Page 62 of Halloween Town

Poppy shook her head and lifted her takeout cup. “I’ve just had coffee, but thank you.”

Melody thrust the now crumpled map at Poppy. “I want one of these.”

Poppy frowned. “Uh, you can get as many as you want from the information center. I think they are also distributing them at most of the tourist hotspots, at the coffee shop, art gallery, and bookstore.”

Melody poked her finger at the paper and cursed when her fingernail went right through it. “I don’t want this map. I want you to draw me a map. Of my fantasy world, for my book.”

It took a moment for her words to land. “Oh. Really?”

Melody nodded. “I have one in my books already, but I’ve never been happy with it. It’s a bit bland, a bit ugh. I saw your map and knew that you could capture Myrrhwen.” She pushed her hair back, almost jittering with excitement. “You might need to read my books to get an idea of the world, or if you’re not a reader, I can take you through it, but I like your style, I like your vibe.”

She had a vibe? Good to know. Poppy bit the inside of her lip and rocked on her heels. She’d had so much fun drawing the map of the town and would love to work on another one. “Would you pay me?” she asked.

Though, to be honest, it sounded like such fun she might do it for free.

Melody looked a little affronted. “Of course I would pay you,” she emphasized, before naming a figure that made Poppy blink. That much? Seriously? “If it’s as great as I expect it to be, I’ll ask you for character art.”

Poppy had no idea what character art was, but she was up to the challenge.

“I’m also part of a group of romantasy authors who are pretty prolific. None of us has found an artist we are completely happy with, so I could probably get you more work.”

Wow. This was all a bit much to take in. She was going to be paid to play with pencils and charcoal, with paint and pastels? Holy shit, how lucky could she get?

Melody pulled a face. “I’d love to talk to you about this some more, but we’re leaving this morning,” she explained. “We came to Solstice Springs for a weekend break. Well, it’s a weekend break for my wife, and it’s a research trip for me. That’s why I was hoping I could buy you a cup of coffee.”

Wren took her cup and angled her head. “Go chat with Melody, Pops. I’ll see you later.”

Melody winced. “I’m sorry, am I taking you away from something important? We can video-chat at another time if that suits you better.”

“No, it’s fine,” Poppy assured Melody. “Why don’t we go to Spirited Grounds, the coffee shop across the road, and chat there?”

Melody beamed. “That would be awesome! Now?”

Poppy nodded and smiled at her enthusiasm. “Now is good.” She looked at Wren. “Speak later, Bird?”

Wren nodded, and when Melody turned her back, gave her a not-so-subtle thumbs-up. Grinning, Poppy followed Melody out of the tent. As they crossed the street, Poppy asked her to describe her fantasy world and to tell her about her books…

And, apart from ordering a latte for Melody in Spirited Grounds and a matcha tea for herself, Poppy only managed to get a word in about fifteen minutes later.

Poppy sat on the news all day. She’d tried to call Wren as soon as she finished her meeting with Melody, but Wren’s phone was either dead or powered off and she’d yet to return her message to call her back. Given that Dane’s was off duty for the rest of the weekend, Poppy knew it might be a while before she checked in.

In the kitchen of Solstice Deep, she looked across the table at Thom, who was sitting opposite her, tucking into the massive pizza he’d ordered for them to share from Il Fantasma. She had a piece on her plate, but she’d yet to take a bite. She was too excited to eat.

She wanted to tell him, was desperate to tell him, but she couldn’t find the words. Not because her news wasn’t good, but because it was terrifying. This job hadn’t come from a favor to her mom, a referral from one of her brilliant siblings, or via someone who knew Benji. Someone had seen her work and thought it was good. That it had value.

It was the first time in forever that she’d felt properly proud of herself.

And deeply, irrationally afraid.

She should just tell him and be cool about it when she did. But he might not think it was a big deal and would be polite and distant, simply handing her an offhand “That’s good.” She was fully prepared for him to shrink the moment, because that’s what people always did when she told them she was an artist and that her dream was to make a living using her creativity. She’d heard it all, from “it’s unstable” to “you have to be a genius to succeed” to “that’s not an adult way to make a living.” At the end of the day, it was always a dismissal, a way to shove her back into her box and to dampen her dreams. She didn’t expect Thom to be any different. But a part of her hoped, prayed, that he’d be excited for her.

“You haven’t touched your pizza,” Thom said, leaning back in his chair. His gray eyes met hers, and he frowned. “And you’ve been distracted since you came home. Did something happen today?”

You could say that. She nodded. “Yeah, it did.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

She nodded, picked up her slice of pizza, and put it down again. Then she rubbed the palms of her hands on her denim-covered thighs. Why was she so nervous? Because this was Thom, and she wanted him to be proud of her?