Page 40 of Fall Surprises
My heart stuttered. "Diana, that's—"
"The starting salary is triple what you're making now. Full benefits, travel budget, wardrobe allowance because you'll needto look the part at industry events. You'd need to relocate to LA, of course, but we'd cover moving expenses and temporary housing for the first three months." She fixed me with her sharp gaze. "This is the kind of opportunity that launches careers into the stratosphere, Samantha. The kind most people wait their whole lives for and never get."
Triple my salary. Los Angeles. The chance to work at the highest levels of the entertainment industry. Everything I'd been working toward since I'd started Maxwell Events in my studio apartment five years ago, surviving on ramen and determination.
"That's... more than generous," I managed, my mind racing through the implications.
"It's smart business. I know talent when I see it, and you've got that rare combination of creativity and crisis management that this industry demands." She glanced at her phone. "I'll have the official offer to you by Monday morning. Take the weekend to think about it, but honestly? This is a no-brainer. You'd be insane to turn it down."
She moved away to corner Tony about footage, leaving me standing there with my entire future rearranged in the span of three minutes. The smart thing—the logical thing—would be to accept immediately. This was everything I'd dreamed about when I was starting out, planning weddings for couples who could barely afford flowers, let alone elaborate productions.
Through the crowd, my eyes naturally found Gus. He stood with Margot from the bakery and Ted from the bookshop near the kitchen door, laughing at something Margot said while gesturing with a serving spoon. His Superman costume was delightfully ridiculous—the glasses perched crookedly, the shirt coming more untucked by the hour—and somehow just right. The overhead lights caught the slight curl of his hair, the familiar lines around his eyes when he smiled.
My chest ached with unexpected pain.
Los Angeles was two thousand miles from Wintervale. From him. From whatever this thing between us was becoming.
The party swirled on around me—the DJ announcing couple's dances, teenagers sneaking champagne when they thought no one was looking, Bramble weaving between legs in his tiny pumpkin costume that Rory had somehow procured. But I felt suspended outside time, standing at a crossroads I hadn't seen coming when I'd driven into this town less than a week ago.
"Penny for your thoughts?" Piper appeared beside me dressed as the Cheshire Cat, complete with purple striped tights and an unnervingly wide grin painted on.
"Just processing everything," I replied vaguely, trying to shake off the weight of Diana's offer.
"It's a lot to take in." She studied me with knowing eyes. "The way a place can feel like home even when you've just arrived. The way people can change your life in a matter of days. The way some decisions feel impossible until they're the easiest thing in the world."
Before I could ask what she meant, she'd drifted away to dance with someone dressed as the Mad Hatter, leaving me with the uncomfortable feeling that everyone could see straight through my professional facade.
The party gradually began its natural conclusion, though in Wintervale that apparently meant the dancing got slower and the conversations got deeper rather than people actually leaving. The teens had been collected by watchful parents, the reality TV crowd had retreated to their rooms to post content, but the core group remained—locals who'd become friends over the course of the evening, vendors who'd become allies in our shared mission, and at the center of it all, the inn family that had somehow absorbed me without my noticing.
I was adjusting one of the centerpieces that had shifted—old habits died hard—when warmth spread across my back.
"Dance with me."
Gus's voice sent shivers down my spine. I turned to find him standing there, glasses tucked into his shirt pocket, hand extended. The kitchen no longer needed him, his crew handling the final cleanup with the ease of long practice.
"I should probably check on—"
"Dance with me, Sam." Softer this time, but insistent. "Just one dance."
I let him lead me outside to the terrace where the heat lamps created pockets of warmth against the autumnal chill. Other couples swayed nearby—Theodore and Edna, lost in each other; a young couple who had pitched in to help rearrange tables and chairs—but the space felt private, intimate. Above us, more stars than I'd ever seen in Denver scattered across the clear mountain sky, the Milky Way visible in a way that city lights never allowed.
The soft golden glow from the heat lamps cast everything in a gentle blanket of warmth. The maple branches I'd collected from the orchard framed the space, their leaves rustling in the light breeze. The air carried woodsmoke and cinnamon from the party, mixed with the sharp scent of pine from the surrounding mountains and that particular earthiness of fallen leaves.
Gus pulled me close, one hand finding the small of my back while the other cradled mine against his chest. We moved together easily, naturally, like we'd been doing this for years instead of days. His hand burned warm through the thin fabric of my costume, and I could feel his heartbeat under my palm, steady and sure.
"You were amazing today," he murmured against my hair. "The way you turned everything around, got everyone working together—you're an absolute wonder."
"I had help. You especially."
"We make a good team." His hand tightened on my waist, and I knew he was thinking about more than just party planning. About mornings in the kitchen, afternoons at the pumpkin patch, late nights decorating wedding cakes.
The song shifted to something slower, sweeter. Van Morrison's "Into the Mystic" floated across the terrace. This was the moment to tell him about Diana's offer, to be honest about the opportunity that had just landed in my lap. But his arms felt so right around me, and the night wrapped around us like a cocoon, and I didn't want to shatter this bubble we'd found ourselves in.
"Sam?" He pulled back slightly to look at me, always able to read my moods. "What's wrong?"
Of course he could tell. In less than a week, he'd learned to see past every professional mask, every carefully constructed wall.
The DJ's voice boomed across the terrace: "For those who want to know, the clock just struck midnight—it's officially the Witching Hour! Make your Halloween wishes, folks!"
