“I was too worried I’d ruined things wearing a hoodie and jeans on our date.”
Slate hadn’t been sure it was a date, but clearly Dash had. “Well, you’ve come to your fashion senses.”
“No, love.” Dash pulled their hands to his lips for a kiss. “I still prefer my hoodies, jeans, and fedora. I wore this for you.”
Not that he needed a reminder of the reasons he loved Dash, but this was one of them. He’d worked snark into something romantic and made it work. “I know. And I love you for it.”
They strolled past the bakery, where Mrs. Finch was arranging a display of cookies shaped like ghosts and bats. She spotted them and waved enthusiastically.
“Oh my, don’t you two look dashing tonight?” She patted her chest as if her heart were beating fast. “You’re like something out of a storybook!”
Dash’s cheeks colored slightly, but he smiled and returned her wave. Dash did like the spotlight focused on him, but as descendants of the town’s two founding families, he and Slate garnered a lot of notoriety.
“Mrs. Finch seems extra cheerful today,” Dash said once they’d cleared her earshot.
The older woman was the town gossip. Staying on her good side didn’t hurt. “She tells everyone she was the first to figure out we were a couple,” Slate said. “She thinks it gives her bragging rights.”
The square buzzed with the energy of the first night of the festival. People shopped, sipped warm drinks, and let their kids dress up and play in the square. Slate and his siblings once tore about the grounds, as his parents socialized. Those were wonderful memories.
So were these new ones.
Dash tensed, rubbed the back of his neck, and glanced right just as a familiar prickle alerted Slate their friends had arrived. Two translucent figures materialized beside a pumpkin display.They were a mismatched pair, one in a high school letterman jacket, the other dressed in impeccable Victorian attire.
The taller one, Thomas Keller, pointed at an elaborately carved pumpkin depicting a haunted house. Oliver Rhodes leaned in with wide-eyed fascination. Thomas had styled his blond hair back instead of the usual side part, and Oliver had changed his vest to a burgundy one with an embroidered silver pattern. It screamed date night.
“I don’t understand how they carved such intricate details.” Oliver circled, phasing through the display table. “In my time, we simply cut triangle eyes and a jagged mouth.”
“We didn’t have these in my time either,” Thomas explained. “They use special tools now.”
Oliver examined the pumpkin for another few seconds before acknowledging Slate and Dash. “You weren’t lying when you said it was worth visiting the festival.”
“It won me over,” Dash said. “Slate says it was our first date.”
Slate tried not to smile too widely. He and Dash had several spirited debates on whether it counted if neither party thought it was a date. “You don’t have to name it for something to be a date.”
“I agree in general.” Dash had the pained expression he got whenever they revisited old, unresolved topics. “We don’t need to call tonight a date since we live together, but first dates are important.”
For someone who avoided dating and relationships, Dash certainly had strong views on the subject. “They are, but I thought it was a date, so to me, it was our first.”
“At least one of us is a hopeless romantic.” Dash kissed Slate’s cheek. “And I hope you never change.”
“I don’t know, Dash,” Thomas said. “Wearing clothes to match Slate’s is pretty romantic.”
Dash glanced down, but that didn’t hide how his cheeks flushed. “I asked Oliver for help.”
“While I was happy to assist, you didn’t need my advice.” Oliver’s smile reached his eyes. “The burgundy waistcoat was an excellent choice. It is formal without being stiff. Very much what a gentleman would wear for an evening out with someone special.”
Oliver’s eyes darted around as if he’d said something wrong. The action drew more attention than if he hadn’t reacted. Thomas, as usual, was hard to read, but avoided eye contact.
“The apple-bobbing contest starts soon.” Dash’s voice filled what could’ve been an awkward silence. “Shall we go watch normally serious people act like children for no apparent reason?”
It didn’t totally defuse the atmosphere, but Slate wanted to kiss his boyfriend for trying. “The winner gets a trophy and their name on the wall of champions. They’re on the sixth plaque.”
“That sounds interesting,” Oliver said, his eyes darting toward Thomas. “Or did you want to see something else?”
“We can.” Thomas smiled at Oliver, then looked down. “There’s plenty of time to see everything. The festival runs all month.”
Oliver’s face brightened. “Outstanding. I wish to see if this was different in my time.”
