“I’m sorry, you guys know him?” Kira shout-asked, still watching Natan’s retreating height as she made her way to us through the crowd, her arms full of bags of broken but still delicious ghost and jack-o’-lantern cookies.

“Salishwood,” I sighed.

“Someone needs to tell that girl to never go with a hippie to a second location.”

Sean shivered. “I feel like I need a shower.”

“Thanks for taking the bullet for me,” I said.

“Of course. He’s so gross. I’m sorry I didn’t…I don’t know, punch him in his vape hole?”

“We can’t resort to violence,” I said. “Sadly. Jane would side with him, and we’d get fired. But I appreciate the sentiment, and I would happily join you in the endeavor.”

“Me too,” Kira said, and took over tattoo duty, drawing on the kids with markers—This is art!—and I sat beside Sean, wishing so badly I could hold his hand under the table.

When the moon was high and the candy-hyper kids were gone, the three of us walked home on the waterfront along the docks, sailboats bobbing in the harbor.

“Elliot said he was going to come by,” Kira sighed. “Guess he was busy with Tiana. Or Katrina. Or both.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said. “That’s stupid. He’s stupid if he’s with her.”

“He’s not dating either one of them,” Sean said.

Kira and I stopped walking.

“He’s not?” Kira’s voice lit with hope.

Sean shrugged. “Don’t think so. People tend to tell me gossip like that. I would have remembered. Why don’t you ask him out? You could be artsy together.”

Kira hugged Sean impulsively, and we kept walking.

The moon followed us along the water and into the trees to light the path before us. We dropped Kira at her house, then Sean walked with me to Francine’s porch. I handed him the sheep ears.

“Keep them,” he said. “They’re adorable.”

“This was a really good Halloween. You were right.”

“I know I say this a lot, but you are magic with little kids. I’m so glad you came.”

My cheeks went warm.

“I have something for you,” he said. “I’ve been carrying it around all night, should have left it here to begin with.” He pulled a flat, butcher-paper-wrapped package from his coat pocket. Tied with string.

“Sean.”

“It’s just a thing! It’s not romantic, I swear.”

A paperback book. Lost Woods: The Discovered Writing of Rachel Carson.

“I thought maybe we could dispense with all the Muir/Pinchot dick swinging and get with a woman who could have taught them both a shit ton about the ocean they never knew but should have.”

Honest to God, I could barely breathe.

“Thank you,” I whispered.