Did this mean he had a stash of booze in his hotel room? I was met with a vision of the two of us sharing a bottle of wine on his bed. Except this time, there were no PJs.

During the ten-minute walk from the Oven to the B&B, we shared a comfortable silence. While glancing in the shop windows, I worked on wiping the vision of Finn sans clothes from my brain. “Everything closes so early here.”

“We’re not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy.” He nudged me playfully. “Although we might as well be. This town is a dead zone by eight most nights.”

“Doesn’t the town do things?” I smiled at an older couple walking past us in the opposite direction. They shot me a dirty look in response, but at least neither stuck out their tongue. I was afraid to glance over my shoulder and be proven wrong.

Finn stopped walking. “Do things? Like what?”

We were at the entrance to Twinkly Nails. A lone customer had her nails under the dryer while the manicurist tossed annoyed glances at the back of her head in five-second intervals. Someone wants to go home. “I don’t know.” But I did know. “Like festivals and stuff. A corn maze? Apple picking? Pumpkin-carving contests? Do they even have fireworks on the Fourth of July?” Anything to use in my story. The stores had no Halloween decorations. Granted we were about a month out, but it seemed like it should be more decorative.

“No fireworks, but the cousins set their lawn on fire with firecrackers gone wrong.”

I tugged the bottom of his jacket. “You’re joking, right?”

“Unless they were lying.”

“They told you?”

“They bragged about it like it was a worthy accomplishment.” He laughed. “Anyway, I haven’t heard anything about any festivals here. But I went home last Saturday for the Oktoberfest on the East River.” He resumed walking and gestured for me to keep up.

“No way! I was there too. It’s right near my apartment.” My amazement at the smallness of our world momentarily overrode my disillusionment over the lack of local events to celebrate the autumnal season.

“I thought you looked familiar!”

My eyes bugged out. Between my mom, her best friend Heather (my honorary aunt and the person responsible for finding the apartment we were in danger of losing), Kate, and me, we’d pointed out a fair number of attractive men (and women, in Aunt Heather’s case) in the crowd, but Finn had not been among them. “Really?”

“No. Not really.”