I stare up at Jamie, knowing I haven’t said the words. That I love you knots in my throat every time it’s about to come out. It’s that final step, something that I’m ridiculously frightened will backfire the moment I speak it into existence.

But each day that’s passed since I told Jamie with my body how much he means to me, in every way but those exact words, I despise myself a little more. I feel like even more of a coward. What’s the point in fearing what I know is true? Of harboring some baseless suspicion that when I say it, the truth will somehow be compromised?

I love Jamie. I love him in a way I have never loved anything or anyone in my life. Not more than my sisters or my tiny pet or my parents, but differently, deeply, right down to my bones.

And tonight, while tiny witches and ghosts, warriors and dragons and pumpkins, have stopped and balked at me, then warmed to him the second he pushed up his knightly visor and smiled, I knew I was going to say it.

Glancing up at Jamie, while kids shriek in delight as they sprint down the street, costumes trailing behind them, I know I’m going to say it right now.

“ ’Scuse me!” a kid voice yells, shattering the moment.

Goddammit.

“Happy Halloween,” I grumble, holding out the bowl.

“Be nice,” Jamie chides.

The kid, dressed as an old-school Power Ranger, rifles around in the bowl and frowns. “Where are all the Milky Ways?”

“Huh.” I shake the bowl. “Who knows. Guess they’re popular with the kids. You’re a little late to the game, my friend. You know the saying, ‘The early bird gets the worm!’ ”

He scowls at me, takes a handful of candy, and shoves it in his pillowcase.

“Kids these days,” I mutter as he stalks off, pulling a fresh Milky Way from my pocket. “No gratitude.”

Jamie belly laughs, adjusting his homemade knight’s visor so it’s up off his face. “I can’t believe you. Depriving children of their beloved Halloween candy.”

“You’re the one lecturing me about how America’s youth eat too much sugar!”

Reaching past me, Jamie plucks a Snickers from the bowl, tears off the wrapper, then pops it in his mouth. “Fair point, Miss Crabby.”

“I’m not crabby.” I nip him with my pincer. “I’m hormonal. And I have better boundaries with little people. You’re a sucker for them, so I balance you out.”

Jamie clasps the pincer and stares down at me. “Bea?”

I pause with a Milky Way halfway to my mouth, then lower it. Oh God. Is this it? Is he beating me to the punch?

“Yes, Jamie?”

He leans in, gently lifting the crab antenna that’s flopped in my eyes. “Do you remember when we texted, before we knew who the other person was?”