Carving for Cara: A Dark Romance Halloween Novella (Wrecked Series Book 1)

An icy breeze stings my pale, tattooed skin as I hold my favorite purple lighter inside the final unlit jack-o’-lantern showcased on my front porch. The tiny orange and blue flame dances in the wind, and I struggle to shield it from the brisk fall elements while I’m shoulder-deep inside this monstrous pumpkin.

Each year, I go all out for the spooky season, and this year is no exception. If anything, I’ve felt the spirit of Halloween even more than usual, and my house is decorated accordingly with six masterfully carved pumpkins poised atop my porch, numerous grungy gravestones strategically placed among overgrown blades of grass, and bright red lights that flash to a playlist I titled “Monster Jams.” I’ve even got a dry ice machine blowing vapor through the yard. My neighbor hates it, but I don’t give a fuck. He lets his dog shit on my grass every morning when they walk by, and not once has his lazy-ass bothered to clean it up. There will be a day I finally snap and leave a flaming bag of dog crap on his front steps, and I have a feeling it’ll be sooner rather than later.

My modest Victorian-style home sits on the quiet corner of October Lane and Cemetery Circle. I was fortunate enough to buy it for next to nothing eight months ago. My income as a tattoo artist allowed me to wait it out in a rental studio while I watched it waste away on the market for nearly two years, dipping in price once every couple of months until I was finally able to afford it. The street names alone were enough to scare off half the buyers, and anyone else that remained wasn’t looking for a gothic grey and black house to renovate into a cozy family home. Most people in my small town of Hallow Grove, Iowa, are superstitious and fearful of the devil, but after reading one too many dark romance novels, I’m reasonably certain he’d fuck like a god.

I flinch as my cell phone rings, aggressively vibrating in my back pocket as it begins to play a metal remix of “This is Halloween.” Sucking in a deep breath, I wipe a stray strand of hair from my face and force myself to regroup. My heart is thumping against my chest, and I hate that I’m feeling so on edge this evening. It’s probably due to the drawn-out anticipation of seeing Jonah, my ex-boyfriend, at the Devil’s Night party tonight.

He’s a… complicatedly uncomplicated situation, so to speak.

We dated throughout high school and a few years after, but I eventually came to the realization that he was both manipulative and a liar. Some days he walked the line of being verbally abusive, but he never went as far as laying an ill-intended finger on me. After a few years apart with zero communication, we ran into each other at the corn roast festival last fall, and we’ve been hooking up ever since. There are zero feelings involved. It’s just casual fucking when one of us wants it.

My phone continues buzzing, reminding me to slide it free from my tightly fitting jeans.

SLOAN pops up on the caller ID, accompanied by the most humorous picture of my best friend passed out drunk in my bathtub, and I smirk, quickly forgetting how anxious I’ve felt all day.

“I’m almost done lighting my pumpkins,” I say as I bring the phone to my ear. “Are you leaving work?”

Sloan lets out a painfully slow and dramatic sigh on the other end of the line. “Yes, finally. I’ll be at Rustic Roast in ten. I might die if I don’t get a pumpkin spice latte in me RIGHT NOW.” Her loud voice assaults my eardrum through the phone, and I quietly turn down the volume.

As one of the three hair stylists in town, she knows just about anything and everything there is to know about the shallow people of Hallow Grove. Two months ago, when Tom, the fire chief, cheated on his wife, Sloan was the first to know. His mistress was her client at the time, and Sloan watched the young woman’s phone over her shoulder while Tom texted her some seriously raunchy messages. Of course, Sloan called me immediately after and spilled the beans, repeating their messages word for word like she had a photographic memory. It was one of our favorite small-town secrets up until his wife caught him, and the whole town found out in a matter of hours.

Piping hot tea travels fast in a town as compact and tightly knit as Hallow Grove.

“They better not be out of pumpkin syrup this time!” I whine into the phone as I dip my hand back inside the jack-o’-lantern. I fumble around with the lighter as I try to spark it, grunting under my breath while I struggle.

“Don’t remind me,” Sloan groans through clenched teeth. “Praline lattes are good and all, but they don’t measure up to pumpkin spice lattes on a nippy fall day. I won’t settle for anything less on Devil’s Night.”

