Midnight Lessons (Midnight Falls, Texas)

1. Willow

Chapter 1

Willow

I’m in the zone, piping tiny orange pumpkins and ghostly white specters onto sugar cookies that smell like autumn. The tip of my frosting bag dances with precision, leaving a trail of edible art in its wake.

My assistant manager, Carol, leans on the counter, watching me work. “Show off,” she teases, but her eyes are smiling.

I flash a grin at her without missing a beat on my cookie canvas. “Jealousy is unbecoming, Carol,” I quip, finishing an intricate spider web on a cookie shaped like a haunted house. “You know you love it. ”

“Only because your cookies make my diet a living nightmare,” she counters, mock groaning as she eyes a tray of finished treats. “How do you not weigh a thousand pounds with these around all the time?”

“Trade secret,” I say with a wink, adding a final flourish to the last cookie—a grinning skull with green icing for an eerie glow. “Besides, someone has to taste-test these beauties.”

“Ah, the burdens you bear,” Carol chuckles, shaking her head.

The bell above The Bewitched Bakery door jingles, signaling a customer’s entrance. I glance up, still smiling from my banter with Carol. It’s Chet Henderson, one of our regulars, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the Halloween spread. Chet is the manager of the local community bank in town and often comes in to buy his employees treats.

“Willow, these look fantastic,” he exclaims, leaning closer to the display case.

“Thanks, Chet. I’ve been working on some new designs,” I tell him, pride swelling in my chest. “ Halloween’s my favorite time of the year, you know?”

“Hard to forget in this town.” He laughs, looking out at the streets always decorated for our favorite holiday. “Every day is Halloween around here.”

“Isn’t it the best?” I ask, my enthusiasm bubbling over. “We get tourists coming through all year to see our perpetual Halloween fest. Keeps things lively, doesn’t it?”

“Sure does. And it brings in the tourist dollars. But no one embraces it quite like you, Willow,” Chet says, picking out a cookie, his bald head shining in the overhead lights. “These are going to be the hit of the party tonight.”

“Enjoy them,” I reply, sliding his choices into a box and closing the lid with a gentle tap. “And say hi to the missus for me.”

“Will do,” he calls over his shoulder as he leaves, the bell chiming his departure.

I let out a contented sigh, looking over my handiwork .

Carol nudges me with her elbow. “Queen of Halloween strikes again,” she says with a playful roll of her eyes.

“Long may she reign,” I respond, giving the trays of cookies one last approving glance before moving on to the next batch.

The bell above the door chimes as I finish piping a spiderweb onto a particularly plump pumpkin cookie. I glance up to see my parents pushing through the door, smiles as wide as the October sky outside. Dad’s already looking at the display case while Mom’s eyes twinkle with that mix of pride and amusement she saves just for me.

“Willow, these are marvelous.” Mom gestures to the haunted house made from gingerbread cookies standing tall amongst its spooky brethren.

“Thanks, Mom.” I beam. “I wanted to try something a little more 3D this time.”

“Your talent never ceases to amaze us, sweetheart,” Dad adds, his voice carrying the same warmth as the oven behind me.

Before they can say more, a whirlwind that answers to Billy bursts into the bakery, nearly knocking over a stand of candy corn bags in his haste. “Willow! Did you make any new cookies? Can I try one? Please?”

“Whoa, there, turbo.” I chuckle, steadying the stand with one hand while ruffling his hair with the other. “You know your sweet tooth will get me in trouble with your mom.”

“But it’s Halloween every day here,” he protests, his big, brown eyes doing that pleading thing I can never resist.

“All right, all right.” I reach for a cookie shaped like a witch’s hat adorned with a purple fondant buckle. “But don’t tell your mom I’m spoiling you. Where is she, by the way?”

“Yesss!” He snatches the treat, his grin threatening to split his face in two. “She’ll be here in a minute. She stopped by the jeweler's next door and told me to go on ahead.” Billy takes an enormous bite of his cookie and dances around with glee.

