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I stop in front of the bookstore and look through the window. There are stacks of books everywhere, with small pumpkins and strings of orange lights tucked between them, and a black cat is curled up on a pile of books in the corner.

I step inside and instantly feel happier, something that happens every time I set foot in a bookstore.

“Let me know if you need any help,” a woman calls from somewhere behind the shelves.

“I will. Thanks.”

I wander farther inside and look around. The place is bigger than it looked from the street, with shelves covering almost every available bit of wall.

I turn a corner and almost walk straight into a large green man wearing a plaid shirt and dark sunglasses. “Oh, sorry!”

“No problem,” he says.

He steps aside to let me pass. It’s difficult not to stare at the very real snakes moving on his head. All I want to do is study him. My fingers itch to grab my sketchbook from my purse. I already know exactly how I’d paint him.

“I’m Romy. I just moved here,” I say.

“Gordy. I own the place with my wife, Alice.”

So he’s not just shopping here. I could always come back once I’ve worked up the nerve to ask him to sit for a portrait. Except… I came into town specifically to find willing subjects. Chickening out with the first interesting person I meet isn’t going to get me very far.

“I’m an artist,” I blurt out.

Gordy frowns. “Okay?”

“Yeah. I paint.”

Gosh, why can’t I shut up?

He looks at me and smiles. “Well, good for you. Art’s important.”

I take a deep breath and return his smile. “I obtained a grant to paint portraits of people in Screaming Woods, and I was wondering if maybe you’d let me paint you sometime.”

Gordy glances toward the counter. “Alice?”

The woman I heard earlier appears from behind a shelf. She has chestnut hair and is wearing a bright purple sweater with tiny ghosts all over it.

“What?”

“This woman wants to paint me. Says she’s got a grant and everything.” He turns back to me. “You’re not a scammer, right?”

I raise my hands. “I swear I’m not.”

Alice looks at me, then smiles. “Oh, that sounds fun. You should let her.”

Gordy shrugs. “Sure. Why not?”

My shoulders relax. “Really?”

“But do me justice, okay? Don’t make me ugly,” he says with a wince.

I grin and reach into my purse for one of my business cards. “I won’t. Thanks again. How about you check your schedule and call me so we can arrange a time? You can come to my place for the sitting.”

“And where’s that?” Alice asks.

“Oh, over at Turnip’s End. It’s the last cottage on the street.”

Gordy runs a hand over his chin. “Isn’t that where Otis lives?”