Page 149 of If Only In Our Dreams

He’d even done his makeup. Though I was more than a little glad that he’d abandoned the black wig only ten minutes into taking the girls out trick-or-treating earlier. Robin claimed it was itchy. A fact that I could empathize with, as my Gomez mustache was uncomfortable itself. It was relieving to know that he could choose comfort, even if I couldn’t.

“You’re going to single-handedly be responsible for ninety percent of the cavities these kids get,” I laughed as Robin waved at another group of kids. These ones looked closer to their teens and were dressed up as the cast ofStranger Things.

“Pshhh,” Robin waved me off, though he looked adorably giddy about the prospect. He and Miles hadn’t had bigHalloweens like this when they were kids. He’d told me the saddest, most adorable stories about making Miles’s costumes for him when he was a kid—only for most of the houses to close up early, and their bags to remain mostly empty.

We were healing his inner child, one cavity at a time.

And I couldn’t be mad about that.

Especially when he made sure to give all the kids with beat-up sneakers the king-sized bars.

Robin’s therapist had urged him to do things like this. To allow him to work through some of the darker moments of his past by making brighter memories. Which was also why he’d randomly come home with giant stuffed animals (friends for the plushie I’d bought him), fake realistic crows (because omg, they’re so cool, Ben!), and enough Halloween decorations to choke the corners of our normally plain kitchen.

I didn’t mind though, I never had.

Seeing Robin’s chaos made me happy. Almost as happy as knowing that he was healing, that he was nesting, in his own way.

Two hours into our candy pedaling, the chill was beginning to get to me. I wasn’t the only one affected. Robin was hopping around on his feet, back and forth, his hands stuck into his armpits to keep warm.

“Robin?” I was about to suggest we go upstairs and warm up—but then I saw the look on his face and the words died.

Without another word, I peeled my suit jacket off and slung it over his shoulders.

Robin grinned brightly.

And I subjected myself to another hour of the cold because seeing that smile was worth any discomfort autumn might bring.

Robin waddled as he tried to haul his cauldron upstairs—only for me to gently urge him to the side and lift it myself. I moved slow and careful as always. Up the stairs we went, andhe ducked around me to open the front door with a happy hum. His boots clomped on the floor as I set the cauldron down by the couch and rose up, twisting from side to side to stretch my back.

A lot had changed since last Halloween.

For the better, most definitely.

Robin was the best thing that had ever happened to me—and that had only proven to be even more true as the months blurred by, and we got to spend more time together.

He’d moved in right away—something that made me grateful as I was far too old to want to play games that way. He’d opted to keep his apartment in L.A. for when we visited Trixie and Nancy, another fact I appreciated—and something that proved to me once again just how thoughtful my little songbird was.

When the building next door to my medical practice had put up a for-sale sign in the spring, Robin had bought it immediately. He’d been so damn excited it was contagious. And I’d watched enraptured as he turned the downstairs into the recording studio of his dreams so that he could continue to create the music he wanted to, without the threat of labels or money hanging above him.

It was one of my new favorite things to curl up on the couch in his studio with the girls and listen to Robin play. He’d fiddle around, heaven-like notes dancing through the air, make an angry sound like it wasn’t good enough, only to immediately begin again and makemoreheavenly sounds.

He chewed through a pack of pencils every week, writing sonnets out on note pads, and abusing every utensil that came near his lovely mouth. And it was an honor to witness the evolution of his creativity, as Robin found his footing and began to make the things that made his heart happy.

The upstairs apartment above the studio was something else entirely. Robin had paid my brothers a pretty penny to renovate—only to politely kick them out when the walls and carpets were up and hire a new crew entirely.

None of them had been offended, which made me think that they must know something I didn’t.

A fact that was only proven on the night, sometime that summer, when Robin had brought me upstairs to show me what he’d built us.

“Is this weird?” he said, sounding nervous as I stared at the space, my heart fluttering like crazy. “Itfeelsweird. It is weird, isn’t it? Dammit.”

What could only be described as a sex dungeon was laid out in front of me. There was a wall full of paddles and other miscellaneous tools for our pleasure, as well as a rather plush, rather large bed pushed to the back of the room. A leash hung beside the paddles, taunting me. There were other furniture pieces as well, things I glossed over as my gaze fell to the bed and the restraints that were already attached to each of the four posts.

In the back of the room, adjacent to the bed, was a gorgeous mahogany desk. It housed what had to be the most amazing chair I’d ever seen. Cushioned, with back support—lumbar specifically. Buttery leather that looked softer than sin.

“I figured this could be our space, you know?” Robin hummed, staring at me. “That desk is for you—when you’re writing.” He continued to talk, overselling the room, obviously nervous. I didn’t mean to not react—my mind was simply…imploding. “There’s a massage chair back there—” he gestured to the only corner of the room I hadn’t stared at yet. “For your back!” Robin added. “Because I love giving you rubs, and I’m definitely going to keep doing that—but I figured on the days that I’m not here, or you need a little extra—mmmmph.”

Robin’s mouth tasted as good as it always did.

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