Unfortunately, Fletch notices.
“Oh, no,” he says loudly. “The penguins are making eye contact.”
Frankie smacks his arm. “Leave them alone.”
“No, this feels like nature documentary behavior.”
“Fletcher,” Evan warns.
“Right. Sorry.” Fletch raises both hands. “Respecting the colony.”
Finn leans back on his stool, observing us openly. “I don’t know. I’m learning a lot about penguin courtship.”
Gwen turns her head toward him. “Do you want to spend Halloween outside?”
Finn grins. “Is that where you’ll be?”
“Oh god,” Tucker mutters. “He’s definitely gonna die.”
The night folds around us after that, warm and loud and strange. Elle wins three rounds of candy corn sorting, loses one dramatic game of pool against a retired firefighter who very clearly cheats, then falls asleep half an hour later with her egg costume dented against Leah’s lap.
By the time we make it home, my feet ache, my cheeks hurt from laughing, and Evan’s inflatable penguin costume has developed a slow leak somewhere near his left side.
He stands in the hallway deflating in real time, enormous penguin body sagging around him while I press both hands over my mouth and try not to laugh so hard I cry.
“Don’t say it,” he warns.
“I’m being supportive.”
“You’re shaking.”
“With support.”
The house is quieter than usual without Elle’s little voice filling every corner. Leah had taken one look at our egg-child asleep across Herb’s lap at Neverland and announced she was keeping her overnight, and Elle had barely woken long enough to agree before burrowing deeper into the blanket around her.
Gus, still half-dressed as a fish, trots in from the living room, gives Evan’s collapsing penguin suit one long look, then turns around and leaves again.
“Even the dog has abandoned me,” Evan mutters.
“He’s a fish tonight. Loyalty is complicated.”
Evan’s eyes cut to mine through the little face opening. “You’re enjoying this too much.”
“I have waited all night to be alone with you and your terrible life choices.”
His mouth twitches, then his gaze drops. The hallway goes still as he catalogs the tight black-and-white dress. The little feathered cuffs. The ridiculous beak headband perched in my hair.
And the silver heels.
Heat moves through his expression so quickly my stomach dips. When he notices, his mouth stretches into a sinful curve.
I take one step backward, the silver heels clicking against the floor. He follows, still partially trapped in the deflating remains of the penguin.
The absurdity of it should ruin the moment, but it doesn’t. If anything, it makes the heat worse, because Evan Prince is looking at me like he might devour me in a hallway while wearing nylon wings and a battery pack.
“You survived the penguin suit,” I tell him.
“Barely.”
