With a basket filled with plump rolls, I donned my red velvet cloak and headed out the door. Tyrone’s place was close enough to walk, but I took the hearse. For all its charm, the walkability score in rural Valentine was abysmal.
Tyrone’s house was a gorgeous log cabin nestled in a stand of trees, with a welcoming porch wrapped in twinkle lights and garlands. All of his farming equipment was parked out front: a snow mobile, a four-wheeler, and his St. Nicholas Farms pickup. He probably wore cute outfits to ride in each one.
Tyrone opened the door in a pair of sweatpants and a Transylvania County Fair T-shirt.
“Transylvania?” I read my homeland’s name on his T-shirt like it was a sign from God.
“Transylvania County, North Carolina,” he said, with an emphasis on North Carolina, which he drawled out more than usual.
“Are there vampires?” I stuttered a little.
He laughed like the idea was funny. “My hometown is all sugar and spice. Just like you, Tiff.” He pressed his hand to the small of my back and ushered me into his home.
Copyright © 2025 by Sam Tschida. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
