Between Then and Now (Hallow’s End #1)

12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

F RIDAY NIGHT ARRIVED, and I busied myself in my bedroom, packing a bag for the sleepover at Ivy’s. The room was dimly lit by a bedside lamp, shining a light over the rustic wooden furniture and the quilted bedspread. I folded a pair of comfy pajamas, and a favorite oversized sweater, placing them neatly in my overnight bag with my other essentials.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand, and I picked it up, grinning as I read the latest text from Ethan. We’d been texting all day, ever since he messaged me in the morning to confirm our plans for tomorrow. It had been a fun, easy conversation, with him joking about the quiz night and what kind of absurd questions we might face. His texts had quickly become the highlight of my day, especially the ones he sent between his lessons. I found myself waiting for them more and more, each one bringing a smile to my face.

His last message left me smiling. It was comforting to know that he was looking forward to it just as much as I was.

As I packed, I imagined him at work, leaning against a desk with that casual confidence of his, explaining something with his warm, honey-brown eyes focused intently. Maybe he’d loosened his tie by now, the top button of his shirt undone, revealing a glimpse of his collarbone. I wondered if he ever wore glasses—somehow, that thought only made the image hotter. The idea of him in teacher mode, effortlessly charming and sexy, sent a warm thrill through me.

My mind wandered, daydreaming about an after-hours scenario in an empty classroom. The thought of him leaning in close, our faces inches apart, as he murmured something in that deep, soothing voice . . . I blushed, imagining a hot make-out session, his hands in my hair, pulling me closer, our breaths mingling in the quiet of the room.

Shaking off the fantasy, I zipped up my bag and glanced at the snacks and wine I had picked up earlier from Maple and Spice. I’d chosen a bottle of red wine—with a cute label that promised hints of dark berries and chocolate—an assortment of cheeses, and some salted popcorn.

When I stepped out the door, the crispness of the autumn night greeted me. The sky was clear, stars beginning to twinkle in the fading light and, maybe it was the talk with Ivy and Amelia that lingered with me, but there really was a sense of magic in the air; a feeling that anything could happen.

I started the short walk to Ivy’s place on Willow Lane, a quaint street just a few minutes from my cottage. As I turned onto the main road, I smiled at the festive decorations that lined the street. The front porches were a delightful array of carved pumpkins, glowing with flickering candles inside. Charming little scarecrows were seated on benches outside some houses, while others were decorated with strings of orange and purple lights. Some even had skeletons on their front porches and gardens.

Ivy’s house was number thirteen on Willow Lane, a little brick haven that fit perfectly with the enchanting vibe of the street. The house’s window shutters were painted a soft, welcoming pink, adding a touch of whimsy against the classic red brick. Ivy vines gracefully climbed up the walls, weaving in and out of the window frames, and the front garden was a vibrant mix of wildflowers and herbs, their colors still bright and lively in the late September air. Thriving potted plants were arranged artfully around the porch.

Bundles of dried herbs and small bells hung by the door, which was a warm, rustic red, and adorned with a wreath made of dried flowers and twigs. Soft, warm lights glowed from the windows.

The door swung open before I could knock, as if Ivy had sensed my presence, and she greeted me with a warm hug. Her beautiful silk pajamas shimmered softly in the light, the shirt bearing the playful slogan: HEX THE STRESS.

“Hey, Vinnie! Come in, make yourself comfortable,” she said, pulling me inside .

The enchanting atmosphere of Ivy’s cottage immediately enveloped me as soon as I stepped inside. Dim fairy lights and candles twinkled from every corner, casting a soft, kaleidoscopic glow, and the air was rich with the earthy scent of herbs and incense. Posters of herbs and plant anatomy adorned the walls, blending seamlessly with the shelves overflowing with crystals, figurines, and various mystical trinkets. It was a charmingly cluttered space, and utterly filled with Ivy’s personality.

Plants of all shapes and sizes sat on every surface, their green leaves adding warmth and life to the room, and a black cat with piercing green eyes weaved between Ivy’s legs, purring contentedly.

“And this, is Salem,” Ivy introduced, scooping up the cat with a smile. “He’s my little guardian.”

