Chapter 13
The Trunk-or-Treat flyer from the elementary school mocks me from where I tossed it on my nightstand. Even in the sleep-darkened bedroom, I can see it perfectly.
A flurry of emotions fight for dominance and I’m too tired to sort through them tonight. Everly sleeps beside me, in full starfish position—her M.O.
If I toss and turn any more, she’ll wake up and then everyone will have a horrible day because when Everly’s cranky, you either hide, or end up right down in the pits with her.
I don’t have the option to hide from my six-year-old, and I’d rather not be a raging bitch today, so I get out of bed without ruffling the blankets, and tip toe from our quiet room.
I’m still not used to having a smartphone. The thing stresses me out more than it helps me, so I didn’t bother grabbing it on my way. I pad down the hall planning to make a cup of herbal tea when I stifle a scream.
“Oh my god, Greyson. You scared me,” I whisper, heart hammering like I’ve run a mile.
He doesn’t apologize. It’s not in his nature, and it’s his house. He can sit in the dark like a creeper if he wants to.
“Couldn’t sleep?” His deep voice is gritty from exhaustion.
I shake my head and sit at the opposite end of the sectional from his broad frame.
It’s so seldom I’ve seen him casual. He typically wears a standard uniform of Wranglers, work boots at the store, cowboy boots at the ranch, and a white T-shirt under some variation of button up flannel. And a cowboy hat if I’m lucky.
As if he wasn’t already the walking embodiment of my most tortuous fantasies, he always rolls the sleeves of his damn flannel up his forearms. Is forearm porn a thing? Forearm foreplay? Forearm kink?
The jury is still out, but my vote is yes. Yes. Yes. Yes.
But tonight is a sight I’ve only seen once or twice. Greyson in sweats. Thank god it’s dark because my heating face is a dead giveaway for how his physique affects me. Same type of white cotton T-shirt, but with grey sweatpants and bare feet.
Why is that the tipping point from hot to unbearably sexy? A barefoot Greyson scandalizes me like women flashing their ankles in the 1800s.
“Wanna talk about it?” he rumbles in the dark room, illuminated only by moonlight filtering in from the curtains and the hallway nightlight for the girls.
Strangely, I do want to talk about it. It’s something I’ve never told a soul.
We sit in comfortable silence as I gather my words and steel myself to let them free.
“Halloween was me and Charlie’s favorite holiday.
We didn’t have a shiny happy family, so it made sense we didn’t have shiny happy holidays.
Our parents rarely made any effort for Christmas, or even birthdays.
” I pause, chewing on the inside of my lips, wading through the sludge of disappointment that was my childhood.
“Halloween was a night we could blend into whatever new town our parents had dragged us to. Concealed beneath costumes, we could be whatever we wanted to be.”
My mind flips through the years of costumes like a photo album, making me ache for my sister, but also grateful for having the time together we did.
“What did you dress up as?” Greyson asks, surprising me with his contribution to the conversation.
He’s more of a “how quickly can I end this interaction,” type of person than a “how can I keep this conversation flowing,” type of person.
“Mom was always cycling her wardrobe and was oblivious when we’d pilfer items from her discard piles.
Over the year, we’d grab clothes that by October, we could turn into our costumes.
” A chuckle escapes me, unbidden. “Thank god for home economics.
We both took to arts and crafts like fish to water.
Sewing was no issue for us, even at a young age.
“Some years we did coordinating costumes like cats, princesses, or ghosts. Other years, either because of materials on-hand, or differing ideas, we’d make them in secret and surprise each other with a big reveal the day of.” My repressed joy is bubbling up like a fizzy soda, as I giggle.
“One year, she dressed up as a WWE wrestler, and I dressed up as a superhero, and we looked nearly identical. Complete with underwear on the outside of our pants and horrendous masks.”
Greyson’s smile stuns me from across the small room. He catches me, witnessing him not being his stoic-self, and lets his smile slowly drop, but it remains in the twinkle of his eyes.
“Anyway, the girls came home from school with their Friday folders, each with a flyer for Trunk-or-Treat at the high school.”
Snow and frigid temperatures on Hallows Eve are nearly guaranteed, and my heart initially warmed that the kids would still get to trick-or-treat regardless of weather.
