“The only thing that’s changed is the people,” Thomas said, leading Oliver toward the people gathering at the far end of the square.
Slate took a big sip of his coffee to delay moving a few seconds. When their spectral friends had moved into the crowd, he shook his head softly. “Are we ever going to tell them?”
“As the former expert on avoiding romantic entanglements, I don’t think it will do any good.” Dash finished his hot chocolate. “They’re completely oblivious. Thomas looks at Oliver like hehung the moon, but turns away before Oliver notices. And Oliver swoons—actually swoons—when Thomas does something nice for him, then gets too shy to speak. It’s painful to watch.”
For someone who claimed to have little experience with romance, Dash sized others up with surprising accuracy. “We need to talk to them, or else they’ll be dancing around each other until we’re ghosts.”
“I know you mean well, but if you embarrass them in front of each other, they will make it worse.” Dash tugged them toward the apple-bobbing competition. “Just because I was okay with you kissing me after all of three days, doesn’t mean everyone is.”
Slate felt warmth creep up his neck. “I kissed you?”
“Yep.” Dash pointed with his cup. “Right over there during the midnight waltz.”
“Yes, we kissed during the waltz. I distinctly remember two sets of lips involved.”
“Of course I was there, but do you really expect people to believe I would be so bold as to kiss Oriskany Falls’ favorite son unless he kissed me first?” He glanced down his nose. “What kind of boy do you take me for, Mister Slate Blackwood?”
Slate belted out a laugh at Dash’s terrible southern belle accent. “The kind who kisses really well and makes me incredibly happy.”
“Flattery only works if you want kisses or sex.” Dash wiggled his eyebrows. “Back to the topic at hand. I suggest a more subtle approach.”
Dash’s “subtle approach” could drag out this courtship twice as long. “Why am I scared?”
“Because you’re worried I’ll be right?”
“Hardly,” Slate said. “I love it when you’re right. Proves you’re more than just a cute face and a hot body.”
It was Dash’s turn to have cheeks so warm, snow melted on contact. “Love you too.”
Slate was pulled forward, and a pair of warm lips covered his. It was short, but its effect was immediate.
“Oh, my God,” Dash groaned. “New rule. No kissing when I’m wearing these too-tight pants.”
Slate had the same problem, minus the tight pants. “You realize I’m never going to honor that rule, right?”
“We need to focus on the problem,” Dash said. He altered his gait, twisted, and finally gave up and adjusted himself. “Back to my idea. Have them work together on a project—forced proximity and all that tropey stuff—and then we give them a small nudge.”
Slate had to admit the idea didn’t suck. In fact, it was every bit as good as promised, and more. “I like it. And since it’s your idea, come up with the project.”
Before Dash answered, he stiffened, stopped walking, and looked around. Slate didn’t miss how Dash’s hand rubbed the back of his neck. “What’s wrong?”
“There’s another spirit in the area.” Dash kept scanning the area. “Its presence is powerful, and it’s watching us. Before you ask, it’s not Thomas and Oliver.”
Slate followed Dash’s gaze but saw nothing unusual among the throng of people. “A new spirit?”
“Probably.” Dash shrugged. “It’s similar to Thomas and Oliver, yet different. More energetic.”
A vendor called out, distracting Slate for a moment. When he looked at Dash, he was still frowning.
“It’s probably nothing,” Dash said.
Which meant it was something, but Dash didn’t know what. “If you feel it again, try to locate it.”
The vendor who sold caramel apples had set up his booth at the edge of the Commons. Dash’s expression brightened, and Slate knew the moment his boyfriend spotted the booth.
“Okay, I’ll admit some autumn treats are worth the hype,” he said, already changing direction toward the food stand.
Slate followed, amused by how quickly Dash’s sweet tooth overrode his suspicions. Whatever Dash had sensed would have to wait. Dash hated pumpkin spice, but he loved caramel apples. Slate was the lucky winner. He liked them both.
