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Chapter Text

It was over.

The stillness of the woods on the walk home did little to quiet Matilda’s flurried thoughts as her chest ached with loss and her blood pounded in her veins. Kat was gone. She’d given everything she could and it wasn’t enough to save her friend. 

And yet—that wasn’t the only cause of the empty space in her heart, a hole that somehow pressed against her ribs from the inside, causing her breath to catch in her throat.

For the last few days that felt like a fever dream, this was the first time that he wasn’t by her side.

Matilda risked a glance to him walking with his arm around Rip, chatting away as he caught his friend up on the last year. The grip around her heart tightened with his every gesture, every smile that she knew would never—could never—be directed her way again.

The chaos of the last few hours hadn’t been enough to hide the hurt on Brom’s face when he realized what was happening--what she was doing. 

That was the last time he’d called her “Hon’”.

And why should she care?! It was a fake marriage, a means to an end. They just hadn’t had time to do anything about it, with trying to find the Headless Horseman’s head. It was always going to be over, one way or another.

Matilda realized the dirt path had turned to gravel under her feet and they were about to turn onto the main street. She looked up and her gaze automatically fixed on Brom.

Damn it. He was looking at her. She looked away quickly, first to Rip, then Ichabod. Her eyes darted downwards again, not daring to look at any of the three guys in front of her. 

“We’re just go—”

“I better go—”

Brom and Matilda both stopped awkwardly. She dared to look up again, her pulse thrumming in her ears.

Brom started again. “We’re, uh, just going to the diner,” he stated, jerking his thumb behind him. He paused, and Matilda could feel the invitation die before it passed his lips.

Of course she couldn’t go. She’d kidnapped his friend and had almost trapped him in a fate worse than death. Well, she did trap his friend in a fate worse than death. Her thoughts passed from Ichabod to Rip, adding to the already unbearable weight of her conscience that still threatened to crush her.

She’d also omitted some important details about Brom’s high school sweetheart on whom she was pretty sure he’d been nursing a crush for the last ten years.

“I’d better get back to the bar,” she mumbled, brushing past Ichabod in an awkward maneuver that put as much space between her and Brom as possible.

Matilda fought the heaviness in her legs and willed them to carry her to the familiar doorway of Drugs ‘N’ Stuff as fast as they could. She slammed the door behind her, recklessly threatening the glass in its frame, before she let out a deep sigh.

Kat was gone. Brom was lost to her. Rip surely would never talk to her. Heck, she’d even miss seeing Ichabod’s puppy dog face every day.

The thought made her eyes well up with tears that she didn’t have the energy to hold back. In no time at all, they streamed down her cheeks as she slid to the floor, her legs crumpling beneath her.

“Anyone I need to kill for you? Or haunt for eternity?” Verla popped up beside Matilda, her dry tone unable to hide the sentiment in her question.

Matilda wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and shook her head. “No—no thanks,” she managed.

Verla nodded and glided towards the back of the shop before she disappeared through the shelves of bottles. 

Matilda leaned her head back, her body resting on the door behind her. She took a deep breath, desperate to keep her tears from turning into sobs. She knew that if she let herself go, she would never move from this spot, and she couldn’t turn into a mess at the entrance of a public shop.

She also couldn’t bring herself to move.

Images of the last few days washed over her in pounding waves: Brom’s disbelief when she followed Kat after the bard, ignoring his cries. (If she was honest with herself, that was probably more because she didn’t trust herself with Brom and Ichabod than her being worried about Kat.) The look on Brom’s face when she told Judy that they were in love—shock followed by a strange willingness to commit to the bit. (Why on earth was that the first thing that came to her mind? And how did it lead to him uttering the words, “I’d marry her”?!) His certainty when he brought Ichabod to her with the Headless Horseman, his belief in her almost touching. (So much of the town either thought she was crazy or kept a few feet away from her when they happened to cross her path outside of the bar. Behind Brom’s jovial teasing, however, there had always been a strange respect. Well, and maybe a little bit of healthy fear.)

This was crazy! Was she really falling apart over a boy? She let out a snort at the thought. No, she was not crying over Brom Bones—Brom, the epitome of the dumb jock who never really left high school. No, this was just displaced grief after losing Kat and almost sacrificing Ichabod to her spell and seeing a stranger murdered in cold blood in front of her by her best friend and—

A knock at the door made Matilda jump. She shot up and whirled around before she could remember to wipe her face.

