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“Where’s your costume?” she demanded.
“I’m wearing it!” He stood back and did a little twirl.
He was wearing pajama pants, a t-shirt, house slippers, and a long burgundy bathrobe.
She screwed up her face, unimpressed. “Are you supposed to be Hugh Hefner?”
He scoffed, offended. “No. I’m retired Obi-Wan Kenobi.” He opened his robe to reveal the lightsaber on his hip.
Oh.
He fished a hand into the pocket of his robe and held out a wrapped candy.
“Butterscotch?”
Okay, that was kind of clever.
“Why did you laugh at me?” she asked, eyeing him critically.
His smile was immediate. “Because you’re not tall enough to be Darth Vader.” He pressed his lips together. “You look like Dark Helmet.”
She pursed her lips, seeing the humor but not ready to admit it. “I find your lack of faith disturbing.”
His reaction was to throw his head back, laughter bursting from him in deep, hearty waves, the hand with the butterscotch gripping his chest.
Unable to help it, unwilling to try, she watched.
The joy sprang out of him so unencumbered that she felt it ripple through her on its way into the universe.
Guys didn’t find her funny.
Not really.
Her jokes and pop culture references were usually met with muted smiles and exasperated blinks.
Okay, girl, hold on tight. He is not for you.
She took a step back and he entered the loft.
“I looked up the trick-or-treat times online and there doesn’t seem to be a set time.” She closed the door and followed him into the kitchen dining area.
He gazed up at the high ceilings and around the open floor plan.
“It’s usually sundown, isn’t it?” he asked, running his fingers over the back of the dark purple velvet couch.
It probably wasn’t as posh as the places he’d lived but she was still filled with pride. It was her living space. Hers.
And Kara’s obviously.
But she had worked and paid for the nice things she had. No one could take that from her.
That might not mean anything to someone else, but it meant a lot to her.
Pushing aside thoughts of her childhood in general and her mom in particular, she stepped into the kitchen.
“Do you want something to drink? I don’t have any espresso, but I do have Dr. Pepper.”
She glanced over her shoulder and he was sliding onto the stool at the butcher block island.
