Free Out of the Shadows by Loree Lough

I’m doing after—nothing.”
    “Then, why not come over? We could put you in charge of keeping the pumpkins lit.”
    “Would I have to wear a costume?”
    “Depends.”
    “Uh-oh, I’m almost afraid to ask. Depends on what?”
    “On what kind of mood Dad is in. He’s a bigger kid than anybody who’ll show up tonight. It’s entirely possible he’ll insist you wear a mask, at least.”
    They were standing outside her office door when he said, “Well, okay, but I get to choose the mask.”
    She unlocked the door. “I’d say that’s fair.”
    Wade deposited her coat, briefcase and bag of treats on her desk. “So what time should I be there?”
    “Five o’clock?”
    He looked surprised.
    “It’s a family tradition to eat pizza before the doorbell starts ringing,” she explained. “Keeps us from eating all the goodies.”
    “Sounds like fun. See you this evening, then.”
    “Thanks for everything, Wade.”
    “My pleasure.”
    She watched as he stepped into the hall and then rounded the corner. Just as she turned to hang up her coat, he peeked back around the door frame. “Anchovies?” he asked, wrinkling his nose.
    “No anchovies,” she assured him.
    “You’re the best.”
    The clock on her desk read a quarter-to-ten. “C’mon, five o’clock!” she said, grinning.

Chapter Four
    “E verything’s ready,” Gus called over his shoulder. “All we need now is a bunch of kids.”
    “It’s only four-thirty, Dad. Give ’em time.”
    She closed the oven and set the timer. If all worked out as she had planned, Wade would arrive just as the pizzas finished baking.
    Gus rolled into the kitchen and admired four loaves of fresh-baked bread, cooling on the table. “Mmm,” he said, closing his eyes to inhale the yeasty aroma. He punctuated the comment by popping a grape from the fruit bowl into his mouth.
    Their “Pizza on Halloween Night” tradition had begun before Timmy’s death. Back then, her mom bought frozen dough at the grocery story. It wasn’t until Patrice turned fourteen—when she announced “I’m too old for trick-or-treating”—that she tried her hand at the homemade stuff.
    “Looks like you outdid yourself this year, Treecie.”
    He said the same thing every year, whether the bread was edible or not. She might have given up that firstyear, when the dough didn’t rise at all, or the second year when it rose too much, if not for Gus’s loving encouragement. That, and the fact that he ate every scrap of what she baked, tasty or not.
    “We’ll reserve judgment for the first slice,” she said, smiling.
    He pointed at four more loaves on the counter. “Good grief. It’s just the two of us. How many did you bake?”
    She turned toward the sink, hoping to hide her guilty expression, though she didn’t know why she should feel guilty for baking extra bread. “Two for the pantry, two for the freezer, two for Molly,” she said, “same as always.”
    Peripheral vision told her his left brow had risen. “Aha! So lemme guess. The other two are for your doctor friend.”
    Shrugging, she rubbed a terry dishcloth over the already gleaming chrome faucet. “I got a little carried away with the dough this year.”
    “New recipe?”
    Now she buffed the stovetop. “No. Same ol’, same ol’.”
    “Strange.”
    She rubbed the refrigerator door. “What?”
    “Extra loaves from the usual recipe—that’s what.”
    She heard the grin in his voice. Experience had taught her that if she didn’t distract him—soon—she was in for a world of teasing. “The bread’s still warm. How ’bout I fix you a big buttery slice.”
    He rubbed his hands together. “Bribery will get you everywhere.”
    Just as she was about to cut into a loaf, the doorbell rang.
    “Not dark enough to be the kids yet,” Gus observed.“And Molly isn’t supposed to get here till six.” He smirked and drummed fingertips on his chin. “So who could it be, who could it be?”
    Patrice tossed the dish towel onto