I shake my head, grinning at my best friend. “I know you won’t. I’ll finish lighting this pumpkin, then I’ll leave. See you in ten minutes.”

“Sounds good,” she giggles before abruptly ending our phone call.

The line goes dead, and I turn my attention back toward getting this pumpkin lit. I press my thumb against the metal spark wheel, dragging it toward the ignition. It doesn’t light, so I shake it around in my hand, then flick it again. The wheel rolls, and I hear the tiny flame ignite.

Peering through the side of the pumpkin where I’ve carved a mouth full of sharp teeth, I guide the small fire toward the candle wick. My fingernail begins to heat against the flame and I’m forced to hover at an awkward angle. The wick quickly turns black against the flame, and I impatiently wait as the seconds tick by, silently begging it to catch fire before I singe the tip of my thumb.

“Fuck!” I curse as the wick lights, and I yank my hand away, waving it through the air in an attempt to cool my hot flesh.

I hear a deep voice clear its throat behind me, and I turn to take a look, clutching my burnt hand to my chest.

My eyes fall upon my neighbor, Jim, lazily walking his dog, and I immediately notice the disgusted look on his wrinkled face as he watches me. His judgmental gaze drifts away from me and wanders across my yard, scanning my bold choices of Halloween décor. He frowns before returning his eyes to me, serving one last unapproving look.

My hip pops to the side, and I throw him an overly enthusiastic wave with my wounded hand as a fake bitch smile washes across my face. “Hey, neighbor,” I yell across my lawn.

Jim’s back straightens, and his eyes widen as I acknowledge his pathetic existence. Instead of returning my greeting like any good neighbor would do, he turns on his heel and begins yanking on the leash attached to his equally lazy English bulldog, Gary.

I’m typically a dog person, but Gary doesn’t do it for me.

No tricks, no treats, no salutations. Nothing.

I’ve tried to make friends with him through treats and ear scratches, but he’s an exact replica of Jim. I’m fairly certain all they do is walk around the block once or twice a day, then return home to pig out on junk food and sleep. On the days I’ve been grossly unlucky and found myself downwind of him, I would’ve been willing to bet Jim doesn’t shower either.

My smile rapidly fades as Jim and Gary turn the corner, frantically trying to remove themselves from my sight. Glancing back down at my jack-o’-lantern, I realize it lit when I burnt the fuck out of my hand.

“Thank God,” I whisper as I stride toward my front door. All I need is my black leather jacket, my wallet, and the keys to my Elantra; then, I’ll be on my way to meet Sloan.

The warmth of my central heating system blasts against my face as I step inside, and I feel instant relief from the icy wind. I should’ve worn my jacket outside to light the pumpkins, but I was too excited to get out there. They’re my most prized possessions right now, and I had to make sure they were glowing and perfect before meeting Sloan for pumpkin spice lattes.

My wallet and keys are resting beside my jacket on the back of my mouse grey L-shaped couch. I slip my arms through the jacket sleeves, wiggling as I tug it over my shoulders. Snatching my belongings off the couch, I listen to my boots clack against the wood floors as I make my way back to the front door.

The unwelcoming breeze hits my face as I step outside, but it doesn’t seem to bother me as much now that I’ve got a jacket on. Some years we’ve got snow by now, so I’m grateful the mild weather is holding on a bit longer. Sloan and I have parties to attend this weekend.

Lucy, my Elantra, is parked in the driveway that extends outward from the garage which I’ve turned into my own personal storage unit. I click the “unlock” button on the key fob, and the lights flash as my little black car obeys. Slipping into the driver’s seat, I throw my wallet in the center console before inserting my key into the ignition.

As I turn it, Lucy comes to life, roaring her small but fierce 2.0-liter engine. My Halloween playlist immediately begins to play as my phone connects to Bluetooth, and I crank the volume while backing out of my driveway.

The drive from my house to Rustic Roast is less than five minutes with light traffic, and it’s an enjoyable little journey. I pass through a neighborhood of cottage-style family homes before entering downtown Hallow Grove, where the heart of the town resides. Most of our town events are held in the square, and if they’re big enough, the mayor shuts down the main streets for people to wander down aimlessly while celebrating whatever small-town festivity he decided was worthy enough of closing down the town.

