And then she’s at the candy bowl, bent low as she helps a couple of late trick-or-treaters pick their favorites, her hair sliding over her shoulder, showing off my name on her back.
Every single second she’s not walking toward me is another nail in my coffin.
Reid’s next to me, leaning on the rail, both of us pretending to watch the street while my pulse slams in my throat, though I can occasionally feel his eyes on me.
“She’s taking her sweet time,” Betty mutters into her martini.
“She’s hiding in plain sight,” Reid corrects, moustache twitching around the rim of his beer.
“Fuck, I can’t handle this,” I grind out, trying desperately to look at anything but her.
As if the torture couldn’t get worse, Tamara suddenly sidles up, holding out her empty glass. “Top-up, Betty? Those Boopers go down so easy.”
Betty chuckles and pours the neon liquid into her glass. Tamara doesn’t move, just leans one hip against the rail, eyes cutting to me. “Did you know,Miller,that Lulu’s got this glassjar in her kitchen? Full of Post-it notes. Little wishes she wants to check off. Cute, huh?”
My blood freezes.
I manage a shrug, swigging beer like it’s nothing. “She’s got a thing for lists. Everyone knows that.”
Tamara hums, slow and unconvinced. “Well, better get back over to my husband. You know, Lulu’sbrother.”
“Mm, and what a big, protective brother he is,” Betty chimes cheerily, ladling another drink. “Still, it’s nice when big brothers give a girl a little room to breathe, isn’t it?”
Tamara and I trade a look, an unsaid understanding. She smiles sweetly, then turns and drifts back to Eli.
I’m still sweating when Betty suddenly calls across the lawn. “Lulu! Cocktail time!”
Lulu looks over, and for the first time all night, she doesn’t look like she’s forcing it. Bright and easy relief flashes across her face before she smooths it away. She trots over, takes the drink Betty hands her, her free hand brushing Betty’s arm in gratitude.
“God, thank you,” she sighs, low enough only Betty and I can hear.
Betty pats her hand, eyes gleaming, then jerks her broom toward me. “Logan, why don’t you walk Lulu down Birch, introduce her to the neighbors proper? That’s the done thing around here during Halloween. Keeps the block friendly.”
I almost choke. “Betty—”
“Go,” she says, all innocence.
Reid hides his smirk in his beer, but I’m already on my feet.
We fall into step like we’re just being good neighbors, Betty’s excuse hanging between us.
“So,” Lulu says brightly, spinning her stick, “do we wave at every house or only the ones with skeletons in the yard?”
“Doesn’t matter.” My voice is rougher than I mean it to be. “I’m not waving.”
She grins sideways, all playful. “What if Mrs. Green from number twenty notices? She’ll think you’re unfriendly.”
“She’d be right.”
Her husky laugh rings out, and I feel it all the way down my spine. She bumps my shoulder casually, as if she’s unaware of what she’s done tonight. “You could at least pretend to be neighborly.”
“I am.” I glance at her, my head tilting back to see my name stretched across her back. “I’m gonna be very fucking neighborly to you in about five minutes.”
We pass another yard strung with fake cobwebs, kids darting across driveways with plastic buckets, and the whole time, I can’t stop cataloging the way she looks in my name. Sunshine and chaos and somehow, still mine.
“Well,” she adds, biting her lip as we ascend the hill to the top of Birch. “I hope that means you’re having fun.”
“Seeing you in my name?” I mutter. “Most fun I’ve had all season.”
