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“I love you, big guy,” Sidney whispers, leaning over to rest her hands on my knees and give me a kiss. “Thirty more minutes, tops, and then I’ll let you fondle my underwear.”
“Hear me out,” Marcus says when Sidney walks back down off the porch to meet a trick-or-treater at the base of the steps, leaning closer to me in his chair. “Next year, my shirt saysHe’s my trick, and your shirt saysHe’s my treat. I’ll sketch some designs this weekend and text them to you.”
Epilogue
Sidney
Halloween night, one year later
“Aaand, go!”
I watch the man dressed like Edward fromTwilightstanding on the other side of the bar quickly down his shot topped with pumpkin whipped cream and Halloween sprinkles, before Penny tosses a cup of water in his face. Then she smacks him so hard that all fifty people dressed in costumes in the Wicked Pub and Grub let out a collective,“Oooh!”
“I just slapped the sparkle off you, bitch!” Penny points at him.
“Who’s next?” Ginger shouts.
A cheer erupts around the room, followed by a rush of at least ten people up to the bar, all throwing money down on top of it, begging for a turn.
“See? I told you the Pumpkin Slap Shot was a good idea.”
Ford wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me in for a kiss. “It’s only a good idea because you’re not doing it,” he reminds me as we look over and watch Penny and Ginger scooping up all the money, happily making more shots.
“It really was a brilliant idea to hire them just for this. Keeps them out of trouble and lets them get their rage and aggression out.” I nod.
Penny and Ginger are still doing a lot of business with FMI, but thankfully, now that Ford is here all the time, they have finally grown up, and I haven’t spent one minute in jail since I put my foot down with them last year. Their October Bonus Package still only includes a yard full of signs and hotdogs, and there hasn’t been one complaint about trunks being filled with taco sauce or baseball card collections being torched in someone’s backyard. They still drive me up the fucking wall with Trick or Treat, but they’ve finally stopped ruining my things, now that Ford gives me everything I could possibly ask for. Now, they just do stupid shit like hide in the backseat of the new SUV Ford bought me and jumping up and scaring the piss out of me as soon as I get inside.
“Besides, if I smacked someone with this ring on my hand, it would do some serious damage.” I bring my left hand up in front of me and wiggle my fingers around, unable to wipe the smile off my face every time I look at the silver band covered in diamonds and stars, with a jack-o-lantern wearing a witches hat made out of orange-and-black jewels in the center.
My October best friend for six years got down on his knee this morning in our living room at the Gore House and asked me to marry him. He said he planned on doing it tonight on the porch in the middle of trick-or-treating when it was dark and the pumpkins were all lit up, but he couldn’t wait. He saw me standing in the middle of the living room with Pops’s letter in a frame hanging on the wall over my shoulder, muttering about how I might have gone a little overboard with the trick-or-treat packages I put together this year, and he just dropped down and blurted it out.
This was better. It was intimate, and just the two of us, and he did it when it felt right and he couldn’t keep the question inside any longer. The fact that Hay pressed one of her buttons and called me a bitch-ass when I took too long to answer him, because I couldn’t stop crying, just made the moment even more perfect for us.
I like it when he doesn’t keep things inside any longer and uses that glorious mouth of his. He’s still not a Chatty Cathy, but he talks about the important stuff, and that’s all that matters.
Plus, we got to celebrate immediately with hot sex on my new, fluffy, pumpkin throw rug in the living room, while the two twelve-foot-tall skeletons on either side of the fireplace watched.
I never thought I was the type of woman who wanted the ring, and the husband, and a happily ever after. I realized I just never wanted them with anyone other than Ford. I told him I wanted everything with him that night on our porch after the Care Bears tried to burn him at the stake. But I didn’t realize how much I meant it until I woke up that first morning on November 1st with Ford spooning me in bed, and I burst into tears that he actually hadn’t ghosted me.
I mean, I knew he wouldn’t. But looking at the date on the calendar and seeing him sitting there eating breakfast with me made me actually believe it. It made me know without a doubt that I never wanted to wake up again, no matter what day it was, without him telling Hay it’s too early for anyone to be called a bitch-ass.
“We’ve got an hour before kids start ringing our doorbell, and I still have to put on that damn costume,” Ford complains, even though there’s a smile on his face as he grabs my purse from under the bar and hands it to me.
Now that the Gore House is finished, fully furnished, and Ford only complains a little bit that I keep more than just the kitchen decorated for Halloween all year now that I have the space, I decided it was time to let go of old ghosts and bring back one of my favorite traditions.
“Did you actually think I would make us go as anyone other thantheSidney Prescott and Billy Loomis fromScream?” I scoff as Ford grabs my hand, and we start walking out from behind the bar.
“I’ve only agreed to this, because I like hearing you saySidney Prescott.” Ford leans down and kisses the top of my head. “I’m glad you brought back your dad’s Halloween costume tradition. I think he’d like it.”
I think he would too. And I think he’d really like that I left them out on the couch this morning as a surprise for Ford to find when he woke up, just like my dad used to do for me.
Except I never muttered “son of a bitch” when I saw them.
It’s fine. I buttered him up with my pumpkin cream cheese waffles and a batch of apple pie snickerdoodles, since no Horny Heathers in this town are baking for my man ever again. Oh, and a blowjob at the kitchen table. That’s probably what tipped the scales in my direction, to be honest.
“Did I tell you I heard from your mom the other day?” I ask him as I wave to Steve Bishop, in line for his third Pumpkin Slap Shot of the evening. “They’re all officially coming here for Thanksgiving, including your brother and his wife.”
Ford just grunts in acknowledgement and then lets out a quiet curse, but I know he’s secretly happy merging our two families wasn’t as big of a nightmare as he thought. There’s still a little bit of a wall up with him when he’s talking to Finch, but he never hesitates to give his brother advice whenever he calls with questions about Prescott Lumber. And he only complained a little bit when I booked our trip to Oregon without telling him for Finch’s wedding a few months ago. Just like me with Ford, it’s going to take some time for him to fully trust his brother. Finch will just have to continue showing him he can.