“Brom?” she asked through the glass as she fumbled with the doorknob. She asked again as she managed to crack the door open, swallowing the lump in her throat. “Brom? What are you doing here?”

She kept his gaze, terrified to see her suspicions confirmed. Loathing. Hate. Disgust.

Disappointment. 

Instead, his eyes softened as he took one hand out of his pocket and leaned it against the door, hovering closer to her. “I just wanted to check in on you,” he said. 

Matilda glanced down at her feet, her hands clasped at her front. She unclasped them and held them behind her back before dropping them at her sides. “I’m fine,” she murmured. She knew they’d have to have this conversation soon, but she couldn’t face him now. Not just yet. 

“Are you sure?” Matilda could hear the concern in his voice and she felt more tears sting her eyes. Not now, please Goddess, not now . “It’s just—that was a lot—with Kat....” he trailed off, and Matilda forced herself to look up again as the memories of the last night threatened to overwhelm her.

“It’s fine, Brom,” she said with a wave of her hand, her words more cool and clipped than she expected as she felt her cheeks flush. “We’re not really married, and you don’t have to babysit me.” Her words began to tumble out before she could stop them, each pricking her heart one by one without her fully understanding why. “You probably don’t want to even look at me. I promise we can go see Judy soon to clear up this whole mess and you don’t have to see me again and we can go back to the way things were but for now I just need—” 

“Matilda, wait!” She tried to close the door but Brom grabbed her arm before the door could latch. Matilda froze, the pressure of Brom’s large hand wrapped around her wrist causing her heart to pound in a myriad of ways. Was her body really going to betray like that as well?

“I don’t—I didn’t mean—I don’t want things to go back to the way they were,” Brom said, and Matilda could see the earnestness in his expression. She held her breath as she realized how close he was, their bodies only separated by the opening in the door that he could easily swing open should he choose.

Part of her wanted him to.

Matilda kept her gaze on his, waiting for him to continue. Her mind raced, unable to decide what she wanted, never-mind trying to put any of her thoughts to words.

“I mean, I, uh, don’t think things will ever go back to the way they used to be,” he chuckled in an attempt at humour. Matilda could feel her muscles tighten, and Brom quickly continued, his expression serious once more. “No, not, I just mean...” He sighed and started again. “Look, I can’t pretend that what happened last night didn’t happen. Rip probably doesn’t want to see you for awhile, and uh, Icky is still a little shell-shocked.”

Matilda searched Brom’s brown eyes, her lips unable to form the words her heart beat out. And you?

Brom paused as his gaze flitted back and forth as if to read Matilda’s thoughts. “I just can’t imagine what this has been like for you, Matty,” he said quietly. 

Matilda swallowed. Matty. Not Wifey , not Babe , not Hon’. And yet, as much as she missed those pet names—she couldn’t deny it—the way he said her name was far more intimate.

Matty .

A fresh wave of tears threatened to spill. Matilda blinked to clear her vision, determined to remain strong for a little bit longer. But with Brom looking at her like that, his dark eyes filled with concern like he could see straight into her core was enough to take her breath away in a wave of terror and relief in equal measure. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered with a tremour. “I’m so, so sorry.” She licked her lips, unable to say more though her heart screamed within her. Her fingers gripped the frame of the door, the wood digging into her palm, and every muscle in her legs fought to keep herself upright.

“I know,” Brom murmured. She could feel his hand around her arm loosen, and he rubbed his thumb up and down her wrist that felt more comforting than such a small gesture should. “I mean, why didn’t you tell me you could hit like that? I would have recruited you as Assistant Coach ages ago.” He rubbed the back of his head with his free hand for emphasis. “At least we both know I have a thick skull.” He quirked a smile at her and Matilda let out an embarrassing snort in a release of tension she could no longer keep bottled up. She looked away with a sad chuckle before meeting his eyes once more.

“You did the right thing, Matty, no matter what you’re telling yourself right now. I’m just sorry you had to go through this past year alone.”

