Chapter One
Slate Blackwood stood at the edge of the Oriskany Falls town square and stared at all the people. What a difference a year made. Last Halloween, he and Dash had repaired the damage to the Veil his great-grandmother had caused almost a hundred years ago. The hum of restless spirits hoping to breach the weakened barrier was gone. He could enjoy the festival as he did when he was a kid.
Every street was a riot of orange and black. Some people said it was too much, or they were catering to the tourists, but Slate noticed the ‘Halloween haters’ came every year. Multiple days. And they stayed for hours.
For Slate, the decorations were as normal as Christmas wreaths and candy canes. He was eight before he learned Halloween wasn’t a month-long holiday in other places. Twenty years later, he still felt sorry for the rest of the world.
Sure, there had been a time when he was lonely and his holiday spirit had lagged, but it was back in full force.
“If I see one more pumpkin spice advertisement, I might have to stage an intervention.”
And that was why. Dash Reeves.
Dash approached from the coffee shop, carrying two cups and his trademark smirk. His perfectly tailored Victorian-style clothes matched Slate’s outfit. The rich burgundy waistcoat complemented Dash’s complexion, and the cut of the jacket emphasized his lean, athletic build in a way that made Slate’s mouth go dry.
“What?” he’d asked when he came downstairs before they left for the festival.
Slate hadn’t answered. He just kissed his boyfriend. It said more than words.
A year ago, Dash had arrived in Oriskany Falls packing a deep-seated dislike of Halloween. He also had an unnatural dislike of pumpkin spice. Slate didn’t get it, but he supposed it was like lima beans. Those, however, were gross. Pumpkin spice was memories.
“Now you know how I feel about hoodies.” He accepted the cup and paid for it with another kiss. That always took the edge off Dash’s grumpy mood.
“If you make me associate pumpkin spice with your kisses, I’ll… I’ll…”
Slate cocked an eyebrow, daring him to admit he might come to like it. “You’ll what?”
“This is so not fair.” Dash’s complaint was hollow. “You’re scrubbing me of all the things that kept me salty.”
Taking a sip, Slate slid his fingers between Dash’s. “I like to see it as increasing the things you like.”
The snarky reply never happened. Dash’s lips, hot cocoa sweet and edged with whipped cream, covered his. The kiss was quick—Dash was still working on his aversion to PDAs—but it was the perfect comeback.
“You’re doing a very good job of that.” Dash smiled. “But pumpkin spice is beyond even your considerable skills.”
Slate wasn’t conceding, but he let it go. “I never said it at the house, but you look stunning.”
“Thanks.” Dash’s expression softened. “But don’t get used to it. These pants are way tighter than they look.”
A laugh burst from Slate’s throat. It was all the joy Dash brought him released in one sound. “Don’t blame the pants if they’re uncomfortable. Either you bought the wrong size, or you’ve gained weight—something I can personally attest didn’t happen—or you secretly enjoy torturing me with how hot they make you look.”
A year ago, Dash would have fought to maintain his hard exterior shell. Now? He accepted the compliment gracefully, and his cheeks flushed from more than the cool air.
“Remember how you dragged me here for the first time?” Dash asked. “I wasn’t sure I’d survive all this Halloween cheer.”
Slate remembered. He’d been beyond thrilled Dash had said yes. “How could I forget? You wore a hoodie and a Cuban hat. I was worried you’d run away from my fashion sense.”
After a long drag of his hot chocolate, Dash held out the last three fingers on his hand. “First, it looked totally hot on you, but I wasn’t interested in the clothes, only the man inside them.”
“That sounds like three rolled into one?”
“Hush, this is my story. Two, you and Liv escorted me around like I was a felon on a day pass and you were my guards.”
So that wasn’t too far off the mark. He had stuck to Dash hoping he wouldn’t run off. “Can you blame me? You’re easily the hottest guy in town.”
“Stop distracting me with lies. Ask anyone in town who’s the hottest guy in Oriskany Falls and they’d say Slate Blackwood.”
Holy pumpkin seeds, they were a sappy pair. “I won’t argue about how wrong you are. What was number three?”
