“That’s the spirit.” His grin made her laugh and long to kiss him. “Next year.”
He liked the sound of that, he realized. Next year, and the year after. A little dazed at the speed with which his thoughts were racing, he only studied her.
“Is something wrong?”
“No.” He smiled. “Everything’s just fine.”
“I have the prizes here.” Wanting to rest her legs, Natasha sat on the arm of a chair beside a lounging ghoul. “For the games and costumes.”
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“I told you I wanted to. This is my favorite.” She pulled out a skull, then flicking a switch, set it on the floor where it skimmed along, disemboded, its empty eyes blinking.
“Your favorite.” Tongue in cheek, Spence picked it up where it vibrated in his hand.
“Yes. Very gruesome.” She tilted her head. “Say ‘Alas, poor Yorick!’”
He only laughed and switched it off. Then he pulled down his mask. “‘O, that this too, too solid flesh would melt.’” She was chuckling when he came over and lifted her to her feet. “Give us a kiss.”
“No,” she decided after a moment. “You’re ugly.”
“Okay.” Obligingly he pushed the mask up again. “How about it?”
“Much worse.” Solemnly she slid the mask down again.
“Very funny.”
“No, but it seemed necessary.” Linking her arm with his, she studied the room. “I think you’ll have a hit.”
“We’ll have a hit,” he corrected. “You know Freddie’s crazy about you.”
“Yes.” Natasha gave him an easy smile. “It’s mutual.”
They heard the front door slam and a shout. “Speaking of Freddie.”
Children arrived first in trickles, then in a flood. When the clock struck six, the room was full of ballerinas and pirates, monsters and superheroes. The haunted house brought gasps and shrieks and shudders. No one was brave enough to make the tour alone, though many made it twice, then a third time. Occasionally a stalwart soul was courageous enough to poke a finger into the mummy or touch the vampire’s cape.
When the lights were switched on there were moans of disappointment and a few relieved sighs. Freddie, a life-size Raggedy Ann, tore open her belated birthday presents with abandon.
“You’re a very good father,” Natasha murmured.
“Thanks.” He linked his fingers with hers, no longer questioning why it should be so right for them to stand together and watch over his daughter’s party. “Why?”
“Because you haven’t once retreated for aspirin, and you hardly winced when Mikey spilled punch on your rug.”
“That’s because I have to save my strength for when Vera sees it.” Spence dodged, in time to avoid collision with a fairy princess being chased by a goblin. There were squeals from every corner of the room, punctuated by the crashing and moaning of the novelty record on the stereo. “As for the aspirin… How long can they keep this up?”
“Oh, a lot longer than we can.”
“You’re such a comfort.”
“We’ll have them play games now. You’ll be surprised how quickly two hours can pass.”
She was right. By the time the numbered noses had all been stuck in the vicinity of the pumpkin head, when musical chairs was only a fond memory, after the costume parade and judging, when the last apple bobbed alone and the final clothespin had clunked into a mason jar, parents began to trail in to gather up their reluctant Frankensteins and ghoulies. But the fun wasn’t over.
In groups and clutches, trick-or-treaters canvassed the neighborhood for candy bars and caramel apples. The wind-rushed night and crackling leaves were things they would remember long after the last chocolate drop had been consumed.
It was nearly ten before Spence managed to tuck an exhausted and thrilled Freddie into bed. “It was the best birthday I ever had,” she told him. “I’m glad I got the chicken pox.”
Spence rubbed a finger over a smeared orange freckle the cold cream had missed. “I don’t know if I’d go that far, but I’m glad you had fun.”
“Can I have—?”
“No.” He kissed her nose. “If you eat one more piece of candy you’ll blow up.”
She giggled, and because she was too tired to try any strategy, snuggled into her pillow. Memories were already swirling in her head. “Next year I want to be a gypsy like Tash. Okay?”
“Sure. Go to sleep now. I’m going to take Natasha home, but Vera’s here.”
“Are you going to marry Tash soon, so she can stay with us?”
Spence opened his mouth, then closed it again as Freddie yawned hugely. “Where do you get these ideas?” he muttered.
“How long does it take to get a baby sister?” she asked as she drifted off.
Spence rubbed a hand over his face, grateful that she had fallen asleep and saved him from answering.
Downstairs he found Natasha cleaning up the worst of the mess. She flicked back her hair as he came in. “When it looks as bad as this, you know you’ve had a successful party.” Something in his expression had her narrowing her eyes. “Is something wrong?”
“No. No, it’s Freddie.”
“She has a tummy ache,” Natasha said, instantly sympathetic.
“Not yet.” He shrugged it off with a half laugh. “She always manages to surprise me. Don’t,” he said and took the trash bag from her. “You’ve done enough.”
“I don’t mind.”
“I know.”
Before he could take her hand, she linked her own. “I should be going. Tomorrow’s Saturday—our busiest day.”
He wondered what it would be like if they could simply walk upstairs together, into his bedroom. Into his bed. “I’ll take you home.”
“That’s all right. You don’t have to.”
“I’d like to.” The tension was back. Their eyes met, and he understood that she felt it as well. “Are you tired?”
“No.” It was time for some truths, she knew. He had done what she’d asked and been only Freddie’s father during the party. Now the party was over. But not the night.
