Chapter 13 PSL Ever After
psl ever after
. . .
Edward
Istood near the edge of the crowd, sipping spiked cider from a plastic cup that had seen better days, surveying the Halloween party with the detached amusement of someone who'd seen too many social gatherings to be impressed by their pageantry.
But this one, I had to admit, had a certain charm.
The fog machines pumped mist across the dance floor, jack-o'-lanterns flickered on every available surface, and the DJ was playing some unholy remix of Monster Mash that had the younger crowd losing their minds.
It was ridiculous. Chaotic. Perfectly small-town.
And I was thoroughly enjoying myself.
“You look smug,” Richard said, appearing beside me with his own cup. He'd dressed as a vampire, though the costume consisted primarily of plastic fangs from the dollar store and his usual flannel. The fangs were slightly crooked, giving him more of a confused Dracula vibe than a menacing one.
“I'm not smug. I'm satisfied.” I gestured toward the café booth where Derek and Miles were stationed, both dressed in matching barista devil costumes.
Complete with red horns, tail attachments clipped to their aprons, and what looked like an irresponsible amount of glitter. “Look at them. They're disgusting.”
“Completely disgusting,” Richard agreed, but he was smiling. “Your son keeps whispering things that make Miles turn red.”
“Miles keeps touching Derek's arm every time he laughs. It's nauseatingly sweet.”
“Think they know everyone's watching?”
“Oh, they absolutely know. They're putting on a show.” I took another sip of cider, watching Derek lean in to say something that made Miles duck his head, grinning. “But I don't think they're faking it. That's real happiness. The kind you can't manufacture.”
Richard was quiet for a moment, and when I glanced over, he was studying me with that expression he got sometimes.
“You're proud of him,” he said. Not a question. An observation.
“Of course I'm proud. He built something real. Found someone who makes him genuinely happy. Stopped trying to be what he thought he should be and started being who he actually is.” I paused. “Though I could do without the matching costumes. That's taking couple behavior a bit far.”
“Says the man wearing a velvet cape to a small-town Halloween party.”
“This is a statement piece. There's a difference between making an entrance and coordinating outfits like you're in a themed engagement photo.”
“If you say so.”
We stood in companionable silence, watching the party unfold around us.
Lila was on the dance floor with Sasha, both of them laughing so hard they could barely stay upright.
The festival committee members clustered near the refreshment table, already gossiping about who'd arrived with whom.
And scattered throughout were dozens of people I'd come to know over the past few months, faces that had become familiar through coffee shop visits and festival planning meetings and the general intimacy of small-town life.
I'd forgotten what this felt like. Community. Belonging. The sense that you were part of something larger than yourself.
Or maybe I'd never really known it in the first place. My life in Boston had been all sharp edges and corporate ambition, networking events where everyone smiled with their teeth and meant none of it. This was different. Messier. More genuine.
Better.
“You know,” Richard said, still watching the crowd, “when Miles first told me about Derek, I thought it was going to be a disaster. The rivalry, the competition, all that tension. I figured they'd either kill each other or burn out fast once the novelty wore off.”
“And now?”
“Now I think they might actually make it. They balance each other. Miles pulls Derek out of his head, Derek grounds Miles when he spirals. It works.” He glanced at me. “You called it from the beginning. I remember you saying something about how their arguing was just foreplay in disguise.”
“I have a gift for reading people.”
“You have a gift for meddling.”
“Same thing.”
Richard laughed, and the sound made something warm bloom in my chest. I'd heard him laugh more in the past few months than I probably had in all our years at college combined.
Back then, he'd been quieter, more guarded.
Life had worn him down, grief and responsibility turning him serious before his time.
But lately, he'd been lighter. More himself.
I liked to think I'd played some small role in that.
“You started this whole mess,” Richard said, echoing my thoughts. “Encouraging them, pushing them together. If they'd ended up hating each other, it would've been your fault.”
“But they didn't. So I'm taking full credit for their happiness.”
“That's not how that works.”