Matilda nodded, the weight in her chest lifting ever so slightly as she took in the truth of his words along with the reassurance in his eyes. “Tha—thank  you,” she whispered, barely able to speak as more tears welled up. Could she just hold it together for a few more minutes?

Before she knew what she was doing, Matilda pushed the door open and threw herself into Brom’s arms, unable to resist the pull of him, his weight an anchor to the storm of her thoughts. He barely moved, save to slowly wrap his arms around her and give her a squeeze. The comfort of him warmed her chest and tears began to fall. Matilda buried her face in his shoulder, unable—or unwilling—to stop herself, and before she knew it, her whole body was wracked in ugly sobs. Still, Brom didn’t move, and Matilda clasped her hands around his solid frame, squeezing with more strength than she meant as if her body fought to purge the demons of the past night—the past year. Decisions no one should have to make had left her battle-weary and it was only now that it was all over could she even begin to grapple with everything that had happened. 

Grief, fear, confusion and hurt all ripped through her with every sob, with Brom planted in place as she leaned into him. He began to rub her back, returning her squeeze with his own, and he murmured into her ear. 

“It’s okay. It’s over now. It’s going to be okay.”

Matilda tried to nod in reply, knowing she should stop without the strength or care to do so. After carrying these secrets for so long she couldn’t help but give herself to the tears and the sense of relief to finally have someone else know everything.

They stood like that for what felt like an eternity, planted in the doorway of Colonial Drugs ’N’ Stuff, until Matilda’s tears finally slowed to a stop. Even after she had run dry, she stayed in place, unsure if her legs would hold her upright once she pulled away from him. Still, she couldn’t stay here forever—even if part of her wanted to.

Eventually, Brom broke the silence. “It’s not your fault,” he said, his voice firm. “Kat… and Baltus, and… it wasn’t your fault.”

Matilda nodded into his shoulder and he brought one hand up to her head and stroked her hair. She squeezed her eyes shut as she warmed at the intimate gesture, and she let out a sigh to steady herself. 

Finally, she summoned her strength and pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, not daring to release her hold on him. “Why are you being so nice to me?” she whispered.

His eyes softened as he smiled. “I know you,” he said with a shrug. “We’ve known each other for years, Matty. I know you fight for your friends.”

Matilda replied with a weak smile. “Thanks, Brom.” 

With a deep breath, she unclasped her hands from around him and took a step back. Brom slid his hands to her arms. Her skin flushed under his touch through her jacket. Her pulse thrummed in her ears, and she willed herself to take deep breaths for some semblance of control, her awareness of every sense, every nerve-ending, every fibre of her body no small cause for alarm. Not for the first time could she help but wonder, was this purely a physical reaction of her body—and her very human emotions—being pushed to the brink? Or was there a more magical culprit?

Whatever the cause, Matilda felt hyper-aware and drained all at once, and she couldn’t bring herself to move. She didn’t trust her legs to carry her on their own, and there was a part of her that didn’t want to lose the comfort of Brom’s grasp on her arms.

“Do you need any help?” Brom asked, tentatively loosening his grip as he studied her. “You just, uh—you should probably get some rest.” If she wasn’t so tired, Matilda would have laughed at his offer, as if she was swaying on her feet from too many margaritas and needed help after a night of partying. Just like…

Matilda swallowed. “There’s a couch in the back. I’ll probably crash there for a bit.” Any soft, horizontal surface was beginning to sound divine, and she’d have more sustenance in the bar's kitchen than at her apartment. Besides, news would travel fast and no one would expect the bar to be open.

“At least let me walk you there,” Brom insisted. He guided them through the doorway and clicked the door closed behind them. Matilda couldn’t tell how they got from the front of the bar to the back staff room, but she was highly conscious of his arm around her as he led her to the couch and grabbed her a pillow and a faded blanket. The next thing she knew, the world had shifted by ninety degrees and the sagging couch cushions were the most comfortable bed she’d ever laid on. What she wasn’t so sure about was the brush of fingers across her face, though her heart finally felt a bit lighter as the sunlight began to streak across the room through the cheap blinds before she drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Text

After running into Verla and leaving her with strict instructions to watch over Matilda, Brom made his way down Main Street and returned to the diner. He held his breath as he slid into the booth beside Rip, Ichabod seated across from them. His newly-resurrected friend barely managed a nod in his direction as he took a massive bite of a cheeseburger that was half the size of his head—clearly not his first serving, judging from the pile of empty plates in front of him. Brom chuckled and pushed a glass of water towards Rip. “Remember to pace yourself, Buddy,” he said with a slap on Rip’s back.