There’s a white Tahoe trying to back out of a parking spot just down the road from the coffee shop, so I slam on my brakes before I pass them, allowing them to gift me their prime parking spot. They’re slow to remove themselves from my newly claimed space, but eventually they speed off, and I whip in.

Sloan is tapping away on her phone just outside the entrance, blissfully unaware I’ve arrived.

“BOO!” I shout as I throw my hands toward her, reaching out like I’m about to snatch her soul.

She jumps into the air, screeching as her phone flies out of her hands. She fumbles for it, but I’ve already caught it mid-air before it can hit the ground, all the while laughing hysterically at how easily she frightens.

She shoves my shoulder as she snatches her phone from my hands. “You scared the shit out of me, you spooky bitch!”

Shrugging, I chuckle, “It’s Devil’s Night! Would you expect anything less from me?”

“True,” she nods, pursing her lips as she squints her eyes at me. “Let’s get our pumpkin spice fix.” Sloan twists toward the front entrance and jams her phone into her designer purse, swinging the door open as she struts through. A bell chimes above our heads, alerting the staff they’ve got new customers, but we’re regulars here, and they already know what we’ve come for.

I roll my eyes, still laughing, as I follow her through the glass door. We don’t waste any time as we cross the coffee shop floor, heading straight for the “order here” sign. Sloan is already ordering our drinks by the time I wipe the overly amused grin off my face.

“Can I get two large pumpkin spice lattes?” she asks Juan, a barista we’ve come to know well, behind the register. “Hot!” she adds before he can ask how we’d like our drinks.

I notice what looks like a mischievous smirk cross his face. He glances between us, and then he nods before turning around to grab two large coffee cups hidden on the counter behind him.

“I just finished making them. I knew you ladies would be here soon, and we’re starting to run low on pumpkin syrup. After the last time we ran out, I figured you two would kill me if I didn’t have your drinks piping hot and ready when you got here.” He passes each of us a warm coffee cup with our names written down the sides. “They’re on the house tonight.”

My eyes light up as I flash Juan an impressed smile. “That’s very sweet, Juan. Thank you.”

“This makes up for last time,” Sloan announces between eye-fluttering sips of scalding hot latte. “But you’re not off the hook if it happens again, for future reference.”

He chuckles, amused with Sloan’s overly direct personality. “I’ll have to keep a secret stash in the back just for you,” he winks, catering to Sloan’s drama.

A sly smirk forms on her lips as she nods with approval. “That’s more like it.”

Together, we turn to walk down the tight aisle wedged between wooden chairs. I follow behind Sloan as she nudges chairs out of our way, carefully slipping past a few happy customers. I’m mostly watching my feet as I shuffle down the aisle, being sure not to catch myself on a stray leg.

“Does this work?” Sloan asks as she stops just ahead of me.

I glance up from the floor for the first time, and instead of searching for the table in question, my eyes pause as they pass over a paralyzingly handsome stranger.

He’s already watching me through whiskey-brown eyes, scanning over every inch of my body like I’m some prized possession he’s contemplating purchasing. Warmth rises to my cheeks as his sharp facial features and intricately tattooed skin lure me in. I can’t help but suck my lip between my teeth. He’s the most pleasantly appealing person I’ve seen in this small town for a long time, although I suppose that’s not saying too much considering the pathetic pool of men there is to pick from here in Hallow Grove, but the point is, he’s hot as fuck.

My knees begin to wobble, weakening as I clench my thighs together mid-step, seeking relief from the pressure building between them. He chooses that moment to make eye contact with me, and a devilishly charming smirk spreads across his full, filled out lips. One split-second glance, and it’s like he already knows how devastatingly enthralled I am with him. My breath catches in the back of my throat as he flashes wickedly white teeth at me. Releasing my bottom lip from between my teeth, I return the gesture with the most flirtatious smile I can manage while being completely consumed by this stranger.

