Page 100 of Where Roads Lead

“Okay,” he said a bit more frantically. “Can you get Creamsicle away from me? Now, please.”

“Aw, you’re not afraid of cats, Will, are you?” I scooped the tabby up, rubbing his soft fur against my face.

“Don’t let its claws get so close to your face.” He frowned, watching our interaction with a cautious look. “You never know when it might attack.”

“It’s a cat.”

“A feral cat.”

“Oh, please.” I scoffed, dropping Creamsicle to the floor. “It was Mr. Briggs’s cat, and you know it.”

“And it had already habitualized itself to a life on the streets.” Will stared between the cat that was meandering out of the living room and my own costume that he was just now able to notice. “Did you really have to match with it?”

I stared down at my outfit and laughed.

“I’m not a cat,” I emphasized. “I’m Tigger. From Winnie-the-Pooh? You know, because I’m so hyper.”

“Well, on that there’s no dispute,” he said, calming down now that the fearsome beast I called a pet was safely out of the room.

“Have there been any trick-or-treaters?” I asked him hopefully.

“You mean in the thirty-six seconds you’ve been in another room?” he asked. “No. Also, it’s still light out.”

“Yeah,” I said, looking toward the window, “but sometimes parents take their little kids out earlier before it gets too cold.”

I moved to the window, pulling back the curtain to see if anyone was coming. But the street was still empty.

“No one’s going to walk up to a house with you creepily staring through the window like that,” he said. “Come sit down and wait like a normal person.”

“I can’t help it.” I exhaled before taking his advice and dropping onto the couch beside him. “I’m just excited.”

“Clearly,” he said, staring at me. “Nice whiskers, by the way.”

“You’re no fun.” I huffed, clutching a pillow against me.

“No one’s ever accused me of being that,” he agreed, flipping through the channels.

“Was that the doorbell?” I asked, head snapping in the direction of the door.

“Nope,” he said, eyes fixed on the television.

“How do you know?”

“Because your doorbell doesn’t work.”

“You should probably fix that, huh?” I grinned at him. “Okay, that’s definitely the sound of footsteps, isn’t it?”

“No.” He sighed. “But now I’m slightly concerned by the amount of auditory hallucinations you apparently hear.”

“Hey.” I swatted him. “I’m just—”

“Excited?” Hazel eyes turned to me. “I know. You’ve mentioned.”

“Don’t be such a grump,” I told him. “It’s not my fault you hate kids.”

“I do not hate kids.” He made a noise of affrontment.

“Well, you don’t seem to particularly like them.”