The lighthearted scene couldn’t eliminate the lump in Brom’s throat, however, and with a glance towards Ichabod, the same could be said for Sleepy Hollow’s current science teacher.

“How… how is she?” Ichabod asked carefully.

Brom sighed and kept his gaze glued to the table. He realized he was fiddling with the golden band on his ring finger and he immediately lowered his hands to his lap beneath the table. He could still feel the warmth of her in his arms, her frame shaking with sobs as she soaked his shoulder, and he could smell the lavender of her shampoo.

“She’s okay,” he said. He wasn’t sure how much Ichabod really wanted to hear and he wasn’t sure how much he should tell. Honestly, he’d never seen Matilda so damn vulnerable . Brom liked to think that growing up together since childhood, he knew a little more of the girl who hid behind her witchy persona and goth-girl façade—the girl who always projected a cool exterior to keep people at arm’s length. He’d just never known how much she’d been hiding this whole time.

He should be hurt. He should feel betrayed. He should be furious.

And he was. Of course he was.

But more than his wounded pride, there was a pain deep in his chest that couldn’t be so easily explained. This woman who, with a snap of her fingers or a sprinkle of dust could resurrect the Headless Horseman and reanimate lost souls, who had single-handedly brought her best friend back to life for the last year , had looked so small and helpless a few hours ago, wrestling with demons in the middle of Sleepy Hollow’s theatre of all places.

“She’s, uh, she’s sleeping at the bar,” Brom finally said. “She’ll probably be dead to the world for most of the day.” He winced at his poor choice of words and glanced beside him at Rip. “Sorry.”

Rip swallowed his bite of cheeseburger and frowned at Brom. “You do realize she chased me down and put me under a spell that basically left me dead?” Rip glanced between Brom and Ichabod. “She stole a year of my life. And, might I add, she was about to do the same to you. ” He pointed a fry at Ichabod for emphasis.

Ichabod shifted in his seat, his gaze lowered, but before he could speak, something bubbled up in Brom’s chest. “Now hang on,” he exclaimed. “She also happened to save Ichabod tonight. And you. And she’s been helping us this whole time to figure out who the Headless Horseman was.” Brom took a deep breath to collect himself, his blood pounding in his ears. “I know what she did was supremely uncool, but Bro, she’s been through a lot. And,”—Brom held up a finger and met Rip’s gaze—”she made the right decision when it counted.”

Brom finally looked at Ichabod to see if his new friend would back him up. He was surprised to see Ichabod’s eyes grow wide before they softened. Was that a smirk? Brom realized that Ichabod had glanced at the ring on Brom’s left hand that was still pointing at Rip, and he quickly lowered it to his lap.

“You’re not wrong,” Ichabod agreed slowly. “But you have to admit, it was touch-and-go there for a minute.”

Brom licked his lips as he fought to ignore the knot in his stomach, the images from the night before flashing in his mind—the realization that Matilda had knocked him out and tied him up, that Matilda was involved in whatever scheme Katrina was enacting, that Matilda was not, in fact, going to help him and Ichabod.

Well, until she did.

“So what are you going to do about that ,” Ichabod said with a nod towards Brom’s lap under the table, and reached for a french fry on the plate between him and Rip. Brom realized he’d started fiddling with his ring again.

“About what?” Rip managed in between bites of his burger and fries.

“They’re married,” Ichabod explained.

“Wait, wait, you’re what?! ” Rip spat.

Brom groaned and rested his head in his hands with his elbows on the formica table, his head suddenly feeling like it was filled with lead. “I don’t know! ”

Which was crazy. He should know. He shouldn’t want to still be married to the girl who captured his old best friend and tried to capture his new best friend and also knocked himself out and tied him up and was okay with her best friend (and his ex) holding him down at sword-point.

