Chapter 22 – Rhiannon
Okay, so without a bucket, costume, or child, we look ridiculous trick-or-treating in the streets of Brookhaven, but that doesn’t stop us from trying. If anything, it makes me want to drag him along more.
Because when Cain turned those sad, little-boy green eyes on me earlier, dimple popping in his jaw, hair a mess, something inside me cracked open.
Maybe it was the tequila, or maybe it’s just being around him tonight and seeing a softer, less guarded version of the man that I keep running into, but when I suggested it, this big, stoic guy looked at me like I’d just offered him something he’d never been given before. He looked excited.
And a world without Halloweens isn’t a world at all.
I’m not sure what Leo was so afraid of. After our last shot I told him what we were going to go do and he tugged on my arm, leaned down, and whispered, “Don’t break his heart, Rhiannon.”
Since when did they become best friend? And why is Leo looking out for Cain and not me?
Maybe it’s because Leo knows I’m not the one who should be afraid here. Because somewhere between the lawsuits, the stolen boxers, and the tequila, this thing between us stopped being casual.
And despite that, I still have a guard on my heart. An urge to keep a little distance and not let him get too close. But looking at Cain’s smile, his big hand in mine as we walk the streets of my small-town, I’m not so sure Cain has that same guard in place on his anymore.
The first three times we ran into each other, I could blame it on fate. But the last few? That’s on him.
Driving to Brookhaven to return my wallet when he didn’t have to.
“Accidentally” crashing into my cleaning cart at a time of day when he’s never home.
Cain’s been finding me. Searching for me.
I squeeze his hand as we walk further down the sidewalk, toward the quiet suburbs that hug Brookhaven Lake.
The air smells like wet leaves and pumpkin.
Children dart between houses in superhero capes and fairy wings, their laughter echoing across the neighborhood.
Porch lights glow like stars, and bowls of candy wait on steps.
Every few minutes, someone from town stops to say hi to me, their smiles familiar and always a little bit pitying, too. It’s mostly old friends of my parents who still track us from a distance or are curious about the man that I’m walking with.
I would normally care. I’d normally try to be more private and avoid the small talk and memories. But the alcohol that’s buzzing in my veins has me bolder than usual.
“And how’s the thrift store doing, dear?” Mrs. Ethel asks when we pause outside her lawn display of inflatable ghosts and a witch taller than her porch. Her nephew helped her set it all up last week, and I know she’s proud of it. In a few weeks, she’ll break out the Rudolph and Santa’s sleigh.
I paste on a smile, not wanting Cain to see the truth behind it. “We’re doing well. Eden and Gabriel just restored a gorgeous antique dresser that we’re selling. You’ll have to come by the store to see it.”
She brightens. “Oh, I’d love to buy it if I could.”
And I know she means that, but I also know she can’t. None of them can. Money in this town is tight, and people here don’t replace furniture, they inherit it.
Our biggest sales lately have come from out-of-towners who pass through on their way to Hartford or New York City. It’s not enough to sustain us forever, and that conversation with Gabriel looms over me like a dark cloud I keep pretending isn’t there.
When we finally stop walking, I realize we’ve made it all the way to my house.
Cain glances at it, then back at me, smiling softly like he doesn’t want the night to end.
His face looks different here, in this small-town glow.
It’s lighter, somehow, more human. Like he’s let down his guard and isn’t thinking about work or his case load.
“I’m sorry I didn’t bring you your own candy bucket,” I tease.
He chuckles. “That’s okay. You’ll remember next time.”
Next time.
The words hit me hard. Because part of me knows that there shouldn’t be a next time. And another part of me selfishly wants there to be more Halloweens, Christmases, New Years and Valentine’s Days.
“Do you want to come in?” I ask before I can overthink it. “You’ve been drinking, and I’d hate for you to drive back right now.”
He doesn’t hesitate, nods and says, “Yeah. I’d like that.”
I open the front door of our home. “Gabriel’s working late in the city. Won’t be home until morning. And Eden’s spending the night at a friend’s so we’re all alone.”
“Okay.”
It’s quiet inside. The kind of silence that hums with possibility. For the first time, I feel awkward with him—this strange space between what we’ve been doing and what we’re about to do.
The air thickens. He stands close enough that I can feel his warmth, smell the faint trace of his cologne mixed with tequila and something that’s just always been him. How does someone go from being a complete stranger, one night stand, to feeling so familiar so quickly?
