on continuous repeat while the masses indulged in baked goods, organic honey sticks, and orchestrated selfies.

Oliver and Megan strolled hand in hand around the booths and tents, passing headstones and mausoleums, dodging tours groups and gawkers on their way to or from Foster's burial site. The winding path they choose led them away from the crowds, back toward the oldest part of the cemetery. It was shady there, cool, a pleasant reprieve from the hot summer sun. They mounted a gentle incline, and atop the peak they found two ancient graves sheltered beneath a massive oak tree.

"I've heard about this," Oliver said, waving a hand over the lonely plots. "There's a legend that says these are the graves of tragic lovers, kept apart by cruel fate."

She was trying to pay attent...

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