Page 63 of Halloween Town

“I got a job,” she said, the words coming so fast that she wasn’t sure he understood the sentence.

He rested his forearms on the table, and his lips curved. “A job? That’s great.” When she simply looked at him, he frowned. “Is this bad news or good news?”

“Oh, good news. Um, I’ve been asked to draw another map.”

“A map?”

“Mmm,” Poppy replied, pushing her plate away. “A map similar to the map I drew for H-Town. It’s for a fantasy novel by Melody Vein, but more detailed. It’s probably not a big deal, but⁠—”

Thom frowned and held up his hand. “I’m sorry, but why isn’t this a big deal?”

She looked at him. “It’s just a map.”

“It’s a map for Melody Vein, someone who just happens to be a New York Times bestselling author,” Thom said. “Have you read her novels? They are great!”

She blinked, caught off-guard by his enthusiasm. “Have you?” she asked.

“Yeah. I’m waiting, like most of the world, for book four.”

Poppy pinched the skin on her wrist to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. “You read romantasy?”

He shrugged. “I think it’s a great fantasy series first, a romance and mystery second.” He wiped his hands on a paper napkin. “The point is that she could have an already well-known, highly regarded illustrator draw her maps, but she chose you! How did that happen?”

He seemed genuinely excited for her and more than a little impressed. Encouraged, Poppy told him how she’d met Melody and about their hour-long conversation in Spirited Grounds. He didn’t interrupt her, and when she was done, he didn’t make a joke or qualify her achievement; he simply sat back and smiled at her. “That is so fucking fantastic, Poppy. I am so happy for you.”

Before she could work out how to react to his praise, to him being so happy for her, he bombarded her with a series of questions. What’s your deadline? Have you read the books? If he could help explain Myrrwhen, she only needed to ask. Crucially, Thom didn’t imply that her work was a hobby, or that she’d just lucked out.

Once she’d told him everything, she felt something in her chest loosen, like she’d been holding on to stale air and she could finally expel it. So, huh. This was what unconditional acceptance felt like. She’d been bracing herself for him to minimize her news, to maybe brush it off or gloss over it, but she hadn’t expected his joy, or how impressed he was. She’d expected rejection, but it never came. And she wasn’t sure how to act without it.

He reached across the table, picked up her hand, and kissed the tips of her fingers. “I’m so proud of you, Poppy.”

His words landed hard, cleanly, without strings. Poppy felt her eyes well up. When had someone last told her they were proud? God, it had been so long ago she couldn’t remember. Her grandpa? Grandma? Thom before he exited her life years ago? Whenever it was, it felt great now.

“Thank you.”

He tugged at her hand and angled his head, a silent but clear order to come to him. Still holding his hand, she walked around the table, and he pushed back his chair before pulling her down to sit on his lap. Thom brushed her lips with hers, a gentle kiss that was, as always, filled with heat. And as Thom kissed her, she realized that it was the first time she’d shared good news, or any news about herself, without qualifying it first, without shrinking it down so that other people would find it easier to swallow and manage.

And surprisingly, the world hadn’t tilted on its axis, and Thom hadn’t brushed her off. Instead, he’d leaned in, got caught up in her excitement, and had celebrated with her without inserting himself into her achievement, into the moment. By not making it about him, he’d given her the gift of celebrating herself.

And, man, that was huge.

Thom

Thom held her on his lap, trying to keep his muscles loose, to keep Poppy from sensing his tension.

Look, he was super proud of her, happy for her, but he was also pissed.

He’d clocked her tight shoulders, her rushed words, her hesitation, and knew she’d been scared to tell him about her job offer. And the only reason for her to be scared was that someone, somewhere along the line—his brother or her mom, probably both—had made her feel small, less than, insignificant.

Something fierce and protective settled in his chest, and he pushed the tips of his fingers into her hip and thigh. She had a right to feel excited, to be proud … and he hadn’t been kidding when he said that getting Melody Vein’s commission was a helluva big deal. He didn’t think she had any idea how big a name she was.

That was okay, she’d realize it soon, and he hoped she wouldn’t feel intimidated.

Poppy pulled back from his kiss and rested her head on his chest, her hair brushing his neck. He was happy to sit here with her, holding her. But because he was a guy, he was also thinking about the practicalities. Did she have enough art supplies? Where would she work? She couldn’t use this table; it was filled with his crap. But there was a desk in storage, and he could bribe Hayes with a few beers and get him to help lug it up to her loft bedroom; the light was fantastic there.

“Thank you for reacting like that, Thom. I didn’t think you’d take me, or the offer, seriously. Benji certainly wouldn’t have. He and my family refuse to see my art as anything more than a hobby.”

Poppy’s words spun through him, a high-powered drill. He wanted to go back and be present on every occasion Poppy was insulted, so he could climb into the ring and land some verbal punches. How dare they?