“Speaking of Halloween,” Dad starts, leaning against the counter, “we’re thinking about turning the front yard into a graveyard this year. Full-size skeletons and all. What do you think? ”

“Classic. I love it,” I say, already picturing the tombstones beneath the maple tree.

“Willow!” Linda, Billy’s mom and the local florist, cuts through our planning session. She waltzes in, her scarf a swirl of autumn leaves against her coat. “These cookies are a work of art.”

“Hey, Linda.” I grin at the compliment. “Glad you like them. Got a favorite yet?”

“Honey, choosing is impossible. They’re all my favorites,” Linda declares, her laughter mingling with the hum of the display case.

“Wait until you see what we’ve got planned for the Halloween festival,” I tease, knowing full well that Linda, the town’s biggest holiday enthusiast next to me, will eat it up. “I might give you a hint if you promise to bring me two of those flower arrangements you’ve made with the orange and yellow chrysanthemums.

“Deal. This town’s Halloween spirit is the best part of living here,” she gushes, clapping her hands.

“Couldn’t agree more,” I reply, the familiar surge of hometown pride warming my chest .

“Have you been spoiling my son again?” she asks, spotting Billy with a mouthful of cookie.

“Guilty,” I say unapologetically. “He deserves it. It’s been a tough few months for you both.”

Linda sighs. “You got that right. Never thought I’d be a single parent.”

Linda’s husband left her for a younger woman three months ago and she’s been juggling her florist shop and parenting since.

“You’re doing a great job,” I say, giving her a hug.

Linda dabs at her eyes with her scarf. “Thanks, Willow. I always feel better when I see you.”

I can kind of relate to Linda’s pain because the only man I’ve ever loved took my heart with him when he left Midnight Falls.

My heart twinges as I think of Owen. Despite how things ended between us six years ago, he’s never far from my thoughts. He was my first love.

Was? He still is.

Dating Matthew proved that “out of sight, out of mind” doesn’t work when it comes to matters of the heart. Not that Matthew and I were ever a real couple, not in the true sense of the word. Matthew asked me out several times during high school, but I always turned him down—after all, my heart belonged to Owen even then. On paper, I had more in common with Matthew than Owen—we were both nerdy kids who blended into the background. Kind of invisible. I’ve often wondered if Owen would’ve noticed me at all had we not been neighbors.

No, Matthew and I were never romantic; he was a friend, a companion for social events, someone who helped keep the loneliness away. I was upfront with him from the beginning, letting him know that my heart wasn't available—it would always belong to the man who left me for a life in the city.

I thought Matthew was as happy as I was with our “platonic arrangement” until he confessed he was falling for me and wanted a real relationship. That’s when I realized I had to end things. It wasn’t fair to continue as we were when I couldn't give him what he wanted. He wasn’t happy when I told him, but he accepted my decision. Soon after, he left for a high-paying job in another town, and last I heard, he was doing well for himself.

“Oh, look at these!” Linda’s exclamation pulls me from my thoughts.

I grin, sliding the tray of cookies closer to her eager eyes. “I’ve been experimenting with new designs.”

Each cookie is meticulously iced. A witch’s hat glistens with a shimmering purple band, a ghost floats with an almost translucent glaze, and a jack-o’-lantern smirks with an orange so vibrant it could light up the night.

“Is that a hint of nutmeg I smell on the ghosts?” Linda asks, her nose twitching like she’s caught the scent of a secret.

“Caught me,” I admit with a laugh. “I thought I’d give them a little spicy kick. And for the pumpkins, it’s all about classic cinnamon.”

Linda reaches out as if to pluck one off the tray but stops. “How do you make them so perfect? They’re almost too good to eat.”

“Speaking of perfection, you should see what I’ve got planned for the festival’s dessert table. It’ll be a Halloween hit.”

“Can’t wait,” she says, the sparkle in her eyes telling me she means it. “Your treats are the highlight every year.”

“Thanks, Linda. That means a lot.” And it does. This bakery, these cookies, they’re not just sugar and spice. They’re pieces of me, mixed and baked into something sweet.

“Willow, we’re going to head out,” Mom calls from the door, her voice pulling me back to the moment.

