy who wants to stay the night but doesn’t expect breakfast in the morning is more my speed.”

  Dakota was no-strings. Kira had a subscription to six wedding magazines. Mila wasn’t sure what her speed was anymore.

  She could recite every Nora Ephron movie by heart, cried at Prince William and Kate’s wedding, and her mind often drifted to how nice it would be to have a constant someone-special in her life. But she didn’t daydream about “the ring” or have her dress picked out. And she certainly couldn’t imagine inviting anyone to sleep over.

  Not in her current situation.

  Which was why she’d created a plan: itemized, detailed, multi-tiered, color coded, flagged and tagged—a strategy to get her life back on track.

  GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER.

  APPLY FOR A BIG-GIRL JOB.

  GET A LIFE. ONE THAT DOESN’T INCLUDE SLEEPING IN YOUR CHILDHOOD BEDROOM.

  More specifically, a life that belonged to her. It sounded so simple when put that way. However, there were a lot of steps involved, which felt like the equivalent of rolling a five-hundred-pound pumpkin up a steep mountain, but in the end it would be worth it.

  Adulting was hard. And ever since her dad’s second stroke last year, she did it every day, all day.

  Mila never once regretted her decision to give up her downtown loft and great job as a set designer for a small theater company in New York to move home and care for her parents. They had adopted her later in life, but that never stopped them from showering Mila with unconditional love and support. Her dad had coached her soccer team and taken her to mommy-and-me ballet. Her mom bought Mila her first art set and introduced her to painting.