Chapter Eight | Gus #2
By noon, word had begun to spread. First Edna Snowcroft from The Purrfect Cup, who'd always had a soft spot for the inn and immediately offered to bring coffee and pastries for the workers.
Then her business partner Piper, who knew someone with a costume rental business in the next town over—her cousin who'd love the publicity.
The local bakery owner. The bookshop proprietor.
It wasn't the whole town—but it was enough.
Each person who showed up brought something—decorations, helping hands, word-of-mouth that rippled outward.
Edna arrived with boxes of battery-operated candles she'd been storing for the café's own Halloween event. "For atmosphere," she declared, then promptly started arranging them throughout the space while Mozart, one of her cats, supervised from a carrier.
The teenage barista from The Purrfect Cup showed up with her entire friend group, all eager to help transform the space.
Sam stood in the middle of it all, directing traffic with her phone in one hand and clipboard in the other, but I could see the wonder breaking through her focus.
This kind of community support—people helping just because they could—was clearly foreign to her big-city world of contracts and invoices. I knew the feeling.
"Where do you want these?" Cass appeared with an armful of elaborate masks he'd somehow procured.
"Oh, those are perfect!" Sam's face lit up. "We can hand them out at the entrance for anyone who doesn't have a costume."
Stormi wandered through in a daze, still in her pajamas. Sam intercepted her, guiding her to a quiet corner.
"I know this is a shock," I heard Sam say gently. "But you're free now. You don't have to pretend to be happy for them."
"Blaze is passed out in his room," Stormi said numbly. "Diana had to give him the news three times before he understood. He kept saying 'But the wedding is today' over and over."
"He'll be okay. You both will. And tonight, you're going to put on an amazing costume and dance and start a brand-new chapter."
Stormi managed a weak smile. "My sister is such a bitch sometimes."
"Sometimes," Sam agreed, which made Stormi actually laugh.
Meanwhile, Diana was in her element, directing Tony to capture every minute of the transformation. "This is better than the wedding would have been," she kept saying giddily. "The phoenix rising from the ashes! The show must go on! America will eat this shit up with a spoon!"
At three o'clock, Sam found me in the kitchen, both of us taking our first break in hours.
"I can't believe we're pulling this off," she breathed, leaning against the counter beside me.
"I can. You're incredible."
She turned to look at me, and for a heartbeat, the noise faded. "Gus—"
"Chef, where do you want the ice sculpture?" Jake called, because apparently someone had donated an ice sculpture.
"Of course there's an ice sculpture," Sam laughed. "Because why not?"
"Put it by the bar," I called back, then turned to Sam. "You need to get ready. Party starts in an hour."
"So do you. Actually—" She bit her lip. "Piper's cousin is bringing a van full of costume options—should be here within the hour. There'll be a whole rack in the parlor. Pick whatever you want, but choose something good. I want to dance with you tonight."
By 4 PM—the original ceremony time—the inn had been completely reimagined.
The garden gazebo, lit with hundreds of fairy lights and surrounded by luminarias, became a romantic seating area.
The dining room was cleared for dancing, with the DJ station where the head table would have been.
Food stations lined the walls, each one more elaborate than the last. The entire space glowed with candlelight and autumn colors, sophisticated but fun.
And people were arriving. Not just the original wedding guests, who'd been informed of the change, but locals in their Halloween finest. Mayor Theodore Snowcroft showed up dressed as Dracula with Edna as his vampire bride.
Piper wore elaborate cat ears that matched her café's theme.
Even the bookshop owner had thrown on a wizard's hat.
I stood at the kitchen door in my costume—Clark Kent, complete with thick-rimmed glasses and a button-down shirt strategically opened to show the Superman S underneath.
I'd grabbed it from the rack, figuring it was easy enough—glasses and a partially unbuttoned shirt revealing the iconic symbol.
Plus, something about being the mild-mannered guy who saves the day felt appropriate given the circumstances.
Then I saw her, and my mind went blank.
She floated down the stairs in full Glinda the Good Witch glory—a shimmering pink ballgown that caught the light, a crown that sparkled in her hair, and a wand held high like she truly could grant wishes. But it was her smile that stopped my heart. Radiant. Confident. Victorious.
She'd taken disaster and spun it into magic.
The party exploded to life. Tony trained his camera on Stormi—dressed as Maleficent and looking fierce—dancing with a local guy dressed as a knight.
Blaze had somehow rallied after three cups of coffee and a cold shower, thrown on a cowboy hat that technically counted as a costume, and was regaling the high school football coach with slurred stories of his NFL days.
"You should've seen me, man," Blaze swayed, gripping the man's shoulder. "Fourth quarter, down by six, fifty yards to glory—"
"Sure, son," the coach said patiently, steering him toward a chair. "Let's get you some water."
The TV crew was ecstatic, capturing shots of the crowd, the food, the absolute success of the evening.
At one point, the chocolate fountain malfunctioned, sending a geyser of chocolate toward the ceiling—but even that just added to the charm, guests laughing and applauding as Jake and I frantically shut it down.
But I only had eyes for Sam.
She worked the room, putting out small fires, making sure the party ran smoothly.
"You're staring," she said, appearing beside me with two glasses of champagne.
"Just admiring my handiwork."
"Your handiwork?" She raised an eyebrow.
"I fed you. Kept you functional. This is basically my party."
She laughed. "God, you're arrogant."
"You like it."
"Maybe." She clinked her glass against mine. "The network’s thrilled. Already planning their Emmy speeches apparently."
"And you?"
"My phone hasn't stopped buzzing. Three inquiries already from people who want someone who can 'handle anything.'" She shook her head. "Turns out disaster management is a selling point."
"Sam! We need you for a toast!" Rory called from across the room.
Sam sighed. "I should go do that."
"Yeah."
She hesitated, then leaned in close. "Find me later?"
"Count on it."
I watched her head toward the makeshift stage area, champagne in hand. The way she moved through the crowd of revelers, confident in her element—I was in deeper than I'd planned.
The smart thing would be to let her go tomorrow. To chalk this up to a wild week neither of us had expected. But as she raised her glass to toast the crowd, catching my eye, I knew I wasn't going to be smart about this.
Hell, not even close.