Disclaimer: Sadly, I own nothing.
Wendy doesn't expect trick-or-treaters. Three years ago, the only person who showed up was her landlord, looking for November's rent. Two years ago a grand total of three kids, dressed as a doctor, a pumpkin, and a ninja, showed up at her apartment, but she suspects that it was only because they lived next door at the time. Last year, no one came, and she mournfully handed out the Snickers and Twix bars she'd bought (just in case!) to the MacLaren's Friday night staff. This year, she tells herself it's time to stop hoping.
"I'm not going to bother this year," she tells Carl at work that afternoon. "There aren't any kids in my building. If I buy candy, it'll sit untouched all night and then around midnight I'll scarf it all by myself."
"Look, why don't you go out to a party or something instead?" he says with an exasperated sigh.
"Because! Then if the kids show up, they'll be disappointed!"
He just laughs.
At the end of her shift, he recommends a party he heard about. She says she'll try to make it. "You're going to be there, right?"
"On Halloween? Hell, no, I got a date." He grins that patented Carl-grin. "But you have fun, kiddo."
She rolls her eyes. "Yeah. Maybe."
At seven o'clock it's pouring rain and there's not a peep in the hallway, but she plugs in a string of orange twinkle lights, puts on her bumblebee costume and dumps bags of candy into a giant orange plastic bowl anyway. (Her mother always said that she got her hopes so high she'd break her own heart one day. She wishes she didn't have to remember everything her mother ever said.)
And she sits with her chin in her hand, squashing her homemade bumblebee wings against the back of the futon, exchanging looks with her cat. "Don't look at me like that," she murmurs.
When a raucous knocking at the door startles her at 7:45, she jumps up, nearly spilling the big bowl of candy in her rush to get to the door, and swings it open without even checking the peephole.
Carl, dripping wet in his black sweater and leather jacket, stands before two eager (if a little damp) kids. "Trick or treat!" they chorus loudly, holding up plastic jack-o-lanterns overflowing with brightly-colored candy. Carl shrugs and smiles a little sheepishly as her jaw drops.
After staring in shock for a moment, she laughs and asks them for a trick first, and the boy dressed as a vampire busies himself somersaulting down the hallway, while the girl with cat ears and dripping, painted-on whiskers attempts a cartwheel. Carl just leans against the doorway while she applauds and cheers. "Thought you weren't gonna bother this year?" he mumbles quietly with a wry grin.
"Thought you had a date?" she responds playfully. "Where'd you get the kids?"
"Borrowed 'em from my sister. That's Luke, and that's Jenna. A guy can have a date with his niece and nephew, can't he?"
She thinks she might be blushing because he's close enough to drip rainwater on the shoulder of her black-and-yellow striped costume, but she covers by inviting them inside to dry off. While the kids make a beeline to play with her cat, she makes two mugs of instant coffee and can't help feeling like no matter where she turns, Carl's eyes are on her.
"You make a cute bee," he remarks.
She presses a towel into his hand and hides a smile in her coffee. "Where's your costume?"
"I'm dressed as a guy who took a couple of kids trick-or-treating in the rain."
"Lame," she teases.
"Lamer than a girl who swears she's not going to bother this year and then sits in the dark hoping someone will show?" His voice is warm, but Wendy can't do anything but open her mouth, close it, and shrug awkwardly, eyes on her coffee. He clears his throat like he knows he's just said something wrong, scrubs the towel over his head a few times, and looks at her. "Wendy…"
"Uncle Carl! Let's go!"
They both glance up, startled, and Wendy sets her mug down. "Yeah… guess you guys should be getting on with it? Only a few minutes left of begging time."
Carl looks like there's something else he wants to say, but after a moment he just nods and herds the kids out the door. She follows them, wishing them a happy Halloween, offering more candy from her bowl, helping Jenna adjust her cat ears, filling the air with chatter.
Buzzed with sugar and excitement, Luke and Jenna begin cartwheeling down the hall again, and Carl turns back to where she's standing in the doorway. Wendy has the sudden urge to tell him that in the dim glow of flickering Halloween twinkle lights, he looks intimidatingly handsome, but then his chocolate-brown eyes are sending a shot of warmth straight to her toes, and the words stick in her throat. She tries to step back, meeting the doorframe.
He leans in close, and if it weren't for the way he licks his lip and the way his eyes flicker nervously over her features, she'd think he knew exactly what he was doing. "Wendy," he murmurs low, "I forgot to ask you… trick or treat?"
She lets out a half-laugh before the sound trails off and she swallows hard. He's so close, she can smell dried leaves and rainwater and a hint of spicy cologne, and technically he's her boss, and— "I… I can't decide…"
Carl searches her eyes for a moment and then his fingers are on her cheek, and he's kissing her, sweet and warm and dark, better than any chocolate she's ever tasted. When he pulls back slightly, his nose brushes hers and she realizes she's clutching the pocket of his jacket. "Wow…" she whispers, Luke and Jenna's voices barely audible over the rush in her ears.
"Wow," he repeats with a laugh, a hand trailing over the edge of her costume, finding the curve of her hip. "D'you… maybe want to come with us?" His hand sweeps down and closes over hers, giving her that patented Carl-grin. "Or did you want to wait for more kids to show?"
Wendy blinks and glances down the hall when Luke comes running back, shouting for Carl to come on. "No," she says, smiling back at Carl. "I've waited long enough." She pushes him back gently, still holding on to his hand, and grabs her keys off the hook to lock the door behind them.
She knew trick or treat would pay off one of these years.