It seemed like the whole of Willow Bay had gone straight from the café to the pubs. People spilled out across both pub gardens, down the grassy banks, and even mingled in the road between.

Annie wandered among them and was surprised to find that she didn’t feel at all like an outsider. As the light faded and the temperature dropped still further, the outside lights went on, chimineas were lit, and thick woolen blankets were passed around in abundance; these revelers were clearly too practiced to be cowed by little things like cold and dark.

Annie wended her way through the throng to where Gemma sat outside the Sunken Willow. Esme was wrapped in a blanket and dozing contentedly on Gemma’s lap. At her feet, the scene was mirrored as Lennox, also wrapped in a blanket with his hoodie pulled low over his face, sat reading a comic by torchlight while Podrick snoozed with his head resting on Lennox’s knees. The glow from the chiminea lit the scene. Maeve leaned forward in a striped deck chair, poking the fire with a stick and adding more logs as required. Samantha and Tom sat cross-legged on the grass with a blanket pulled tightly around the both of them. Annie pulled up a deck chair and tugged a blanket up over her chest. The warmth of the fire was welcome, and Annie found herself lulled into yawning by the flickering flames.

“I’ve been thinking,” Gemma began. “Maybe we should read something a bit ghosty for our next book club, you know, in honor of it being Halloween and all that.”

“I’m already halfway through Lady Audley’s Secret,” grumbled Maeve.

“It won’t be wasted,” Gemma reasoned. “We can do Lady Audley next time.”

“Said the vicar to the bishop,” Tom quipped.

“I’m not sure I’ll have time to read another book by then,” said Annie.

“I’m not talking about a whole book, just a couple or three short stories. Still by Victorian writers, so we’re keeping to theme. And anyway, the Victorians wrote the best ghost stories.”

As usual, Gemma’s enthusiasm was intoxicating.

“Will we even have time to get hold of the books?” Maeve pointed out, ever the one to bring Gemma’s natural boil down to a simmer.

Gemma grinned, maneuvering the sleeping Esme so that she could get to her bag, and pulled out three copies of a Victorian ghost stories anthology.

“I gave Sally hers down at the Nook earlier,” she said, handing out the books. “Happy Halloween!”

“Thank you, Gemma,” said Annie. “How much do I owe you?”

“They’re a gift,” Gemma replied. “I thought we could read three. They’re not overly long. I did some research and marked the pages of the ones I thought would be good.”