Willow lights up. “Isn’t it amazing? I really, really love the gardens. I recently learned some new things about…” She trails off, then glances at me. Her blush is moving down her neck now. “Some family history stuff.”

Her text springs to mind. I could use your help with something. Mind if we talk about it after the tour? Is that what the “something” is about?

I nod nonchalantly, but I’m suppressing a grin.

“Thank you so much,” Willow says.

“Seven twelve,” Red Sox Hat announces. “Tour was scheduled for seven sharp.”

Emma raises one eyebrow at me, then spins away from us, clapping her hands together. “Love the enthusiasm, love the camaraderie, but now it is time to gather within the warm embrace of the friendship circle. I want to impart a few words of introduction.” We all shuffle in, Willow squeezing in next to me.

Willow’s hair smells faintly floral, and I don’t mind the contact terribly, but I do my best to focus on Emma. “My name is Emma Morgan, and while I’m not a Salem native, I am an extremely enthusiastic transplant. I’ve been leading tours since I was a graduate student at Salem University, which occurred roughly in the Dark Ages. And now some facts about myself you haven’t asked for but that I will offer all the same: I listen to murder podcasts to go to sleep, I once got fired from a smoothie shop for not being perky enough, and…” She glances at me. “I run the most glitter-infused home on the east shore. I am also, contrary to what you may expect, terrified of ghosts, which makes me leading this particular tour all the more ludicrous. I need to warn you, if I see a ghost, I will simply abandon all of you and run. In fact, I may push you out of the way to run. Do not look to me as your protector.”

I can’t help but laugh, and Emma points a smile in my direction. “So with that caveat, are we ready?”

There’s a general mumbling of readys, then Emma turns and begins charging down the street holding an umbrella over her head.

“Do you want to see a ghost?” Willow asks, falling in beside me.

“Absolutely not,” I say. “But if I see one, I’ll throw you on my back and run, okay?” It’s a little out of my comfort zone, but she rewards me with a huge smile. Being with Willow is like holding a sparkler: she’s beautiful and exciting, but I’m also hyperaware I might get burned at any moment.

“Do you want your journal now?” she asks.