Page 39 of Peaches & Pistols

“Do you think Quincy would come?” Delilah asks.

“Who’s Quincy?” My question surprises me.

I never interject or pry for information, especially not with people I barely know. Faces drop and eyes soften. It’s Izzy who answers.

“I think you might’ve heard that James and Reid’s younger brother, Sam, died a couple years ago.” I nod, Greyson told me himself.

“Quincy’s his wife. Well, his widow,” Izzy hedges, uncomfortable with the slip up.

My marriage is the farthest thing from perfect, but had I been in love, I’d be devastated to lose my partner.

“She’s also Connor’s older sister. She doesn’t come around much anymore. Not that we blame her. Connor and I try to include her as often as she’ll allow, but it’s a challenge. Who knows, maybe in a year’s time, she might be ready,” Delilah says hopefully.

“We can workshop it. Start thinking of ideas for girl-group costumes for the four of us, hopefully five,” Livy says. Nods and cheerful agreements float through the room.

We’ve gathered at Lucky Spurs Ranch to get ready for Trunk-or-Treat. Cecelia went all out; I’ve never seen a spread like this. If they celebrate Halloween this grandly, I can’t wait to see an Andersen Christmas.

Not that we’re automatically invited. Maybe we won’t be invited at all. That’s two months from now, a lot can happen between now and then. Even if it’s just the two of us, it’ll be the best Christmas Everly’s ever had.

The formal dining room is adorably spooky, with fake spider webs draped everywhere, complete with plastic spiders that had the little girls screeching. The lights are dimmed, false candles flickering from the sconces.

Monster Mash plays softly from a hidden speaker, and the table is plum-full of Halloween-themed appetizers and treats.

The girls were too excited to sit down for a meal, so grab-and-go is the best option. They can scamper around the house, grab a mini hotdog mummy, a skewer of grape eyeballs, a banana ghost or pumpkin shaped mini pizza, and keep playing.

“Mia, the costumes you made are remarkable! You have a real talent, sweetheart.”

Cecelia’s praise heats my cheeks, but I relish the positive reinforcement. When you don’t get much attention, let alone positive attention growing up, it’s a rush to get a compliment.

“Thank you, I had fun making them. Their ideas were unique but not particularly challenging, so I had extra time to go a little crazy with details.”

“Well, you did a great job.” Cecelia pats my arm with a beaming smile and steps out to check on the boys in the den.

“Girls!” I holler down the hall, knowing they’ve holed up in Harper’s bedroom here. “Time to get dressed!”

We need to leave for the high school soon, and didn’t want them getting food all over their costumes, so a last-minute wardrobe change works well.

They bound down the hall, talking and squealing, bursting with excitement.

“Harper, do you want me to get Cecelia or one of your aunties to help you get dressed?”

“Can you help me?” she asks, eyes glimmering with hope.

I’ve fallen in love with this raven-haired little girl. How any mother could abandon her is unfathomable. I know I’ve become too attached, far too quickly, but I can’t help it. This child needs a mother, and the mother in me can’t help but nurture her.

“Of course. Let’s get you little monsters ready to trick-or-treat.”

Greyson and I walk a few paces behind our daughters as they bounce between classrooms gathering enough candy to rot the teeth from their heads.

“Thank you.” I barely hear him over the din of noise in the hallway.

“Hmm?”

“Thank you, for making Harper’s costume. She’ll remember this Halloween for the rest of her life, and it’s all thanks to you.”

Greyson’s compliment and thanks burn me from the inside out. The depths to which I’d go to please this man can’t be healthy.

“You’re very welcome. It was my pleasure. It’s not every day I get asked to make a dress for a unicorn-pirate-queen.”