Chapter twenty-three
Wouldn’t want anything left wet
Lulu
By the time I kick off my boots and step into the living room, the house already looks like Party City exploded.
Plastic pumpkins, paper bats, a string of orange lights across the mantel. Half my class swore up and down that if I didn’t decorate soon, it was basically teacher malpractice. And honestly, they’re right. So I pulled everything I had out of storage last night, and plan to organize it tonight while sipping a very well-earned glass of wine.
I drop my bag, flop onto the couch, and let the faint scent of cinnamon candles settle the edges of my nerves. Career Day was chaos in its purest form. Hilarious, mortifying, heart-bursting chaos.
My phone buzzes.
Logan:Career Day survivor support group. Meeting of two.
I snort, thumbs already moving.
Me:You looked like you were having the time of your life while Hutchy battled his mortal enemy.
Logan:He said after that the turtle had murder in its eyes.
Me:Yurtle is an angel.
Logan:You say the same thing about Miso, and she actively tries to kill me every time she sees me.
Me:Maybe she just has excellent taste.
There’s a pause before his reply.
Logan:Can’t argue with that, when I know exactly how you taste.
I squeeze my eyes shut, as if that will stop the laugh that bursts out of me. Before I can fire something back or finish pouring my wine, a knock rattles the door.
He’s there, leaning on the frame when I pull the door open, hands shoved into his hoodie, all broad shoulders and messy hair.
“Thought we agreed this was a support group,” I say, crossing my arms. “Not a house call.”
His gaze sweeps over my shoulder, and his mouth tips. “Jesus, Parnell. Did Halloween throw up in here?”
I glance back at the living room. “It’s called seasonal spirit.”
“It’s called a fire hazard.” He steps inside anyway, toeing at a plastic skeleton sprawled on the rug. “My place has none of this.”
“Of course it doesn’t,” I mutter. “You probably don’t even own candles, let alone cobweb garlands.”
That earns me the faintest grin. “You offering to fix it?”
“Obviously. Betty said there’s a whole street party this year. If you show up undecorated, you’ll be ostracized.”
“I’m not scared of Betty.”
“She also said she’s dressing up as a ‘sexy witch,’ so… you’ve been warned.”
“Okay,” he groans. “Thatscares me.”
I pad into the kitchen, heading back toward my wine as he follows. He leans against the counter, watching me pull a glass down and offer him one. He shakes his head, glancing around at the rest of the Halloween carnage.
“Chase has been on about organizing some group costume thing,” he says. “Doesn’t want to do couples, apparently.”