And yet…. Brom was more confused than ever after the whirlwind of the last week. What he couldn’t deny, however, was how much he’d enjoyed being Matilda’s husband. And, despite the storm of emotions clawing at his insides after the revelations of last night, he was also sure of one thing: she needed a friend now more than ever.

He really didn’t want to take off this ring. He didn’t want her to take off her ring.

Brom let out a sigh and finally looked up to meet Ichabod’s gaze. Brom wasn’t sure what he expected to see, but it sure wasn’t the twinkle of amusement. 

Ichabod shrugged and reached for another fry. “Well, it’ll be a hell of a story to tell the grandkids,” he said matter-of-factly before popping the fry into his mouth.

Brom let out a howl of laughter. He laughed so hard he could see Rip jump beside him, and he knew they could hear him in the back of the kitchen. He couldn’t help it. He laughed so hard that tears rolled down his cheeks and he had to fight to catch his breath. After what felt like a couple of minutes, he gained control and wiped his eyes with the back of his hands. 

Suddenly, the plate of fries looked like the most delicious thing he’d ever seen. He grabbed a fistful and pointed them at Ichabod. “This guy gets it,” he chuckled before stuffing the fries in his mouth, much to a very perplexed Rip Van Winkle.

Matilda’s eyes fluttered open to a room dimly lit with the grayness of twilight. She blinked to clear her vision before she slowly sat up, her head beginning to pound in a rhythm matched by an ache in her chest as memories of what happened less than twenty-four hours earlier assaulted her. She took a deep breath to steady herself. She didn’t have the energy to process anything right now. Goddess, give me strength.

She gripped the couch cushions as she took in her surroundings, her eyes adjusting to the lack of light. She noticed a paper bag on the table in front of her, paired with a fast food cold-drink cup and straw. The packaging had the distinctive red checkered pattern from the diner down the street.

Matilda bit her lip as she rose and made her way to the offering. Did he really…?

Her breath caught in her throat when she saw there was a note lying beside the food. It was only scribbled on a napkin with the same red checkered pattern, but it felt strangely precious. Matilda gingerly lifted the note. She knew before she saw the writing who it was from, but her heart fluttered to see the familiar script. 

“Thought you might want something when you woke up. Take care of yourself and let me know if you need anything. —Brom.”

Matilda smiled through the tears that began to sting her eyes. How had it taken her so long to realize his softer side?

She laid the note down, trying to ignore the sparse signature. Come on, Matilda, did you really expect him to write, “your husband”? Or even worse, “Love, Brom”?

The grumbling in her stomach brought a welcome distraction. Earlier that day, food was the farthest thought from her mind, but now…. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a drink, much less a snack or a full meal. In truth, it was a relief to be able to focus on such immediate, physical needs to stop herself from thinking about heavier subjects.

The routine of opening up the paper bag and pulling out the styrofoam containers felt like it grounded her to reality, a pull towards the familiar. Grilled cheese and tomato soup. Matilda smiled at the stereotypical comfort food, and she couldn’t help but wonder if this was what Brom had when he was a kid and wasn’t feeling well. Matilda dismissed the thought, refusing to admit how she wanted to know those things, to discover those seemingly unimportant details about her husband.

Your fake husband , she reminded herself as she poured the soup into a large mug and heated it up in the microwave. A wave of her hand could have done the trick, but she was still too tired even for simple charms. Besides, the beeps of the machine felt oddly normal after everything that had happened.  

Matilda found herself fiddling with a ring on her left hand with her thumb as she waited for the timer to count down. Not just any ring—the one on her fourth finger that all but shouted that she was very truly married.

Can you believe it, Kat? You’re gone, and I’m married to Abraham Van Brunt. Matilda swallowed the lump that rose in her throat as an ache spilled under her ribs, somehow both ice and fire at the same time. Couldn’t she just go back to feeling nothing for a little while longer? The absurdness of the situation made Matilda choke back laughter.

The microwave beeps pierced the silence to let her know it was done, and Matilda jumped. She shook her head at herself as she reached for the mug and brought it to the table. She sat down and instinctively fished her phone out of her pocket, activating the screen without thought.

She took a sip of the cold drink—iced tea, her favourite—and realized she had a few missed voicemails. She bit her lip, knowing she wasn’t in the headspace to listen to anything from that night. And yet, she couldn’t resist. It was like a siren’s call, lulling her towards destruction.

