We’ve been working on this place nonstop, every day since the mayor announced his ridiculous deadline. The Halloween event was supposed to be a “simple showcase,” but Brighton wanted spectacle.
Fog machines. Candles. Cobwebs on purpose instead of neglect. We even brought in a few of the high school art students to paint murals on the back wall—skeletal trees, moonlight, wolves.
It’s kitschy and eerie and, I’ll admit, impressive as hell.
Norah’s touch ties it together. The flowers she arranged climb up the pillars, twisting through the beams like living shadows. They’re burgundy but shimmer under the lights.
She’s somewhere in the back now, finishing up the centerpiece—a floral arch dripping with faux cobwebs and glitter.
Jude whistles beside me as we haul one last crate of tools out the door. “Didn’t think we’d pull it off.”
I grunt. “You say that every project.”
He grins, but it’s tight. He’s been off these last few days—half here, half somewhere else. His phone keeps buzzing, and every time he looks at it, his jaw clenches.
“You gonna tell me what’s eating you?” I ask, setting the crate in the truck bed.
He runs a hand through his hair. “Amber.”
I nod. His sister. Sweet kid. Pregnant and dealing with that idiot boyfriend of hers. “What happened?”
“Same old shit.” He kicks at a loose pebble. “Luke’s been unreliable. She called me crying yesterday.”
“Fuck.”
He laughs bitterly. “Yeah. So, after tonight, I’m heading down there. Stay a few days, help her out. Maybe knock some sense into Luke while I’m at it.”
“You want company?”
He shakes his head. “Nah. You hate long drives, and someone’s got to make sure the heaters don’t crap out at the Fernbridge site.”
“Fair enough.”
He hesitates, then adds quietly, “You could come to the party, though. The mayor’s footing the bill. Free booze. Terrible costumes.”
I snort. “Tempting.”
He grins. “That’s a no.”
“Correct.”
Truth is, I don’t do parties. Haven’t since Claire. Crowds make me twitchy, and holidays feel like hollow performances.
I’ll finish my shift, grab a beer at home, and sleep for the first time in a week. That’s enough celebration for me.
Inside, the hall’s packed with last-minute chaos. Volunteers in matching “Fox Hollow Halloween Bash” shirts run around with armfuls of fake cobwebs and paper lanterns.
Kids dart between ladders, their laughter echoing off the high ceilings. Someone’s testing the sound system—static bursts of eerie music cut through the chatter.
I wipe my hands on my jeans, take it in. It’s strange, seeing this place alive again.
Norah walks out from behind the arch, hands streaked with black dye, curls pinned back. She looks tired but radiant, the kind of beauty that sneaks up on you. The scent of her flowers clings to her—dark and floral with something wilder underneath.
She spots us and waves. “You two are miracle workers.”
Jude smiles, trying to lighten his own mood. “You’re the miracle. We just hammered things together.”
“Don’t sell yourself short,” she says, looking around. “You’ve made this place beautiful again.”
