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MAGGIE
“That’s them.”
I look up from the pumpkin and gourd arrangement I’m perfecting, first glancing to Emily, then to the couple strolling hand in hand down the front steps of the inn. “What about them?”
“They’re the ones I was telling you about.” Emily gives me a look that says I should be able to read her mind. “Earth to Maggie. The honeymooners.”
“I think they’re sweet.”
“Don’t even. There’s so much sweet going on there—” She waves a hand at the offending pair— “my gums hurt just looking at them. I feel like I’ve eaten a pack of Sour Punch strings and washed it down with a Pixie Stick.”
I watch as the young couple stops to nuzzle one another, and there’s a slight pang in my chest. “Yeah,” I finally agree. “That much sweet doesn’t last.”
“Now there’s the cynic I know and love.” Emily grins, then swipes a misshapen gourd from my pile. She holds it to the crotch of a scarecrow and cackles at me. “What do you think?”
I pick up a tuft of hay and toss it in her direction. “We have customers walking around!”
“I know, I know.” Emily replaces the gourd, then straightens and adjusts the scarecrow’s attire. “What do you think of the display? I vote it’s our best yet.”
“Best display yet!” Julia yells from across the street. While Emily and I manage the inn, Julia runs the only bookstore in Harp’s Haven. She’s out front planting her fall garden, her flannel shirt ballooning around her body as she waves to us, then wipes her hand on a pair of dirty jeans. “You ladies outdid yourselves this year.”
“Thanks, Julia!” I wave back, surveying our handiwork.
Julia’s right; it really is a gorgeous display. The inn itself is beautiful, and to say this business has been a labor of love would be an understatement. Over the last six years, Emily and I have grown closer than sisters, and the inn itself has morphed from a struggling motel into a flourishing bed and breakfast—a destination for locals to escape for a weekend of pampering and a space for tourists to flock during the crisp fall months of northern Maine.
“Stand next to the scarecrow,” I instruct Emily. When she does, I hand her a broomstick. “Great. Now do that cackle-laugh thing again.”
“You think I’m the witch?” Emily raises her eyebrows, but she can’t resist a small cackling chuckle. “What does that make you?”
I bite my lip in thought. “The tin man.”
“I don’t think so.” Emily gives a pointed look at my torso. “You’ve been blessed in the chest area, and he’s flat as a board.”
“I was talking about his heart.”
“You’ve got a heart. All you need is courage,” she says. “You’re more like the cowardly lion.”
“I’m not cowardly!” I argue, shifting to arrange the fresh corn stalks in our seasonal display. Fall is almost here, despite the last warm fingers of summer holding on—the odd eighty-degree day making me sweat through the tank top and shorts I’ve worn to work outside. “I have courage.”
“You have plenty of courage,” Emily agrees. “But you’re a weenie when it comes to men.”
“I’m not a weenie.”
“Stop shredding the corn stalks; I’m just messing with you. What’s next on the list?”
I pull out my never-ending list of To Do’s and mentally cross off fall decorations. “Carve pumpkins with Mila?”
Emily clasps her hands together and rubs them. “I can’t believe we’re on pumpkins already. Seems like Labor Day just passed.”
“It did, last weekend,” I say. “But if we don’t put the Halloween decorations up early, we don’t get to spend enough time with them before Target shoves the Thanksgiving and Christmas crap in our faces, and Halloween’s my favorite.”
“You used to love Christmas.”
“Well, I don’t anymore. Remember?” I grin at her. “I’m the busty tin man, and I have no heart. Now, let’s grab the pumpkins before we have to meet Mila’s bus. I picked up seven.”
“Seven pumpkins? My hand is gonna cramp.”
“Buck up, buttercup.” I pat her on the back. “What are you going to carve? Don’t tell me—”
“Naked men are out again?”
Emily is, without question, the fun one out of the two of us. Where she’s funny, I’m responsible. While she’s beautiful with all her curves and big blonde hair, I’m medium-thin with wavy brown hair and a pair of boobs slightly too big for my body. She’s warm and welcoming, and I’m...well, I have perfected the art of keeping people out of my space bubble.
“What’s your choice for movie night?” Emily asks. “Are we going romantic comedy?”
I look at her, and we both break out into laughter.
“Horror it is,” she says. “Think anyone else will join?”
“We’ve been doing these movie nights for so many years, and we’ve never had company.”
“Who knows?” Emily says, waggling her eyebrows. “Tonight could be the night.”
“Right.” I take the broom from Emily and sweep the front path free of decorating debris. “That’ll be the day.”