Salem blinked lazily at me, his eyes narrowing as if assessing whether I was friend or foe. “Hey, Salem,” I greeted, reaching out to scratch behind his ears. He responded with a soft purr, settling comfortably in Ivy’s arms.

I took off my boots, and we made our way further into the house to the living room. Deep purples, rich greens, and warm earthy tones blended together, and the flickering light cast dancing shadows on the walls, enhancing the mystical ambiance.

Vintage and modern elements were blended in an eclectic mix, creating the living room itself. A plush couch covered in soft blankets and cushions beckoned me to relax. An array of snacks and a couple of wine glasses were set on the coffee table, alongside a bottle of red wine ready to be poured. A large, worn rug covered the wooden floor and, in one corner, a low wooden bookshelf displayed books on various mystical subjects. Atop it, more plants sat beside a few well-placed crystals.

“Make yourself at home,” Ivy said, gesturing to the couch with a warm smile, and I sank into the plush cushions, the fabric soft against my skin .

“It seems we had the same idea,” I laughed, reaching into my bag to pull out the snacks and wine I’d brought.

“You can never have too much wine,” Ivy chuckled, grabbing a bottle opener. With a practiced twist, she popped the cork, and poured us each a generous glass. The deep red liquid glistened in the soft light as she handed me a glass, then took a sip of her own. “I thought we could have a classic horror movie marathon tonight. It’s been ages since I watched some of these. We can have it on in the background while we chat.”

“Yes! I love Scream ! It’s one of my all-time favorites!” I exclaimed, already feeling the nostalgic thrill. I took a sip of the wine, savoring its rich, fruity taste.

Ivy grinned mischievously. “ Scream ? I’m obsessed with Ghostface! There’s something about that mask . . . it’s creepy, but also kinda sexy, in a weird way. It just gives me chills!”

I was in the middle of another sip of wine when her comment caught me off guard, and I snorted some out of my nose, which only made us both burst into laughter. “Seriously? That mask? That’s what does it for you?” I asked, wiping my face with a napkin, still chuckling.

“Hey, don’t knock it till you try it!” Ivy teased, her eyes sparkling with mirth.

As the first movie played, we settled into a comfortable rhythm in front of the flickering screen, chatting and laughing about everything, from horror movie tropes, to our favorite scenes, the wine flowing free and easy.

Ivy leaned in with a playful glint in her eyes. “So, spill the tea—what’s the deal with Ethan? Are you excited for your date tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I am,” I admitted, a shy smile tugging at my lips. “We’ve been texting a lot and, honestly, it’s been really nice. I mean, he’s just . . . different. And not in a bad way,” I said, biting my lip as I tried to put my thoughts into words. “He’s genuine and kind, and I don’t feel like I have to put on a front around him.”

“And . . .?” Ivy prompted eagerly.

I blushed, the warmth of the wine spreading through my cheeks, and the tipsiness loosening my tongue. “Okay, fine!” I laughed, covering my face with my hands. “I’ve been thinking about him in that way, too,” I admitted, giggling nervously.

Ivy squealed with excitement and grabbed a handful of popcorn. “Tell me more!”

“It’s just . . . there’s something about him being a teacher that’s so hot,” I confessed, feeling my cheeks heat. “I keep imagining him in his element, being all smart and confident, and it just drives me crazy. And then I wonder—would he be as soft and sweet in bed as he is in person, or is there a wilder side to him?” I admitted, laughing nervously. “I can’t help but let my thoughts wander, especially since we’ve been texting all day. It’s like, the more I get to know him, the more intrigued I am.”

Ivy grabbed the bottle of wine and refilled our glasses. “You are allowed to think about that stuff! There’s no shame in it, at all,” she said with a playful grin. She leaned back, looking thoughtful. “But really, have you even ever had the chance to just . . . be wild? Like, let loose, and do whatever you want?”

I shook my head, frustration and nostalgia washing over me. “Not really. I’m so used to the physical part of a relationship being a big deal. With Sebastian, that was a huge part of what we had. And honestly, I miss that. It’s been four months, and I’m definitely feeling a bit . . . frustrated.” I laughed, but the sound came out more strained than amused, and I took a big gulp of wine, trying to drown out the lingering memories of Sebastian’s touch.