“Give me two seconds,” I call back, giving Linda a quick “hold that thought” gesture.

I rush over, slipping under Billy’s arm as he tries to snag another cookie from the counter. “What did I say about spoiling your dinner?”

“Aw, Willow, but they’re so good!” He grins, his eyes wide and innocent. Too innocent.

“Nice try, buddy,” I say, ruffling his hair. “Don’t think I don’t see that cookie crumb on your shirt. ”

“Bye, Willow,” Dad says, enveloping me in a bear hug that lifts me slightly off my feet. “Proud of you, kiddo.”

“Thanks, Dad.” I squeeze him back, appreciating the warmth that only a parent’s hug can bring. “Love you guys.”

“Love you more,” Mom says, leaning in for her turn. Her embrace is soft and smells faintly of lavender. “See you for dinner tonight?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” I watch as they exit before returning to Linda. “Sorry about that, Linda. Family, right?”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” she agrees, her gaze lingering on Billy.

I glance at the cookies, experiencing a surge of contentment. “Now, where were we? Oh, right, the undead gingerbread Frankenstein Monsters. You’re going to love these.”

An hour later, I lean against the counter for a moment, the bustle of the bakery washing over me like a familiar breeze. The oven’s warmth wraps around me, comforting in its steady hum as another batch of cookies bakes to golden perfection. I close my eyes and inhale. Vanilla and pumpkin spice hang thick in the air, sweet and inviting, the kind of aroma that goes perfectly with a roaring fire on a cold evening.

As I dive back into my work, a prickling sensation spreads across my neck, like someone’s eyes are on me. My heart skips a beat. I glance around the bakery, but everything is as it should be. Carol is busy at the cash register, chatting with a customer. Outside, the street is still busy with the usual foot traffic of townsfolk and tourists. Nothing seems out of place.

“You're being paranoid,” I mutter to myself. It’s probably the Halloween spirit messing with my imagination. Besides, I have too much to do to worry about phantom eyes watching me.

I shake off the eerie feeling and focus on the cookies in front of me, adding a delicate swirl of frosting to a witch’s broomstick. But even as I work, the unsettling sensation lingers, a ghostly whisper in the back of my mind.

“Willow!” Carol’s holler makes me jump, and I almost drop the icing bag. “We’re running low on the chocolate tombstones. ”

“On it,” I call back, grabbing another piping bag and filling it with white icing.

My hands find their rhythm again, piping intricate webs onto sugary headstones with practiced precision. My little bakery is more than a job; it’s my dream, and every cookie is my canvas, a tiny masterpiece waiting to bring joy to someone’s day.

The bell above the door jingles, signaling another wave of customers eager for a taste of Halloween, no matter the month. Midnight Falls doesn’t do holidays by halves, and Halloween is our crowning glory. Even our Christmas celebrations and decorations take on a Halloween theme. And the real Halloween isn’t far away. I can already picture the streets lined with real jack-o’-lanterns, the laughter of kids trick-or-treating, and the creative costumes that seem to get more elaborate every year.

“Perfect spirals, Willow,” Tom, the local mailman, comments as he peers over the display case, his eyes lighting up as they land on a tray of psychedelic, spooky spiral cookies.

“Thanks, Tom,” I reply, not missing a beat as I finish another row. “It’s all about the wrist action.”

“Can’t wait to see what you whip up for the festival,” he says, reaching for his wallet.

“Me neither,” I confess, the anticipation of the upcoming festivities bubbling inside me like a cauldron over a flame.

As the afternoon sun slants through the front windows, casting long shadows across the checkered floor, I take another pause, soaking in the bakery's charm, the heart of my world. This place, with its flour-dusted counters and shelves stocked with confections, is more than four walls and an awning. It’s home. And outside, the town of Midnight Falls buzzes with an energy that only this time of year can muster.

“Willow, we need more bat-shaped sugar cookies!” Carol’s voice snaps me back to reality.

“Coming right up!” I wipe my hands on my apron and dive back into the fray.

But I have a spring in my step now because Halloween is coming, and I’m exactly where I need to be, surrounded by sugar, spice, and everything frightfully nice.