#jordan devlin

The autumn air in Salem felt alive. Leaves crunched underfoot in brilliant bursts of orange and red, and the faint smell of apple cider drifted from the street vendors who lined the cobblestone paths. You tugged your jacket closer, your breath forming little wisps of fog as you walked hand in hand with JD. His other hand was buried in his coat pocket, shoulders relaxed, though you could still catch the curious gleam in his eyes as he glanced around the historic streets.

“You weren’t kidding,” JD murmured, squeezing your hand lightly. His Irish accent softened every word. “This place looks like it was built for Halloween.”

“Exactly why I wanted to bring you here,” you grinned. “If we’re gonna do spooky season, we might as well go all in.”

The two of you had spent the morning wandering through museums and tucked-away bookstores, tracing the city’s witch trial history while JD threw in his dry, sarcastic quips that made you laugh until your stomach hurt. Now, as the late afternoon set in, Salem’s energy shifted. Lanterns flickered on porches. Pumpkins with glowing, carved grins lined the walkways. People in costumes passed by, even though it wasn’t Halloween night yet—it felt like the whole town lived inside a festival.

JD nudged you toward a vendor selling candied apples. “Want one?”

You gave him a playful look. “You’re just trying to get me sticky so I can’t hold your hand.”

He smirked, brushing a strand of your hair out of your face. “If it means I get to tease you about it, then yeah.” Still, he bought two, handing you one with mock seriousness like it was some grand offering.

You walked together, biting into the apples as you made your way to the old Burying Point cemetery. The iron gates creaked as they opened, and you shivered—not out of fear, but from the way the atmosphere seemed to thicken inside. The graves were centuries old, crooked and worn down by time. Lanterns guided the path, casting long shadows.

“Creepy,” you whispered, though your voice carried a kind of awe.

JD slipped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. “Don’t worry. If any spirits try to haunt you, they’ll have to deal with me first.”

You raised a brow at him, smiling. “What, you’re gonna cut a promo at a ghost?”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Damn right. No one messes with you. Not even the dead.”

That made your heart flutter more than it should have.

When you left the cemetery, night had fallen. Salem was glowing now—fairy lights strung across alleyways, the sound of fiddles and drums from street performers, people gathered around storytellers spinning eerie tales. You tugged JD toward a little stand selling pumpkin-shaped candles, unable to resist. You held one up to him, the wax tinted orange and glitter dusted on top.

“Cute, isn’t it?” you asked.

He gave you a look—half amused, half soft. “You’re cute. But if you want it, we’ll get it.”

It was such a simple thing, but you felt warmth spread through you. JD had this way of grounding you, of making everything around you feel steadier, safer—even in a place built on ghost stories.

Later, the two of you ended up on a bench near Salem Common. The night was lively around you, but the world felt quiet with him there. You leaned against his shoulder, sipping hot cider you’d picked up from another vendor.

JD tilted his head toward you. “I’ve wrestled in a lot of places, but I’ve never experienced anything like this. It’s… nice.”

You smiled into the rim of your cup. “Maybe we make it our thing. Every October, we come back.”

He thought about that for a moment, then kissed the top of your head, lips lingering. “I’d like that.”

The wind rustled the trees, scattering leaves across your boots. Laughter and music carried on the air, mingling with the faint sound of church bells in the distance. Sitting there with JD—his arm wrapped securely around you, his presence steady and warm—you realized Salem wasn’t scary at all.

It was magic.