The messages were from Brom. They started out calm enough—well, except for a hint of shock, and almost excitement, about what he and Ichabod had found at Crayon’s house. She squeezed her eyes shut as they all played with a harsh BEEP in between. Each message became more and more frantic until the fear that laced his voice shot right through her. The last message didn’t even have him saying anything—she could only hear muffled conversation between him and Ichabod, and she thought she could make out Verla’s and Judy’s voices before it abruptly cut off.

Matilda grabbed the sandwich and stuffed a corner into her mouth, ripping off an unwisely-large bite. She fought to chew as tears streamed down her cheeks. As Brom was putting the pieces together, desperate to find her, Matilda was spending the last moments she would ever have with Kat.

It wasn’t fair. She would have given almost anything to save her best friend, but she also couldn’t bear the thought of destroying the strange little family that had been dropped into her lap. How was she supposed to know how much the appearance of one Ichabod Crane would uproot everything?

And maybe the worst part of all was that there was a tiny part of her—a part that had been growing far too quickly over the last few days—that was so grateful that he had.

Matilda swallowed the mass of grilled cheese sandwich and choked down a gulp of iced tea, the soup already forgotten. She blinked back her tears to focus on the screen of her phone, the only light in the now dark room. Her thumb hovered over Brom’s name until she finally began texting.

Thanks for the food. She paused and stared at the plain text for what seemed like ages. There was so much to say, so much to explain, but she couldn’t think of anything more. Finally, she added a simple smile emoji and tapped “send” before she could question it.

Matilda placed her phone on the table and lowered her head. She let out a muffled groan into her arms. “Well, there you have it, Kat. I’ve officially texted a smiley face to a boy.”

Chapter Text

Brom paused in front of the glass doors to Colonial Drugs ‘N’ Stuff. He picked out a single flower from the bouquet he held and twirled the stem in between his thumb and forefinger. The white petals twirled into a blur, but his mind was a million miles away. 

Should he be here? Did he want to see her? Did she want to see him ?

Brom shook his head at himself. He was just here to drop off the flowers.

He squinted to see into the bar, but it was dark, save for the crack of light from the staff room door at the back. He rapped on the glass with his knuckle.

No answer.

He took a deep breath and lifted his hand to tap again. He didn’t even make contact with the door when Verla appeared out of nowhere, making him jump out of his skin.

“Geez!” he exclaimed, his heart racing, and he chuckled nervously. “It’s, uh, it’s just me,” he added, raising his voice slightly so she could hear him through the glass. He couldn’t help but feel a little sheepish, standing outside with a flower hoping to see a certain girl, as if Verla was their chaperone. “Can I come in?”

Brom almost thought he saw the girl’s features soften from their usual sternness. She nodded and unlatched the door before disappearing as quickly as she’d come. “Thanks!” Brom called out to the air as he shut the door behind him with a click. 

There was just enough light from the street lamp outside for him to make his way to the back of the bar. He felt his way behind the counter until he was at the large panelled door.

He knocked on the solid wood before he could second-guess himself. It felt like whole years had passed since the truth had come out, and yet it was all so fresh he still wasn’t sure what to believe. “Matilda, are you in there? Matty?”

“Come in,” a muffled voice answered. 

Brom turned the doorknob and slowly opened the door. Matilda was seated at the table, a half-eaten sandwich in front of her.

“Hi,” he said slowly. He took a step forward, suddenly unsure of what to do. He felt like he was in middle school again. 

“Hi,” she echoed with a half smile. A strange tension hung thick in the room and squeezed at his chest,  and he clenched his empty fist. It almost felt like they were strangers, hidden from each other, and he couldn’t help but keep his guard up as he searched her eyes. 

He couldn’t for the life of him read her, and he hated it. 

To be fair, he wasn’t ready for her to know what he was feeling, either, considering he didn’t really know himself.

Her gaze dropped to the flowers in his hand, and Brom lifted them up. Her eyes grew wide in recognition and he wasn’t sure if this was a terrible idea.

“I, um, I wanted—I thought I’d bring these for you,” he stammered, holding out the bouquet with a stiff arm.

Matilda rose and approached Brom carefully. She reached out and took the bouquet with such intentional motions, as if it was a grenade that passed between them and not a piece of botany.

