Page 37 of Halloween Town

Well, yeah, that was true. “It’s still promoted as a Halloween-related event,” Poppy replied, stubborn to the core.

“A zebra is part of the horse family but isn’t a horse.”

What was that supposed to mean?

Jasper’s sigh sounded like a rumble. “People have issues, Poppy. Some of them have many issues with many people. Writing them down, releasing them, finding a solution…” He picked up a pen and gestured to the row of lanterns. “If there’s a chance of someone walking away feeling a little more hopeful, then I’ll help. Now, you gonna write or what?”

Thom’s lips quirked. Well, that told her. But it was good to know that Jasper hadn’t started believing in ghosts and was still—thankfully—flying the flag for H-Town’s skeptics. He would mourn The Bar if Jasper went over to the dark side.

Thom chose a warm gold lantern and flattened it on the table, letting the bottom half—with the candle already fixed in place—hang over the edge. He stared at it longer than necessary, trying to decide what, exactly, he was willing to admit and, worse, commit to paper.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Poppy hesitate. She picked up a plain cream lantern and turned it over in her hands. The look on her face said she didn’t want to be here, doing this, any more than he did. Because writing something down gave it weight and shape. Putting names to emotions, to wishes, to feelings, thoughts, and regrets made them too real and brought them into focus.

Thom kept his eyes on his lantern as she bent over hers, shoulders tight, the crowd pressing in behind her. Whatever decision she made, she made it fast. He caught the brief, sharp, impatient movement of her hand—like she was annoyed with the whole process. Then she signed her name and dropped the lantern to her side, angled deliberately so he couldn’t see what she’d written.

That stung. Far more than it should have.

He folded his own lantern, unable to write the words lodged in his chest—Poppy: I’ll stop pretending that losing you again won’t hurt. If she was guarding her truth, he could do the same by not writing anything down. Fair was fair.

Still, his gaze flicked to her lantern, curiosity rising before he could stop it. The question hovered on his tongue⁠—

And then she looked at him.

Something in her face shut the question down before he could ask it. He didn’t know if she shook her head or if it was just the way her eyes held his, steady but guarded, too, but the moment stretched. For far too long. Years ago, there had been a time when she’d been able to tell him everything, good, bad, and terrible, but she’d been a kid then, and had youth and immaturity as an excuse. Honesty had come easily. Consequences hadn’t.

But they were adults now, and being grown didn’t guarantee clarity or neat answers. It came with messes you learned to carry. And he couldn’t forget that thirteen years of silence stretched between them. Thom knew he no longer had the right to ask.

Pulling himself out of his reverie, he placed his hand on Poppy’s back to guide her through the suddenly thick crowd. He glanced down at her pink face and watched as she hunched her shoulders against the cold wind coming off the lake. Shrugging out of his thigh-length coat, he draped it over her shoulders.

Poppy’s eyes skittered over his chest, covered by a long-sleeved Henley. “Aren’t you cold?” she asked, gripping the edges of his coat and holding it close to her body.

Yeah, but so what? “I’m fine,” he told her. Someone bumped into her and, telling himself that he was only touching her to guide her, to protect her too small body from bigger people, he wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “Let’s get this done.”

They stopped at the entrance to the beach, where another set of volunteers waited to light the lanterns’ small candles.

Thom guided Poppy to an emptier part of the beach, surprised when the crowd quietened and then fell into respectful silence. If he were a romantic man, given to flights of fancy, he would think that ghosts stood on the edges of the crowd, lingering, watching, somehow enjoying the spectacle.

Lanterns, one by one, lifted and tossed gentle light onto upturned faces. Soon, tens, then a hundred, then more lanterns filled the sky, boldly flying toward the stars. It was pretty, he decided. Lovelier than he expected, and more moving.

“Shit.”

Poppy’s curse broke the moment, and he looked down to see her lantern flicker, the flame inside it jumping erratically. That was weird. And one side of the lantern looked like it was about to collapse in on itself.

Thom glanced at the person beside him and read the words written across her lantern.

I wish I had finished that conversation with the pigeons in the park.

He blinked. What the hell?

Who had unfinished business with pigeons? Were they aggressive pigeons? Judgmental pigeons? Gossipy pigeons? Had they flown off before the issue was resolved?

Pushing aside his curiosity for the absurd, he noticed that the pigeon lady’s flame burned steadily. Thom dropped his gaze to his own lantern. The flame inside sputtered, dimmed, flared—then dipped again, hovering dangerously close to dying. Then it flared again, as if taking its last gasp. Thom looked around at the other lanterns and saw they were all burning as they should.

Did they have the only two dud lanterns on Lantern Beach?

He started to ask Poppy whether she wanted to return to the table and get another one when Poppy’s lantern swayed back toward her, smacking into her arm, immediately catching fire. Thom reacted instinctively, dropping his lantern and knocking hers away. He wrapped his arm around her waist and, in the process, knocked his coat off her shoulders. It fell on top of the burning lantern, and his coat ignited with a surprisingly big whoosh. Thom yanked her away, pulling her closer.

She looked up at him, her eyes wide, utterly bewitching. She smelled of something wild but sweet, and beneath his hand her curves tempted him to explore. She was all woman. All lovely.