“It absolutely is. I merely added spice to an already simmering situation.” I finished my cider, setting the empty cup on a nearby table. “They would've figured it out eventually. I just accelerated the timeline. Saved them months of stubborn denial and sexual tension.”
“You're impossible.”
“You love it.”
He didn't argue, which was answer enough.
The party continued around us, the music shifting to something slower, more romantic.
A few couples drifted onto the dance floor, swaying together under the orange lights.
I watched Derek pull Miles into his arms, both of them laughing as they attempted to dance despite clearly having no idea what they were doing.
Miles stepped on Derek's foot, Derek retaliated by spinning him too fast, and they nearly crashed into another couple before dissolving into laughter.
They were a disaster. And they were perfect.
“Want to get out of here?” Richard asked quietly.
I looked at him, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his tone. He was watching me with that same steady intensity, the one that made me feel seen in a way I hadn't experienced in years.
“And go where?” I asked, keeping my voice light.
“Anywhere that's not here. Somewhere quieter. Less crowded.” He paused. “My place. Your place. I don't care. I just want to be somewhere I can actually hear you without competing with a fog machine and a DJ who thinks volume equals quality.”
Something in my chest tightened. This thing between us had been building for a while now, slow and careful and achingly deliberate. We'd been taking our time, both of us too old and too scarred by past relationships to rush into something without being sure.
But I was sure. Had been for a while now.
“My place,” I said. “It's closer. And I have significantly better wine than whatever they're serving here.”
Richard's smile was slow and warm. “Lead the way.”
We slipped out of the pavilion, the noise and light fading behind us as we stepped into the quiet night. The street was lined with jack-o'-lanterns, their carved faces flickering in the darkness, and the air smelled like woodsmoke and fallen leaves and the promise of winter not far behind.
Richard took my hand as we walked, his palm warm and rough with calluses.
I laced our fingers together, feeling the solid weight of him beside me, and allowed myself to just exist in this moment.
No performance. No carefully crafted facade.
Just me and Richard and the comfortable silence between us.
“Nice cape, by the way,” Richard said after a few minutes. “Very dramatic.”
“It's velvet. From an antique store in Boston. Cost more than it should have, but I couldn't resist.”
“Of course you couldn't.”
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“It means you're extra. In the best way.” He squeezed my hand. “You walked into this town wearing designer shoes to a pumpkin festival. You order wine at dive bars. You probably iron your pajamas.”
“I do not iron my pajamas.”
“Do you own pajamas? Or do you sleep in, like, silk robes and Italian sheets?”
“Egyptian cotton, actually. And there's nothing wrong with having standards.”
“Never said there was.” Richard pulled me closer, his arm sliding around my waist. “I like that you're extra. Makes life more interesting.”
“I like that you're not. Makes me feel less ridiculous by comparison.”
“You are ridiculous. But that's part of your charm.”
We reached my townhouse, and I unlocked the door, ushering Richard inside. The interior was warm, the heating system having kicked on at some point during the day. Soft light spilled from the lamps I'd left on, and the whole place smelled faintly of the coffee beans I'd ground that morning.
Richard shed his jacket, draping it over the back of the couch, and I moved to the kitchen to pour wine. When I returned, he was standing at the window, looking out at the festival in the distance. Fireworks were starting, orange and gold bursts lighting up the night sky.
“Beautiful,” he said.
“Yes.” But I wasn't looking at the fireworks.
He turned, catching me staring, and his expression softened. “Come here.”
I crossed to him, handing him a glass before settling beside him at the window. We stood in comfortable silence, watching the fireworks paint the sky, and I felt that same sense of contentment that had been building all evening.
This was right. This was exactly where I was supposed to be.
“I never thought I'd have this again,” Richard said quietly. “After my wife died, I figured that part of my life was over. That I'd had my chance at happiness and it was gone. But then I met you, and suddenly everything felt possible again.”
My throat tightened. “Richard—”
“Let me finish.” He set down his wine glass, turning to face me fully. “I know we've been taking this slow. Being careful. Making sure it's real before we commit to anything. And I appreciate that. I needed that. But Edward, I'm ready. I'm all in. If you are.”