“I totally get that,” she said, her voice gentle. “It’s understandable to miss that intimacy, and to feel frustrated. It’s a natural part of being human, after all.”

I nodded, feeling a little lighter having said it out loud. There was a moment of comfortable silence, filled with the soft sound of the movie playing in the background. Ivy looked at me, her eyes curious but kind. “What exactly happened with Sebastian? You haven’t really talked about it.”

I hesitated, the memories rushing back and weighing heavily on my heart. I sighed, taking another sip of wine to steady myself. “It’s a long story,” I began. “Sebastian was . . . complicated. He had this way of making me feel special, and then tearing me down, all in the same breath. It was like I was constantly trying to prove my worth to him, and when things were good, they were really good. But when they were bad . . .”

Ivy gave me a sympathetic look, then brightened. “You know, it’s a full moon tonight,” she said with a playful smile. “There’s this old tradition in Hallow’s End, where you write down everything you need to let go of, then burn the paper and scatter the ashes outside. They say the town’s magic helps resolve it, sometimes in ways you don’t expect. It’s usually done on Hallow’s Eve night, when the veil between worlds is thin, but hey, it’s the intention that counts, right?”

She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper as if sharing a secret. “The idea, is that the act of burning your burdens transforms them, releasing their hold on you. And ashes scattered into the wind are carried by the town’s ancient ley lines. The lines amplify intentions and, under the light of the full moon, the magic becomes even stronger. It’s like a mystical cleanse, helping you move forward and embrace new possibilities.”

The way she described it, added an enchanting, almost otherworldly, quality to the simple act of letting go. The notion of tapping into the unknown felt strangely fitting, like this was the perfect place to initiate a new beginning and relinquish the past. Ivy’s blue eyes sparkled with excitement, and I could feel the allure of the ritual.

“That sounds . . . kind of perfect,” I admitted. Even though I didn’t truly believe in magic, the process made sense. The idea of physically writing down and burning my burdens felt like a tangible way to let go of them.

“So, why not give it a try? Let it all out, burn it, and see what the town’s magic does? Who knows? Maybe it’ll help you let go of Sebastian, and everything else that’s been holding you back,” Ivy said, her expression earnest. “You can tell me what happened while I gather the supplies.”

As I began to recount my past with Sebastian, Ivy moved around the room. She picked up a stack of paper, a few candles, and a pen, setting them on the coffee table. Her actions were calm and deliberate, comforting me as I delved into the memories.

“I guess I should start from the day we met,” I began, staring into my glass. The images came flooding back, sharp and vivid. “Sebastian and I first crossed paths at a charity gala my parents insisted I attend. It was a big deal for my father’s business, and my mother made it clear that I needed to make the right impression.”

In my mind, I was back in the grand ballroom of the Sterling estate. The marble floors gleamed under the warm glow of chandeliers, and guests moved gracefully, their conversations a soft murmur in the sophisticated air. It was a world of tailored suits and exquisite gowns, and I’d felt out of place amid the elegance and expectations.

“My mother has always been obsessed with appearances,” I continued, the image of her clear in my mind. Victoria Carlisle—tall and impeccably elegant, with her perfectly styled blond hair, and piercing gray eyes—always carried herself with a refined grace. She had a knack for reading people and situations, always aiming to maintain the perfect image for our family .

“That night, she was focused on Sebastian Sterling,” I added, remembering her calculating smile. “To her, he wasn’t just a great match for me, he was also a valuable connection for my father’s business. She saw him as the perfect addition to our family’s carefully curated image.”

I took a deep breath, recalling how Sebastian had approached me that night. He towered over me, a tall and commanding presence that made my heart race. His honey-blonde hair was perfectly styled, highlighting his sharp jawline and high cheekbones, and his green eyes were piercing, locking onto mine with a gaze that felt almost hypnotic, as if he could see straight through me. The tailored black suit he wore fit him impeccably, accentuating his broad shoulders and lean, muscular frame. And he smelled intoxicatingly good—a mix of musky cologne and woodsy undertones.

He was two years older, a fact I was keenly aware of, which only added to my nervousness in his presence. There was something about him that made me want to impress him, to be the perfect, poised young woman my mother had tried to mold me into. For the first time, I regretted not paying more attention in the etiquette classes she sent me to. There was an undeniable magnetism to him, something that pulled me in despite my initial desire to resist. Looking back, it was almost surreal how perfect he had seemed that night—like he was too good to be true. And now, I realize he was.

