Dating Tara was easy, in a lot of ways. They had their agreement: they lived their separate lives and showed up for the other as needed. The sex was good, if not world-changing, and the company was pleasant. Miriam could travel to her friends’ shops all over the country, shut herself in the workshop with podcasts for three days, spend the weekend with Cole, and Tara never asked for specifics. Miriam played the interesting trophy fiancée, a part she’d been groomed for all her life, and got to use that training for good instead of evil, which was a nice fuck-you to her dad. She had the financial backing to build a career for herself, and a place to land if it didn’t launch.

Maybe Tara never said, “I miss you,” but she often asked, “Do you need anything?” She liked Tara precisely because she knew she would never be in danger of falling in love with her. Out here in the quiet Carrigan’s night she could almost hear Cass’s voice, telling her that was baloney and to get it together. Cass believed in love writ larger than life, which was rarely comfortable, it seemed to Miriam.

Maybe she’d been comfortable for too long.

In the old days, Halloween at Carrigan’s had been a three-day masquerade extravaganza culminating in the opening of the festival, and the Carrigan’s season, on November 1. Guests would stream in for the start of the revelry, and leave with a tree and a hangover on All Souls’ Day. This year, none of the staff was ready to do the event without Cass. Instead, on Halloween day they made sure every last item was in place for the festival tomorrow.

And that night, they put on animal footie pajamas, opened giant bags of miniature chocolates into a bowl, and talked about what they wanted to do for Halloween next year.

If there was a Carrigan’s next year. There was going to be. Miriam was going to make sure of it, so that she could say, “Next year at Carrigan’s,” and mean it.

“What if you had a spooky burlesque show?” Miriam asked, lying upside down on the sectional on the landing, her legs over the back and her hair hanging over the seat. “Or one of those trunk-or-treat events that churches hold, but for adults.” She waved the candy bar in her hand, thinking about the possibilities. “There could be hard cider from local breweries, and we could put a screen up on the inside of the barn and project horror movies, or The Rocky Horror Picture Show. It would be such a great way to connect with other merchants—” She cut herself off when she saw Noelle and Hannah staring at her.

Noelle took the bowl of candy away. “I think you’re drunk on Butterfingers,” she chided playfully.