Page 69 of Smoke and Roses

“Hell yes,” I say. “Somebody has to.”

I make the other eye a triangle to match. I fix the mouth into a crooked grin with one tooth. When I put a candle in it and turn off the workroom lights, it glows orange despite its appearance. Travis stands behind me with his arms around my waist and his chin on top of my head and studies it.

“It looks like Novak,” he says.

I snort out a laugh and almost bite my tongue. I can’t wait to tell his coworker.

An hour before the party on Saturday, I’m standing in my bedroom in a blond wig the size of a hay bale, and Travis is sitting on the end of my bed, looking at the costume I bought him like it bites.

“No,” he says, tone flat.

“You haven’t even tried it on.”

“It’s a fake beard, Lindsey.”

“It’s a Kenny Rogers beard. It’s a silver fox beard, Travis. It comes with a hat.” I hold up the white cowboy hat. “I’m Dolly. You’re Kenny. Islands in the Stream. It’s a couples costume, and couples wear couples costumes.”

He watches as I straighten my wig and rhinestone jacket and shove my feet into a pair of white boots a size too small, because I’m a woman with a plan.

“Novak’s wearing a hot dog,” I say, grinning.

“That’s between Novak and God.”

I put my hands on my hips, and the rhinestones on my jacket rattle. “Cassia says costumes are mandatory.”

“Cassia’s not my boss.”

“Cassia is everybody’s boss. Rob is going as a sexy bear, Travis. If Rob Wallace can do that in front of the entire valley, you can wear a beard for three hours.”

The man shrugs one of his massive shoulders. “I’ve got my own costume.”

“Since when?”

He gets up and takes his red-and-black flannel off the hook by my door. He puts it on over his T-shirt, leaves it unbuttoned, and rolls the sleeves up to his elbows one at a time, taking his time about it, while I stand there in my wig and watch.

“Lumberjack,” he says.

“That’s what you wear on a Tuesday.”

“Lumberjack,” he says again, and holds out his forearms. “These are just for you.”

I look at his forearms. He knows exactly what he’s doing. It’s a very good costume, and I am not telling him that.

He sits back down on the end of my bed. He isn’t going to budge on the beard. That’s the face he makes when Rob brings up karaoke.

So I try the last thing I’ve got. I climb onto the bed on my knees, in my too-small boots, and set the cowboy hat on his head myself. It’s too small too. It sits up there like a cake topper.

“Please?” I play-whine. “For me? One night. Islands in the Stream.”

He looks up at me from under the hat, no expression at all. Then his hands come slowly up to my waist, and he tips me back onto the quilt, and kisses me until the wig slides sideways and I forget what Halloween is.

Travis takes off all of my costume and I let him.

“That’s cheating,” I say, when I can talk.

“Yep.”

“You can’t just knock me senseless every time you’re losing an argument.”