“Immediately after getting in the car, they were prattling off costume ideas. That’s when it hit me square in the chest.” I tuck my legs under me and wrap my arms around myself in an attempt to turtle for protection.
“I never forget my sister’s gone. Some days, it’s a dull throb without sharp edges. But other days, like today, her absence feels like a vital piece of me has been carved out with a jagged knife. The pain is all-consuming and impossible to push down.”
“You don’t have to go. Liv usually comes along with me and Harper. We could take Everly, if you’re comfortable with it,” Greyson offers.
Letting Everly out of my sight, especially on a night of tricks and hidden identities is unfathomable.
“I’ll be there,” I say too quickly.
Greyson nods slowly.
“I’m going to make Everly’s costume, like I do every year, and was fretting over asking you if Harper might like me to make one for her? I don’t want to overstep or take away any traditions you have with her.”
His huff isn’t much of a laugh, more an exhalation of something painful.
“I’m not a fun dad. The only reason Harper has such incredible holiday memories is because of my sister and the Andersens. Liv or Cecelia usually takes her to Steamboat Springs to a pop-up costume shop to pick out some polyester character costume.”
The fact that Harper has years filled with joyful memories warms my heart.
I know I’m hard on myself as a mother, but Greyson takes parental guilt to another level.
I don’t understand why he considers himself to be an inadequate father when what I’ve witnessed is unconditional, tireless love for his daughter.
Any child would be blessed to have Greyson Clark as their dad.
“I’m…blown away you want to include Harper and put in all that time and effort for her to have a handmade costume.” He scowls at me, which makes me smile.
“I’d really love to, if it’s something she wants.”
Just offering has lightened the grief crushing my chest.
“Why don’t you ask her tomorrow? I’m happy so long as she’s happy, but I’d bet my last dollar she says yes.”
He stands from the couch, stretching thick arms over his head revealing a strip of taut abdomen. If the room was fully lit, he’d be able to see the way my eyes are lolling out of my head.
Greyson just stands there for a minute, like he wants to say something. His eyes flit down to meet mine in the shadowed room, gleaming with something I can’t describe but sends butterflies aloft in my stomach.
“G’night, Mia,” he says into the darkness as he retreats down the hall.
Once my heart rate and breathing return to normal, I float to my bedroom and slide back into bed with my little munchkin.
I don’t know how, but I got a part of myself back tonight. A part of me that’s been long dead and buried beneath years of grief and self-preservation.
Sleep still eludes me, but instead of turmoil, I’m kept awake by a fireworks show of costume ideas.
By dawn, I’m ready to make this the best Halloween Everly and Harper have ever had.
“You made these?” Izzy’s fingers dance over Everly’s costume.
“They’re incredible!” Delilah gushes, admiring Harper’s.
“I’ll pay you to make me one next year.” Izzy’s spark of excitement gives me hope that I might be around next year.
“Oh, me too! Ooo! We could go as a group! What could we do as four girls?” Livy says a mile a minute.
“Do you think Quincy would come?” Delilah asks.
“Who’s Quincy?” My question surprises me.
I never interject or pry for information, especially not with people I barely know. Faces drop and eyes soften. It’s Izzy who answers.
“I think you might’ve heard that James and Reid’s younger brother, Sam, died a couple years ago.” I nod, Greyson told me himself.
“Quincy’s his wife. Well, his widow,” Izzy hedges, uncomfortable with the slip up.
My marriage is the farthest thing from perfect, but had I been in love, I’d be devastated to lose my partner.
“She’s also Connor’s older sister. She doesn’t come around much anymore. Not that we blame her. Connor and I try to include her as often as she’ll allow, but it’s a challenge. Who knows, maybe in a year’s time, she might be ready,” Delilah says hopefully.
“We can workshop it. Start thinking of ideas for girl-group costumes for the four of us, hopefully five,” Livy says. Nods and cheerful agreements float through the room.
We’ve gathered at Lucky Spurs Ranch to get ready for Trunk-or-Treat. Cecelia went all out; I’ve never seen a spread like this. If they celebrate Halloween this grandly, I can’t wait to see an Andersen Christmas.
Not that we’re automatically invited. Maybe we won’t be invited at all. That’s two months from now, a lot can happen between now and then. Even if it’s just the two of us, it’ll be the best Christmas Everly’s ever had.
