After rinsing my face, I look into the mirror at my blotchy red skin that matches the red in my eyes. I just look so tired. The dark circles underneath my eyes that I’ve had since my dad’s diagnosis have gotten darker and the worry lines on my forehead seem to have only gotten deeper. It’s like all of the heavy shit in my life has made a permanent residence on my face.
It almost makes me want to put my makeup back on.
I guess if I do decide to pass out candy tonight, my makeup-free face could pass for a scary mask?
I’m putting away my face lotion when I hear a knock on my door.
I know they’re starting trick-or-treating hours earlier these days, but this just seems excessive. Maybe they have special toddler hours.
“One second!” I call out as I run to my kitchen and grab the bag of candy I’m planning on finishing tonight. “Happy Ha—” I cut myself off when instead of a young trick-or-treater standing at my door, it’s a not-so-young quarterback.
I really have to start using my fucking peephole!
“Quinton, um—hey.” I cross my arms over my braless chest, trying to scrub the image of my makeup-less face from my memory. “What are you doing here?”
“Let’s go, Reed.” He claps his large hands together before barreling into my condo. “Get your shoes, we have shit to do.”
“No we don’t.” I feel those frown lines I was just inspecting getting even deeper as my eyebrows scrunch together. “I didn’t see anything on the calendar.”
I might’ve been off my game today, but I’m positive we didn’t have a meeting. Since the launch party, we had managed to go down to meetings twice a week and then quick get-togethers before an interview to go over talking points. But other than the meeting where we saw the Rue, we don’t do Saturday meetings.
I watch him as he walks into my living room and falls onto my couch. “That’s because it wasn’t on the calendar.” He spreads his arms across the top of my couch and his wingspan almost covers the entire length of it. “You said you have Halloween traditions and I have none, so I figured you could show me yours.”
Holy.
Freaking.
Hell.
I might cry.
I forgot I even told him I was dreading Halloween. He not only remembered, but he’s making sure I’m not going to be alone?
Oh yeah.
I’m for sure going to cry.
“You didn’t need to do this.” I forget about my appearance, lost in his kindness.
“I know I don’t have to. I want to. Really. I’ve never really done the Halloween thing because my mom said it was the devil’s holiday, so I’m excited to see what all the hype is about.” He pushes off of my couch and comes to stand in front of me. “So are you going to get ready or am I going to have to figure it out on my own?”
“Oh man.” A smile I didn’t think would be possible today tugs on the corner of my mouth. “I hope you know what you’re in for.”
“With you, I’m not sure I ever know.” He grabs me by the shoulders and turns me so I’m facing the hallway to my bedroom. “Hurry, we’re losing sunlight.”
—
THE FIRST THING I see when I walk into his house are two giant pumpkins decorating his normally empty kitchen island.
“You got pumpkins?”
“Yeah,” he says as he walks in behind me. “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do for Halloween? I got pumpkins, those carving books, and this drill the woman at Target said was a must-have.”
Okay.
I know that I’ve covered the gamut when it comes to my feelings toward Quinton. I’ve hated him and wanted to kiss him—and was, admittedly, pretty bummed when he rejected me on that. But after this, if all I ever get to do is call Quinton a friend, I will take that and feel damn lucky to do so. Because this might be the nicest thing a person has ever done for me.
“You have no idea how much this means to me.” I don’t try to hide how my voice wavers. I’m a freaking emotional live wire right now, and I don’t have it in me to pretend I’m not. “I was having a really hard day and this just made it so much better.”
“Then it’s all worth it.” He squeezes my shoulder, letting his fingers linger before he lifts his chin and nods toward the kitchen. “Now, show me how to carve a pumpkin so I can beat you on my first-ever try.”
“Oh, you wish. I might be grateful, but that doesn’t mean I won’t still kick your ass in pumpkin carving.”
Just because he’s the only professional athlete here doesn’t mean he’s the only competitive one. Once, Mrs. Rafter took me with her to her church group to decorate Christmas cookies. I turned it into a competition that I’m pretty sure nobody else participated in. My cookies kicked their asses. My sprinkle work was just—*chef’s kiss*—so good. If I didn’t take it easy on a bunch of old Catholic ladies, there’s not a chance I’m easing up on this able-bodied male specimen.
And I don’t.
“This is bullshit.” He pouts as he looks at his pumpkin that is basically just a giant hole in the front because he wouldn’t listen to me when I was telling him where to cut. “This is your fault, you sabotaged me. Look at yours next to mine.”
I try not to laugh, I really do. But when I look at my beautiful pumpkin with a perfect witch carved into the front next to his . . . circle . . . I can’t help it.
“If you would’ve listened to me, it would’ve been fine,” I say once I’ve finished laughing. “Now grab it, we have to put it on your porch and turn on