We’re both stuck in a trance for a brief moment as I pass. It’s like I’m moving in slow motion, and the seconds seem to last far longer than they should. He’s covered in tattoos, but my attention is drawn toward a small cross under his right eye, and the line work on it is so clean I know he didn’t get it from anyone around here. I’m the only one with line work that clean, and I sure as hell would remember tattooing the face of a man this gorgeous.

Sloan’s voice pulls me back into reality. “Does this work?” she repeats, louder this time, as she scrapes a wooden chair across the floor.

I swallow hard, reluctantly breaking locked eyes with the man. I find Sloan, and she’s watching me with the most intrigued look on her face. Her head is cocked at a steep angle, and there’s a wickedly entertained curve to her lips.

“Yes,” I choke out, trying my best to shake off the intensity of the look I just exchanged with a stranger, a stranger who will now be sitting behind me. It takes me a moment to regroup, but I finally get there. “There’s no better place to people-watch than by the window,” I force out.

She’s still staring at me with amusement twinkling in her eyes. She glances between me and the strange man now seated behind me, discretely letting me know she witnessed our moment.

“So listen,” she starts as she diverts her attention back to me. “I know you’re nervous about tonight, but I really think it’ll be good for you to get out. You can’t hide out in that creepy, old house forever. It’s bad for your health to spend so much time alone.”

I roll my eyes as I take a long sip of my latte. She’s being sarcastic, but not really. Sloan thinks my house is haunted and sucks the light out of me, but we both know that’s just part of my personality some days. “I don’t know how I feel about seeing Jonah at the party. I’d rather stay in and watch a horror movie.”

Sloan doesn’t know that I’ve been secretly fucking Jonah since last fall, and I’d like to keep my secret long enough to get the guts to finally kick Jonah to the curb. There aren’t feelings involved, but for whatever the reason, I can’t force myself to get rid of him. Every time I convince myself I don’t need a fuck buddy, he’s calling me up late at night when I’m already laying in bed with my vibrator, desperate for male touch. Alcohol and Jonah, while Sloan or anyone else is there to lay witness, is not a good combination, and if I’m smart, I’ll keep myself in line.

She shakes her head at me, furrowing her brows. “You’re coming with me. We already have the perfect costumes picked out, and I can’t show up alone knowing Alex will be there.”

Alex: Sloan’s current fixation. He’s tall, dirty blonde, and has good style, according to Sloan. He’s also filthy rich, and I swear, sometimes all she sees are dollar signs when she looks at men.

I want to argue, but I can’t be the bitch that forces her bestie to go to a party alone knowing damn well her crush is going to be there. I’m a better friend than that, even if it means I have to actively avoid Jonah all night.

“Fine,” I sigh, throwing my hands up in defeat. “But, you’re driving. I hate driving to the Miller house at night. The gravel roads are too narrow going around the lake.”

“Deal,” she beams before taking another swig of her latte. Her brow raises as she looks up from her cup. She assesses me up and down for a few seconds before saying, “You need to get laid tonight. It’s been too long, and your vibrator is going to give out soon if you don’t give it a break.”

Instinctively, I grab her wrist, crouching forward as I shush her. Damn Sloan and her loud-ass voice for always embarrassing me at the most inconvenient times. Of course, she’d want to talk about my trusty vibrator while the hottest guy I’ve ever seen is sitting behind me, without a doubt well within earshot.

“We will see what happens, but I make no promises. It depends on who shows up and how much alcohol I need to ingest before any of them become tolerable enough to fuck.”

She lets out a loud bout of laughter, holding her hand over her chest as she tries to reel in her breathing. “That might be the most relatable thing you’ve ever said,” she praises as she wipes a joyful tear from her waterline. “This is why we’re best friends. I love your fucked up sense of humor.”

“I know,” I smile through bright eyes as I shrug my shoulders, cupping my warm pumpkin spice latte in my hands. Bringing the lid to my parted lips, I draw out a sweet, pumpkiny mouthful, swishing it around my mouth before swallowing. I lock eyes with the tattooed god sitting at the back of the café as I slowly lick the cream that had made its way down my lip, off my finger. Somehow I just know he’d put my vibrator to shame.

Staying away from Jonah is my top priority tonight.