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The Factory of Screams was exactly as advertised—loud, plastic, enthusiastically committed to its own limitations—and Keenan screamed at the first skeleton, which was the single most satisfying thing Rachel had witnessed in months. Kara had been three feet behind him. She said nothing for a full five seconds, which turned out to be worse than laughing. Keith looked at him, clamping his mouth shut. “Not saying anything,” he managed to press out. Keenan scowled at him. Rachel decided she was going to like all of them.

Afterward, they stood on the sidewalk eating the kettle corn Keenan had procured from somewhere, and Kara turned to Rachel and said, conversationally, “You’re aware that I have many TV connections.”

Rachel looked at her. “I am now.”

“Good.” Kara ate a piece of kettle corn. “I want to make sure we understand each other. You break my brother’s heart, I will spoil the ending of every show you’ve ever wanted to watch.”

Rachel considered this. “I barely watch TV.”

“I’ll find ones you’d like.”

“I don’t intend to break his heart.”

Kara looked at her for a long moment—those dark eyes, so much like Keith’s and so much not, reading her the way the Larssons apparently read everything. Then she nodded, once, as if she’d come to a conclusion.

“I know it’s fast,” Rachel said. She hadn’t meant to say it—it came out because it was true, and she was used to saying what was true. “I know how it looks. It doesn’t feel fast to me. I can’t explain that.”

“You don’t have to explain it to me,” Kara said. “I was half in love with Jaxon before I even saw his tattoos.”

“He’s got tattoos?” Rachel asked.

Kara wiggled her eyebrows. “Mm-hmm.”

Both women laughed.

“Don’t tell him I said that,” Kara said.

“I won’t.”

“He already knows. I just don’t like to say it out loud.”

Rachel laughed again.

“Don’t tell Keith yet—I will do so tonight. I’ve quit my job in Austin and intend to set up my own business here. Weddings, bar mitzvahs, the occasional conference. I should be fine.”

Kara squeezed her shoulder. “And I know if it doesn’t work out, you’ll find another way.”

“That’s the plan.”

“What’s the plan?” Keith asked.

“To go watch the Ghostly Parade.”

They walked to Moss Street as a group—Keenan with Poppy tucked against his side, Jaxon and Kara slightly ahead. Maple Lane Falls had committed fully to Halloween: jack-o’-lanterns massed on every stoop, paper ghosts in every window, strings of orange lights turning the whole street amber. The parade wasn’t for another twenty minutes and already the sidewalk was three deep.

Rachel stood beside Keith and watched a small skeleton—eighteen months old at most, utterly indifferent to the costume—try to eat a candy wrapper. The mother retrieved it with practiced speed. The skeleton considered its options and decided on someone’s pant leg instead.

“How’s it been,” Keith said, “meeting my family?”

“They’re wonderful.” She meant it. “Keenan’s funnier than you let on.”

“He knows.”

“Poppy is—“ She paused, looking for the right word. “She’s genuinely good. Like, fundamentally.”

“Yes.”

“Jaxon looked at your future kitchen for forty-five minutes and gave me a full structural assessment.”