Page 34 of Red Hot Roaster

I gave Ana a hug back and glanced up to see Rafe rolling the now-empty wheelbarrow down the hall to the roastery. At that moment, the side door burst open, and in danced Noah, followed by his sisters Emma and Meggie and their dad Liam. Other staff, friends and neighbors poured in behind them.

Pete waltzed through the door wearing a big grin and a headband of flashing pumpkins on springs. Jen came next, bringing her twin girls, as well as Miss Ada. She’d agreed, reluctantly, to leaveherdoxie girls at home. Katt waved as she walked in, a tote bag of art supplies slung over her shoulder. Mateo emerged from the kitchen just in time for Ana to tug him to a table.

We’d even lured Jean-Luc to the dark side with the promise of an adult beverage—mulled spiced wine—afterall the carving implements were safely set aside. Halloween was not a “thing” in his native France. Gentleman that he was, he’d stopped by the vet clinic to help Mica walk her dad down to the Chocolate Lab. Mica’s mom was long gone, and she’d moved in with her dad when he’d developed memory problems.

In Halloweens past, Dr. Tanaka had always been one of our contest judges. Today, we made sure he had a comfortable chair at a special table alongside the current judges, Pete, Liliana and Miss Ada.

I saw Rafe coming back down the hall. He paused to take in the boisterous crowd. Even though I’d told him everybody showed up in high spirits for this party, I don’t think he believed me. Unless you had kids, I doubted the army celebrated this holiday in quite the same way. And the way he’d alluded to the foster families made them sound more frightening than friendly.

Rafe started to turn away and head back to the roastery.Not so fast, sweetheart.

I clapped my hands and whistled for attention—it wasn’t for nothing that I was a dog mom. Rafe paused again and looked back my way. I caught his eye and gave him a smarty smirk.

“Hey, everybody, welcome to the ninth annual Howl-o-ween Pumpkin Carving Contest! Before we get going, I want give a shout-out to a few people who made this possible. A hand, please, for our panel of judges—you all know their names! Thank you to Liliana, Mateo and Ana for getting the place ready. And a nice welcome to Rafe, a newbie to the Chocolate Lab, who not only helped set up but also graciously volunteered his pickup—and himself—to pick up the pumpkins.”

People craned their necks to see the newbie, and then applause and cheers and hoots broke out.

“Now you all know the drill—you have forty-five minutes to scoop, carve and/or decorate your pumpkin. When you’ve finished, line up your pumpkin in the meeting room and put one of the LED candles in it. Our judges will tour the table and decide on the winners in the different categories. Remember—every entrant will be a winner, and everybody will go home with a prize!

“You can enjoy treats after you’ve finished your pumpkins—hot cider, coffee, mulled wine and applesauce doughnuts await. We’ll be taking plenty of pictures, too—plus a group shot around the table afterward. Any questions?”

“Yeah,” I heard from Jean-Luc back in the corner. “Am I going to be the only guy carving a pumpkin solo or is Rafe going to get in on the action?”

Trust Jean-Luc to stir shih tzu up. But I was ready for him…and for Rafe.

“I’m glad you asked! You all know my usual pumpkin-carving partner is off at college this year.” (People ahhhed and ooohed about Finn being gone.) “So, I’m asking Rafe to team up with me so I won’t miss out.”

I stopped and motioned him toward me, before I continued, “Rafe?”

How could he deny me? He couldn’t, didn’t and moved to my side.

I smiled up at him and turned back to the group. “Now, everyone—find a table with the pumpkin of your choice.”

While people were selecting their tables, I looked at Rafe again and gestured with my head toward a nearby table I’d already set up with some supplies.

Not that I’d planned this all out in advance or anything.

He peered at the mini-pumpkins sitting next to the big pumpkin, one already fitted out with a halo and the other with devil horns, and quirked his lips. He got the picture, er, pumpkin.

“Ready, set, scoop!” I shouted.

An hour and some change later, I took pics for the Chocolate Lab’s social media. Group shots, individual shots, one of our judges with their own “face” pumpkins (carved by Katt beforehand), and even a special shot of Ana and her award for Best Scaredy Kitten.

Yes, I did get a photo of the Team-Rafe-and-Rose entry. People were a little puzzled about the theme of the pumpkin, but I just shrugged my shoulders and tried to look mysterious. Rafe was his usual stoic self, not giving anything away.

But I had to say, he’d gotten into the spirit of the thing. When I’d shown him a quick sketch I’d made of my idea, he’d winked at me and pulled out his knife.Nota dinky Swiss Army knife with all those teeny attachments—a big folding knife he kept in a sheath on his belt.

We’d divvied up the tasks—Rafe carved, I scooped, and we assembled together. After we’d carefully moved our work of art to the meeting room, we stood back and grinned at each other. Rafe grabbed one of the LEDs, turned it on and stuck it in the middle pumpkin. The middle pumpkin was one of three—the largest with carved-out, bugged-out eyes and a round mouth. On a tiny, attached sign, it shouted out, “Oh, noooooo! Who do I listen to?”

A mini pumpkin perched on one shoulder, carved with an angelic face and embellished with equally mini white wings and gold halo. Another mini pumpkin floated above the other shoulder, carved with a devilish face. Two pointy red peppers stuck straight up for horns.

I loved that Rafe got my idea and the others didn’t. Or maybe Jen and Mica did—they kept shooting me suspicious looks.

What could I say? The Elvis song “A Little Less Conversation” kept coming to mind. Especially the parts about “more action” and “satisfying.”

Anyway. Our Halloween party was winding down, and people were leaving. For many, it was a school night. For most, it was time to head home and get dinner going on this chilly October evening. The sky was already deepening to blue-black at five thirty.

For others, it would take a little longer. Jean-Luc, after a mug or two of mulled wine, was helping Mica walk her dad home. Pete had to drive back to his house—he’d stuck with hot cider.

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