Page 126 of The Gaybor War

"You could have coordinated with me."

"Not on your life."

I sigh. "This is a betrayal of the aesthetic. I worked very hard to be the moment, and you’ve undermined that."

He rolls his eyes, but there’s affection in it. "You’re dressed like a romance novel fever dream."

"Correct. And you’re dressed like a man who plans to sit."

"That is also correct."

We settle into our chairs, candy bowls between us, the street already alive with children, glowing porch lights, and the hum of inflatable decor motors. This is the part I love, the anticipation, the way the whole neighborhood feels momentarily softer, brighter, as if it’s letting itself believe in small magic.

Carter leans toward my bowl, peering inside.

"Are those full-size candy bars?"

"Yes."

"That’s excessive."

"That’s strategic."

"You’re bribing children."

"I’m building long-term loyalty."

He snorts, glancing into his own bowl at the carefully curated mix of minis and sensible options. I spot the Tootsie Rolls immediately.

"No," I say firmly. "Not on my porch."

"They’re classic."

"They’re trash."

"You’re dramatic."

"I’m correct."

The first wave of trick-or-treaters arrives, and for a while everything blurs into motion, costumes and laughter, and tiny hands clutching buckets. I hand out full-size chocolate as though I’m distributing rare artifacts. Carter gives out his mix, offering patient smiles and the occasional earnest compliment about costumes.

Within minutes, word spreads. Kids begin drifting toward me, whispering loudly about "the pirate house" and "the big candy."

Carter sighs. "This is unfair competition."

"You’re just jealous that I have better candy."

He opens his mouth to argue, and I add under my breath, "And a better costume."

He hears me anyway. His mouth twitches. "You look ridiculous."

"Last time I wore this, you ate my ass for twenty minutes. I think you’re lying."

Despite himself, he laughs easily, and a quiet, grounding warmth settles in my chest. As the night goes on, the competition escalates in subtle ways. Carter upgrades his offerings to glow sticks, sour gummies, and eventually, full-size bars of his own. It becomes an arms race, and I am deeply invested.

At one point, a tiny witch stops between us, looks back and forth, and whispers, "This is intense."

"Choose wisely," I tell her solemnly.