Page 3 of Something Handsome This Way Comes

“No one asked you.”

Grievance laughed, the low rumble warm enough that Milo could almost pretend the October breeze hadn’t found its way down his collar and sent chills down his back. He should have brought a jacket.

Pumpkin Hollow’s main square bustled with preparations for the festival. Floating jack-o’-lanterns drifted lazily overhead, bobbing between strings of enchanted lanterns that glowed honey-gold despite the afternoon sun. A pair of witches argued over whether bats counted as “tasteful décor” while a gaggle of broom-riding children chased one another around the fountain, leaving harmless trails of glittering orange sparks in their wake.

Someone had jinxed the scarecrows again, which was causing quite a commotion. One tipped its floppy hat toward every passerby. Another played a tiny fiddle, and it wasn’t half bad. A third had somehow learned to wolf-whistle, earning a few disgruntled looks from a group of scandalized dwarven women.

“Honestly,” Milo muttered, as the third one let out an appreciative whistle when Grievance walked by, “even the decorations have eyes for you.”

The scarecrow gave Grievance an enthusiastic thumbs-up. Grievance nodded back politely.

“Ugh. Don’t encourage it,” Milo groaned.

“Maybe it was being friendly.”

“I don’t like the way its button eyes looked you up and down.”

“I am unsure what that means.”

“It means you’re too handsome for your own good.”

“Hmm, how tragic.”

Milo shot him a look. “Are you done? Your smugness is starting to spill all over the street. It’s messy. Somebody is going to have to clean this up.”

Grievance laughed, then bent low so only Milo could hear in the densely packed crowd.

“The only eyes I want on me are yours. Looking up… from your knees, watering while you choke on me.”

Milo coughed loudly, causing a few tourists to quickly shuffle away.

“Grievance!” Milo yell-whispered. “I told you not—in—public.”

“And I recall telling you I—make—no—promises.” Then he pinched Milo’s ass for good measure.

“Enough mating foreplay! Pip still here!” squeaked a voice from beneath Milo’s hat.

“You’re right, sorry Pip,” Milo said, still smiling at Grievance.

My mate.

Some days… Milo still couldn’t believe it.

“You make goat uncomfortable,” Pip said, and as though in agreement, Marigold bleated loudly from where she trotted behind them.

The tiny pumpkin sweater stretched around her fluffy middle, complete with a little green collar that bobbed with every step.

Grievance glanced down. “Our daughter looks very festive.”

Marigold bleated louder, her little tail wagging.

“We are not calling the goat our daughter,” Milo said, even though the sound of it made him feel all sprinkle-sweet inside.

This was Marigold’s year off since becoming the subject of Milo’s first successful experiment at the apothecary. The goal had been to infuse spider silk into goat’s milk, and the results had exceeded even Milo’s expectations, providing him with enough renewable magical resources to create nearly a dozen new recipes. But after Marigold had dutifully supplied him with webs for the better part of a year, Milo decided she’d more than earned some time off. Instead, he’d hired three goats belonging to his neighbor, Mrs. Grimwood, who now supplied him with regular batches of spider silk.

“Don’t make me regret field trip day,” Milo said to the trotting horned creature at his side. Marigold pressed herself against his leg with a pitiful little bleat. Milo sighed and gave in, scratching his daughter behind the ears.

“…You’re all impossible.”