Brom’s breath hitched in his throat when her fingers brushed his and he stepped back quickly, glancing away before he could meet her eyes. The air felt charged between them and he sure wasn’t ready to figure out why.

Brom swallowed. “They were on the b-body,”—he winced at the word—”and Judy thought you should have them,” he offered as an explanation. “‘Cause she, uh—she works at the morgue now.” He glanced up, annoyed at himself for feeling so small in this moment, but he needn’t have worried. Matilda was focused on the flowers in her hands as if they were made of the most fragile gossamer, of glass that would shatter if she so much as breathed on them. Tears welled up in her eyes and Brom’s chest constricted as if to purge him of any doubts, if only for a moment. He fought the urge to close the space between them, not wanting to disturb her moment of grief. Instead, he soaked up the sight of her as she was lost to a private world, a moment so vulnerable and intimate that he should have looked away. 

Then she met his gaze, her eyes glistening with tears. “Thank you,” she breathed.

He nodded with a faint smile and licked his lips, unable to speak.

They held each other’s gazes for a few moments before realization dawned on Matilda, looking him over as if she finally noticed he was there. Brom’s heart fell slightly, to see a wall return between them, but he couldn’t help but enjoy watching her expression. 

“You changed,” she finally said with a wave towards him.

“Oh—yeah,” he replied, running his fingers through his slightly damp hair. He’d managed to grab some time at home for a quick shower before he’d met Judy at the morgue. He could feel the events of the last twenty-four hours catching up with him, though, so he couldn’t deny he would be ready to finally get some sleep. “I went home for a bit.”

Matilda nodded and shifted her weight. 

The silence hung thick between them, and Brom wasn’t sure what to say. There was so much he wanted to ask, so much he wanted to tell, and yet—there was something about the quiet, too. It was a calm he wasn’t used to, especially over the last few days.

His thumb instinctively went to his ring, rubbing the metal that encircled his fourth finger. Matilda’s gaze dropped to his hand and he saw her bite her lip. She crossed her arms in front of her, and he couldn’t help but look for the matching golden band she also wore, so different from her other rings. 

What was she thinking? Brom didn’t usually worry about what others thought, but if he was honest, he always cared a little about Matty’s opinion of him—even though he pretended he didn’t. And he could usually tell by either the quirk of her brow or the glint in her eye if she was perturbed or secretly amused.

He especially loved it when she gave him that sly smile when she thought he wasn’t looking.

Tonight, with the table lamp behind her the only source of light, he couldn’t make out her features in the shadows. He could see she was still in the same clothes as the night before, however, and that couch could not have been comfortable.

“Are you going home now?” he asked. “I could walk with you, if you want.”

Even in the dim light, Brom saw her shoulders lift, and his chest warmed. She gave a small nod. “That would be nice.”

Matilda felt herself relax ever so slightly as she walked the main street of Sleepy Hollow with Brom at her side. There was a comfort with his presence, a familiarity that had been growing since they had been working together with Ichabod over the last couple of weeks. It should have—it would have—unsettled her to want Brom in any way, but that was before…

Less than twenty-four hours ago she’d thought she’d never have this opportunity again, and in this moment, every fibre of her being was relieved that at least this was not completely lost to her.

Whatever this was.

They walked in silence as the street lights hummed overhead. The sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving a faint smear of pink and purple on the edge of the sky fading from dusk to night. The shops along the street were closed, with their sidewalk signs neatly tucked away, their windows dark and hung with all styles of lettering that declared they were closed. The only light that spilled onto the sidewalk came from the diner, though only a couple of patrons sat in the booths. Matilda barely noticed the sleepy town that was living up to its name—as if the whole world hadn’t been ripped out from under them—and her feet followed the route to her apartment, leaving her thoughts to wander. 

Brom was beside her, walking not so close that they could brush shoulders but not so far that he couldn’t reach for her hand if he chose.

Where did that come from? Matilda bit her lip and squeezed her hand into a fist, digging her nails into her palms. Of course she didn’t expect him to hold her hand—she didn’t really want him to—but the image had come to mind so quickly and she could feel a warmth bloom in her middle.

