Page 7 of The Mountain Man's Curvy Trick-or-Treat

Halloween costumes don’t get much more functional—or harder to explain. But I promised myself I’d sayyesto weird this month—new town, new job, new me. Handsome man who’s definitelynotMrs. Camden.

“You really do need to share the secret behind your cost?—”

My eyes drop to the plate on the coffee table, and I gasp. The Star-honey is glowing too.

Okay, cool. Halloween tricks and treats. Maybe my bakery needs to up its spooky game, and maybe this iridescent hermit knows how.

“Where’d you get this stuff? Area Fifty-One?” Despite the eerie shimmer, I grab another and pop it into my mouth. Warmth blooms behind my eyes, slow and syrupy, like my bloodstream just turned into champagne.

Another moan escapes my lips, and his face tightens.

“What do you know about aliens, Eden?”

I shrug. “That’s the million-dollar question. Isn’t it? I suppose if I knew more, I’d have men in black after me.”

Metal clinks against stoneware as he stirs apple-cider powder into two mugs and brings them in. When he hands me one, our fingers brush—sparks arc from his skin to mine.

“If anyone comes after you, I’ll rip them apart with my bare hands,” he growls.

“Oh.” I should be scared, but something else shivers through my body. Oddly, the possessive promise turns me on. My head feels fuzzy, humming.

Am I really going to sit here flirting with a cosplay nerd? Apparently, yes, because my hormones never got the memo about common sense. After two years of dating apps and disappointment, it figures my type turns out to be bioluminescent.

I grab another Star-honey, and he laughs. “How many of those have you eaten?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know. Was I supposed to stop?”

The corners of his grumpy mouth turn up. “No. They can act like a depressant in the human nervous system—like alcohol.”

“Is that why I feel buzzed?”

“I’d like to think it’s because of me. But probably the Star-honey.” He’s definitely trying to flirt.

“So, you live all alone out here? No wife? No kids?”

He shifts. “Duty—work—kept me too busy. But lately I’m reevaluating my priorities.”

“How so?”

He rubs his beard, skin mostly normal but occasionally flashing light beneath. “I gave my entire life to a system that’s forsaken me. Now I’m questioning my loyalty.”

“Wow, heavy stuff.” I sip my cider, pretending I understand intergalactic burnout. “You ever try yoga?”

His brow lifts. “You think I need stretching?”

“Emotionally? Definitely.”

“What else do I need?”

“You’re suddenly very talkative for a Halloween date.” I clap a hand over my mouth.Did I just call this a date?

A smile fights for control of his face. He chuckles, low and rough.

“A date with a human? That could get me killed.”

Is he joking? Then he smiles, and I’m not sure anymore.

“You’re really taking this whole costume thing pretty far.”