Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 52976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 265(@200wpm)___ 212(@250wpm)___ 177(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 265(@200wpm)___ 212(@250wpm)___ 177(@300wpm)
“I’m gonna … stay here and enjoy the candlelight a bit more with Byron. Can you leave through the door?” I clear my throat. “You know … so it just … feels like you’re any other guy, heading off to your car, and I can picture you burning rubber down the highway on your way back home to Nina?”
West understands completely. “Of course I can go out the door. How else does anyone leave a room, weirdo?” He nods at Byron. “Take care of him, hubby.” He pats me on the back, heads to the door, then stops. He turns and gazes meaningfully at me. “Don’t let that candle in your heart go out, bro. I’m always with you.”
It takes me a second.
I squint at him. “You heard? My conversation with Mrs. Shaheen? You were there at the wedding—?”
“The hell you talkin’ about?” He winks at me, then pats the doorframe. “Happy Halloween, losers.”
Westley leaves apartment 313 for the first time.
And the last.
His footsteps take him down the stairs, just like any other person, like he’s on his way out of the building for a night on the town.
I could almost believe it.
Maybe in time, I’ll believe it completely.
Byron’s arm slips around me. I gaze into his eyes. “I’m so glad you decided to come back, Byron. I’d be a mess right now if you didn’t.”
“I didn’t anticipate actually meeting your friend, if I’m being honest … but I’m really glad I did.” He kisses me on the nose in a silly way, which makes me smile as intended. “Ah, there it is.”
“What?”
“That smile I fell in love with the day I first served you a caramel latte in a cup with the wrong name on the side.” With his arm around me, he takes me back to the window. We enjoy the peace of the night sky for a while with the candlelight dancing on our faces.
Finally, I nod. “I’m ready.”
“On the count of three?” offers Byron softly.
“One …”
“Two …”
“Three.”
We blow the candle out.
7 Years Later.
-13-
Epilogue
“NO!”
I sigh, crouching in front of this adorable, petulant, messy-haired kid. “It’s just a sock.”
“NO!”
“Please. One sock. It’s a cute sock, too. Don’t you like the orange and black stripes?”
“I hate it!” He hugs his knees to his chest and turns away, shaking. “I’m not trick or treating! I won’t!”
I lean back on my heels with a sigh, all but giving up on this impossible task. Who knew putting socks on a child would be the thing that finally does me in?
It’s just my luck that my wonderful son, Weston Douglas James-Neal, would grow up to hate Halloween. He doesn’t only hold an abhorrent and incurable hatred for the holiday; he’s also terrified of it.
I frown. “Are you thinking about Casper today?”
“I don’t wanna go trick-or-treating! It’s stupid!”
Casper was our family dog. She was so sweet and loving. We had her even before Weston came into the world. But an unfortunate incident took her from us before her time—an incident that happened around Halloween just last year. As if Weston needed one more reason to hate the holiday—a holiday that happens to be a very important time of year for all of us—the passing of little adorable Casper hit him the hardest.
“Sweetheart,” I try yet again, “I know that, beyond all reason, you detest candy and treats and laughter. But your daddy Byron worked very hard on this costume, and it would break his heart if you don’t put it on.”
“I don’t care!” He hugs his knees even tighter and squeezes more into the corner.
I’m about to respond when I hear the soft sound of Byron’s voice at the bedroom door. “Sweetheart …?”
I set the socks on the nightstand, abandon the side of little Weston’s bed, and join my husband by the door. “He isn’t cooperating. I don’t think it’s our year.”
After a glance at Weston, Byron draws me into the hallway. “Maybe we shouldn’t push it. Last year …”
“Yeah, I know.”
“The way he screamed when we only tried taking him for a short walk to the Robinsons next-door …”
“I know, Miss Annemarie across the street thought we were trying to murder the kid.”
He rubs my arm. “He’ll be ready in his own time.”
I glance back at Weston, who has uncurled from his fetal position in the corner where his bed meets the wall, and now he seems to be playing with a game on his toy tablet, eyes still wet with unspilled tears.
I let out a defeated sigh. “I just don’t want Weston to miss out every year. Halloween is such an important time for all of us.”
“He won’t miss out.” Byron winks at me. “I’ve got a little idea.”
I quirk an eyebrow. “Does it involve candy corn? You know how I feel about candy corn.”
It just so happens Byron does have an idea. A short handful of minutes later, the three of us are cuddled on the couch watching a marathon of all Weston’s favorite cartoons. A bowl of caramel popcorn sits between us, which we all scoop greedy handfuls out of to enjoy. It’s like night and day, how just cartoons and a big bowl of popcorn can make everything better for Weston.