“I’ll say. Thanks for the coffee.” I gather the girls from the window and cringe, thinking about my affiliate links where I earn a cut when my readers buy shit off the net. It probably hurts stores like this. If I weren’t anonymous, I could feature local retailers, brick-and-mortar places, and make a difference.
Face-to-face interaction. I think about it so hard, my head aches.
Am I any better than all the bloggers I decimate on a daily basis? They use affiliate links too. Then again, I’m one of them, except I can’t seem to stop thinking about it. How can I stop being so jaded and do good?
I sip my coffee as we stroll down the rest of the block, stealing a candy or two from Gabby, until we’re at the very last store. “What do you say, ladies? Time to go?”
“Let’s go there.” Gabby points to a residential street perpendicular to the stores. Large, yet welcoming, houses sit back from the sidewalk.
“You’re not tired?”
“No!” The two of them hop up and down like Mexican jumping beans. I should have known I wasn’t getting into bed early tonight.
“Wait to cross,” I tell them, and we stand patiently and watch the traffic light. When it’s green, we go.
I forgot to mention, I moved to Pittsburgh for Charles. He was in law school at the time, a poor student, and I was an even poorer waitress/part-time librarian. We didn’t come up to this area of town much, except for a cheap pancake place.
“Look at these houses, Mom,” Gabby says, dragging me up the steps to the first one. White-painted brick and a large red door greet us. “Wow!”
Lizzie rings the bell, and then the two of them chant in unison, “Trick or treat!”
This is the way we make our way down the block, skipping and jogging and laughing. At the corner, there’s a seventies-style craftsman, split into two halves.
“Mom! A duplex like ours.” Gabby takes it in. The diverse architecture is something she and I regularly take in on walks or while driving.
“Yep, smarty-pants. Except this one is side by side.”
I smell steaks on a grill, and my mouth instantly waters. The salad I nibbled on while the girls gobbled up pizza is now long forgotten. With my coffee cup cold in my hand, I eye up the house. It’s not decorated for Halloween, but the lights are on.
“Can we go to one last house? Please!” The girls are already up the walkway and pushing the bell to the right of the large wooden door before I can answer.
“Trick or treat,” I hear them chant while I drain the dregs of my beverage and check my phone. I’ve ignored it all night, and I absolve myself of any guilt for checking it quickly now.
“Well, hello there, young ladies.”
“Hi,” Gabby sheepishly replies in a voice I’ve never heard her use before.
I’m still scrolling through Twitter alerts when I hear him tease them.
“I don’t have any candy, but I do have apples.”
I think,what an ass.
“What? What?” This time, Lizzie shrieks and Gabby echoes. Shoving my phone in my pocket, I decide to intervene.
“It’s a trick. I’m tricking you.” The homeowner’s voice is deep, gruff almost, and melts over me like chocolate trickling over the side of a chocolate fountain.
What can I say? I have candy ... and men ... on the brain. And steak. And man. It’s been a while since I’ve noticed a man’s voice, and I wonder what it would be like for him to say my name.
Where in the world is that coming from?
Slowly looking up, I sneak a peek at the owner of the voice.
He’s tall, lean, and muscular in track pants and a long-sleeved tee underneath a glow-in-the-dark skeleton-adorned apron. Jet-black hair, mussed across his forehead. Even under the darkening sky, I can tell he has deep olive-toned skin. His eyes, I’m not quite sure. Maybe dark.
I feel my feet walking toward the object of my desire, but suddenly halt them.
Whoa, horsie.