He tilts his head. “You want to show me your room?”
“Sure.”
I turn and lead him up the carpeted steps that Gabriel swears he’ll replace soon. The old wood creaks beneath our feet, and my pulse feels louder than our footsteps. At the top, I veer left towards my room, the only one that’s tucked down this side of the hall.
When I open the door, he pauses in the doorway, eyes moving slowly over everything.
The photos from high school. The trophies collecting dust. My psychology degree framed on the wall.
He walks closer, scanning it all like he’s trying to piece together who I was before he met me.
Who I am today and why I’m so bent on keeping distance between us.
He lingers on a photo of my parents and me propped up on a dresser. It was from my high school graduation a day filled with so much happiness. It’s a photo I’ll always cherish and one I feel angry that Eden never got to take.
“This is your parents?”
I swallow and nod. “Yes.”
“You look just like your mom.”
My eyes fill with tears that don’t fall.
Because the truth is, I’m not the same girl who won those awards or dreamed big with a crowd of friends around her.
I might still come off as carefree, easygoing, always ready with an opinion and a witty comeback, but something cracked after my parents died, and it never really healed. I just got better at masking it.
Call it loyalty. Or guilt. Or the need to hold everything together for my family. Maybe it’s all of it tangled up inside me. But whatever it is, it changed me permanently. And if Cain’s trying to figure what that is, he won’t find the answers in this room. He won’t find those answers anywhere.
His gaze lands on my laptop, still open on the bed, the glow of the unfinished post I was writing earlier lighting the screen.
He raises a brow, smirking faintly. “Benefits to orgasms?”
I shrug and smile. “Figured I might start incorporating some of my degree into the posts I’ve been making. Get away from the influencer stuff and attack the male species and their ability to deliver in the bedroom.”
His eyes darken, that quiet smile tugging at his mouth. “Yeah,” he murmurs, stepping closer. “Seems like you’ve been doing the research.”
“Afraid I’m going to get sued again if I don’t?” I joke.
He moves toward me. “No. But if you were, I’d defend you this time.”
My breath stills. He’s close enough now that I can feel the warmth of him and it hits me how long it’s been since the last time he kissed me. We may have been caught up in his penthouse earlier today, but he didn’t kiss me then. And I miss it.
“Why wouldn’t I just use Leo again?” I whisper, trying to sound unaffected even as my heart starts to sprint.
His hand finds my jaw, his thumb brushing my chin until my gaze lifts to meet his. “Because I’m the best,” he says quietly, like a promise, “and I’d do anything to protect you.”
Before I can respond, his mouth finds mine and he kisses me hard.
It’s not gentle, it’s everything we’ve been pretending not to want. A collision of all the things we’ve tried to bury and avoid. I fist his shirt in my hands, pulling him closer until the space between us is gone. His lips are rough and demanding, tasting of tequila and restraint finally snapped.
He guides me backward, and when my knees hit the edge of the bed, I sink down. He pauses for half a second, just long enough for our eyes to lock. There’s hunger there, sure, but something else too. Need. The kind of emotion that could ruin us if we let it.
He presses gently on my shoulders. “Lay back for me.” Then spreads my legs wide before standing up, leaving me laying there watching him. The thick bulge of his cock presses against his zipper as he rubs at his jaw, gazing at me.
“I thought you said you’d never dress up as a maid?”
“I wouldn’t. normally.”
His brows raise. “Did you do this for me?”
“I didn’t know you were coming tonight.”
A growl rolls through his chest, and I know what he’s thinking. I hadn’t thought about it, but I did put this on for him. I wore this because I was thinking about him when I picked out the costume and our discussion about role-playing. I wore this because I’m always thinking about him.
His hands move to my hips, brushing against the flimsy, polyester costume I’d barely managed to pull together. He unclips the little prop that came with it, a cheap plastic feather duster disguised as something I'd use at work.
He studies it for a beat and when his mouth curves into a wicked smile, I know Cain’s already imagined a better use for it.
My pulse stumbles.
He leans his face to my neck, inhales and then kisses there before moving lower, across my chest, down over the fabric that’s covering my stomach before he gets to the hem of the tiny one-piece.
His fingers trail the edge of my costume, and before I can even breathe, he's gripping it by the shoulders and sliding it downward until it pools at my feet.