“Sebastian suggested we escape the crowd,” I continued, a faint smile tugging at my lips. “He led me to the gallery wing, away from the noise and chaos. The moment felt intimate, like we were stepping into a world of our own. We talked about art, cooking, and life. It was refreshing. Sebastian made me laugh, and he had this way of making me feel seen , as if he appreciated me for who I was, not just for my last name, or the way I looked .

“He listened to me talk about my passion for painting, and my dreams of becoming an artist. For the first time, I felt like someone understood and supported that part of me. He didn’t dismiss it as a frivolous hobby. Instead, he seemed to admire my dedication. It made me believe he could be someone who would stand by me, even against my parent’s expectations.”

I sighed, taking a sip of wine. “But now, looking back, I realize it was all part of his act. His interest in my art, in my dreams—it was just a way to draw me in, to make me feel special. It felt so real then but, as our relationship progressed, it became clear that it was all surface-level. He just knew how to say the right things to keep me hooked, to make me feel like I mattered to him. I thought he saw me , but he was only ever interested in what I could offer —my family’s connections, the way I looked on his arm, and the way I made him feel important. I was just another piece in his carefully constructed life, and I didn’t see it until it was too late.”

Ivy poured more wine into my now-empty glass and I took a sip, the warmth settling in my chest. As Ivy lit a few more candles and placed them around the room, the atmosphere became intimate and almost sacred, and a faint scent of herbs and incense filled the air.

“I was so caught up in the excitement,” I admitted, my voice tinged with regret. “Sebastian had this way of making me feel like I had to constantly earn his attention. He’d make me feel like the most special person in the world one moment, and then he’d flirt with other women right in front of me, keeping me on edge. It created this constant push-and-pull, where I felt like I had to prove myself to him, like I wasn’t quite good enough without his approval.”

Ivy’s face scrunched in annoyance. “What a dick,” she muttered, shaking her head. She quickly apologized, her expression softening with empathy. “Sorry, Vinnie. It’s just . . . I can’t believe he made you feel like that. ”

I smiled faintly, appreciating her support. “Yeah, it wasn’t great. But at the time, I was too caught up to clearly see it.

“Please, continue,” Ivy urged, her tone gentle. “I want to hear it all.”

Encouraged by her understanding, I continued. “He’d say things like, ‘You’re lucky I understand you,’ or, ‘Not everyone could handle your quirks.’ It was subtle, but it made me feel like I should be grateful he was willing to put up with me.”

“That’s so messed up,” Ivy said, her voice tinged with frustration. “What an ass! He totally gaslighted you into thinking you were lucky to have him, instead of him being lucky to have you !”

I nodded, feeling the weight of her words, and the truth they held. “It was like he had this hold on me, making me feel constantly insecure and unsure of myself. He made me believe I needed to be perfect to keep him interested. And I was so wrapped up in the fantasy of our relationship—the idea that someone like him could love someone like me—that I ignored all the warning signs. I didn’t want to face the truth that the person I thought loved me was just using me to boost his ego.”

Ivy shook her head. “It makes me so angry to hear that he treated you like that. You deserved so much better, Vinnie. It’s hard to see it when you’re in the middle of it, but I’m glad you’re realizing it now.”

I took a deep breath, letting her words sink in. The realization was painful, but also liberating. For the first time, I felt like I could let go of the guilt and confusion that had plagued me for so long.

Ivy reached over to the coffee table, grabbing the pen and a piece of paper she’d laid out earlier, and handed them to me. “Okay, Vinnie, now’s your chance,” she said softly. “Write down what you need to let go of. Be honest with yourself.”

I started to write, the words flowing out in a steady stream: I want to resolve my feelings about Sebastian so I can finally move on.

Ivy watched me closely, sensing the significance of the moment. “You ready?”

Lightness floated over me when I burned the paper. The simple act, combined with Ivy’s support, feeling cathartic. Though it was symbolic, the gesture carried real emotional weight and, as the last wisps of smoke faded, I silently hoped that this would help me to finally move on.