The formal dining room is adorably spooky, with fake spider webs draped everywhere, complete with plastic spiders that had the little girls screeching. The lights are dimmed, false candles flickering from the sconces.
Monster Mash plays softly from a hidden speaker, and the table is plum-full of Halloween-themed appetizers and treats.
The girls were too excited to sit down for a meal, so grab-and-go is the best option. They can scamper around the house, grab a mini hotdog mummy, a skewer of grape eyeballs, a banana ghost or pumpkin shaped mini pizza, and keep playing.
“Mia, the costumes you made are remarkable! You have a real talent, sweetheart.”
Cecelia’s praise heats my cheeks, but I relish the positive reinforcement. When you don’t get much attention, let alone positive attention growing up, it’s a rush to get a compliment.
“Thank you, I had fun making them. Their ideas were unique but not particularly challenging, so I had extra time to go a little crazy with details.”
“Well, you did a great job.” Cecelia pats my arm with a beaming smile and steps out to check on the boys in the den.
“Girls!” I holler down the hall, knowing they’ve holed up in Harper’s bedroom here. “Time to get dressed!”
We need to leave for the high school soon, and didn’t want them getting food all over their costumes, so a last-minute wardrobe change works well.
They bound down the hall, talking and squealing, bursting with excitement.
“Harper, do you want me to get Cecelia or one of your aunties to help you get dressed?”
“Can you help me?” she asks, eyes glimmering with hope.
I’ve fallen in love with this raven-haired little girl. How any mother could abandon her is unfathomable. I know I’ve become too attached, far too quickly, but I can’t help it. This child needs a mother, and the mother in me can’t help but nurture her.
“Of course. Let’s get you little monsters ready to trick-or-treat.”
Greyson and I walk a few paces behind our daughters as they bounce between classrooms gathering enough candy to rot the teeth from their heads.
“Thank you.” I barely hear him over the din of noise in the hallway.
“Hmm?”
“Thank you, for making Harper’s costume. She’ll remember this Halloween for the rest of her life, and it’s all thanks to you.”
Greyson’s compliment and thanks burn me from the inside out. The depths to which I’d go to please this man can’t be healthy.
“You’re very welcome. It was my pleasure. It’s not every day I get asked to make a dress for a unicorn-pirate-queen.”
I despised being a homemaker for Carter. His exacting standards were ever-changing, as if to give him reason to punish me.
But with Greyson, I find great joy and satisfaction making sure he has a clean space to come home to, that everyone’s bellies are full, and that he can focus on work and being a great dad, without the added stressors of domestic life. And that includes making his daughter happy.
The note in my pocket burns through the worn cotton of my jeans. He left it for me this morning, as usual. But this one was different.
Dinner at the ranch. Relax today, you’ve busted your ass. Steal some candy after they go to bed.
This message is more personal, somehow. In my affection-deprived brain, it’s almost flirtatious.
But my heart or my head either don’t know the difference between kindness and flirtation, or don’t care.
More and more often, I find myself combing through the “ifs” of my situation.
If I never married Carter, I wouldn’t have Everly.
If Carter hadn’t mistreated me, I would’ve never left.
If I never left, I never would’ve met Greyson.
If I wasn’t married anymore, would Greyson look at me differently?
If I wasn’t Greyson’s employee, would he be interested in me?
If he’s as attracted to me as I am to him, could we join our families and build a life together?
That’s the “if” that always gets me. Stops me in my mental-tracks. Dreams are just that, dreams. Wanting something badly enough doesn’t make it possible or happen.
So, I settle for moments like this, where he speaks to me as a human, not as his nanny or any other person. I collect morsels of kindness from this man and store them away for when I need a little bit of sun on a stormy day.
Having a unicorn-pirate-queen walking beside my little glitter ninja, is the cherry on top.
Everly’s been obsessed with ninjas for going on two years.
She was a ninja last year too, and I asked her repeatedly if she was sure she wanted to be one again.
She insisted she has to keep working to become the best ninja.
I suppose she needs the practice because she’s literally the least stealthy ninja of all time.
Greyson’s shoulder brushes mine, one or both of us having inched closer to the other, but neither of us move away. Each tiny brush sends crackles of electricity along my skin.
Neglected. Grieving. Married to a monster. Crushing on my employer.
Way to go, Mia. You’ve really got your shit together.