When Cass finished, the ballroom erupted in cheers. She pulled Dash closer and kissed his cheek. Jimi drifted to Dash’s other side and grabbed his free hand. The two legends hoisted Dash’s arms into the air.
“Dash Reeves, ladies and gents,” Cass said. “Thank you!”
More applause and catcalls rocked the room before the ghosts released Dash’s hands, and he hopped off the stage.
Dash made his way back through a gauntlet of shoulder pats and high-fives. When he reached Slate, his face was flushed, but his grin hadn’t faded.
“Did you see that?” Dash pointed over his shoulder as if Slate hadn’t watched him the entire time. “That was?—”
“Whoa, man!” Gary floated over. “You and Cass getting frisky up there! Who knew you and Slate were into free love!” Gary laughed at his own joke.
Dash tried to look irritated, but he couldn’t lose his smile. “I’ll ignore that comment because she’s amazing.”
“Yeah, man. She’s great.” He threw his arms around them. “Anyway, this is so groovy, we need to do this every year!”
“Every year?” Dash asked.
“Absolutely,” Gary said, missing the concern in Dash’s voice. “The Annual ‘All Spirits Halloween Bash.’ You know, the haunted house, party, music—all of it. Let’s make it a tradition.”
Slate saw how the ghosts had interacted. For one night, they got to be visible, participatory, and celebrated. That was worth repeating. He glanced at Dash, who nodded.
“All right,” Slate said. “But we have a condition.”
“Lay it on me, dude.”
“Get Thomas and Oliver to dance together,” Slate said.
“Way too easy.” Gary waved his hand dismissively.
“And kiss,” Dash added.
“No problem.” Gary’s confidence was still absolute. “Consider it done.”
Slate raised an eyebrow. His friends had been circling each other for months without figuring it out. Gary, however, sounded so sure of himself that arguing seemed pointless.
“Deal,” Slate said.
Gary floated toward the stage, already scanning the crowd. Slate followed his gaze and found Thomas and Oliver near the far wall. How much more obvious could they be? Thomas hadditched his letterman coat and jeans—something he never did—for Victorian evening wear that coordinated nicely with Oliver’s. The fact that his deep blue waistcoat that synced perfectly with Oliver’s charcoal gray wasn’t an accident.
The entire night, they’d stood close but not touching. When they talked, they did it without quite looking at each other. To Slate, it looked like they were lost in their own thoughts, hoping the other would make the first move.
Hopefully, moving them along was ‘no problem,’ like Gary said.
The current song wound down, and the room’s attention shifted as Gary floated to center stage.
“Everyone having a good time?” he asked, holding up two thumbs.
A resounding cheer filled the ballroom.
“First, big righteous vibes to Slate and Dash for making this happen.” Gary gestured toward them.
When everyone turned and they became the center of attention, Slate understood how Dash had felt. They waved, and thankfully, Gary didn’t let the moment linger.
“Now for a big surprise.” He pointed to the backup band, which responded with a drumroll. “Slate and Dash agreed to make this an annual event!”
The audience showered them with cheers and attention. Dash’s hand found his, squeezed once.
“Okay,” Gary said, keeping the program moving, “Find yourself a partner and let’s get this party going again.”