Just as quickly, she became hyper-aware of the flowers she held in her other hand, and Kat’s body laid out at the morgue flew to her mind. She swallowed as more tears welled up, and she looked to the side, willing herself not to cry.

“Everything okay?” Matilda heard Brom’s voice, soft but steady. She swallowed and took a breath before turning to him and meeting his gaze. His eyes were full of concern that Matilda almost wished he wasn’t looking at her like that. She didn’t think she could handle the floodgates opening up again. 

“Yeah,” she replied as she wiped her eyes. She picked up the pace as they turned a corner off of the main street. “It’s not far,” she said with a nod up ahead.

Brom easily matched her strides and followed her lead. “You know, it’s about time I see where the woman I’m married to lives,” he said with a chuckle.

Matilda flashed a sad smile, grateful at his levity, though his casual mention of their bizarre relationship status made her pulse quicken. Or maybe that was just because she was speed-walking.

By the time they’d reached her small four-unit building, the sky was dark. Clouds had rolled in, partially covering the moon that had shone so brightly the night before. Matilda fumbled for her keys and unlocked the door, holding it open for Brom before leading him up the narrow staircase. She opened the door to her apartment and flicked on the light, glancing for signs of Verla. There was no evidence of her ghostly roommate-daughter, and Matilda wasn’t sure if she was disappointed or relieved. 

Matilda threw her purse on the couch and shrugged off her jacket as she kicked her shoes off in the general direction of the mat by the door. Everything in the small space was exactly as she’d left it. The eerie normality only tightened the knot in her stomach that had twisted within her all day, especially as she crossed the room to the kitchen to fill a vase with water for the flowers in her hand.  

As she turned around and placed the bouquet on the coffee table, she saw Brom in the doorway and that knot loosened again, if only a little. He leaned on the doorjamb with one arm before straightening again, and Matilda realized it was strange to see him look uncertain.

“Do you want to come in?” she asked, trying to sound as casual as possible. If she wasn’t so drained she would have laughed at the absurdity of it, timidly inviting Brom Bones into her apartment for the first time while they both wore wedding rings. 

Instead, she held her breath, watching for his response.

He gave her a nod and a smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes and made her heart beat a little bit faster. “Sure.” He closed the door behind him with a click that tugged at her chest, as if they were crossing more than a literal threshold. 

She could almost hear Kat telling her to get a grip.

Brom thought he was just going to see Matilda to her front door and call it a night. He didn’t think he would go inside, and he definitely didn’t think she’d invite him to stay. But when she asked him to, her eyes looked so sad that he was pretty sure he’d promise to stay forever if she asked.

He’d managed to convince her that he could entertain himself in the main area of the apartment while she took a shower. The combined living room and kitchen was smaller than he expected, and he couldn’t help but wonder why she lived here when the Bishop family’s Victorian house was so spacious. Still, he wasn’t surprised that Matilda wanted her independence.

He also couldn’t help but wonder how she shared a one-bedroom apartment with a gothic ghost girl. It made him feel guilty, thinking of how he had his dad’s mansion all to himself while the Van Brunt patriarch was away. That was definitely too much space for one person.

Brom smiled as he took in the surroundings. The apartment smelled slightly floral and spicy, and… warm. He noticed a framed picture on the wall—a photo of Matilda and her mom, arms around each other and smiling at the camera at high school graduation. Matilda was wearing her cap and gown and her smile was only slightly smaller than her mother’s, who beamed at the camera as she hugged her daughter. Mr. Bishop must have been taking the photo. 

A lump caught in Brom’s throat at the scene. His dad had barely made it to the ceremony and had given him a quick slap on the back and a cheque before rushing off to the airport with the woman who would become wife number three.

Brom made his way around the room—easily done, given its size. The furniture was mismatched and a bit dinged up, but it only added to the coziness. Photos and art covered most of the walls, with silk scarves hung here and there, and what bare wall he could see was painted a deep purple. Shelves of books lined the room, complete with various plants and candles dotted throughout. The faded couch was covered with blankets and pillows—including one crocheted blanket that had every colour of the rainbow. The effect should have been a clashing mess, but instead it looked cozy and handmade. Brom wondered how many hands of the Bishop family line the piece had passed through as he brushed the soft yarn with his own.

The thrumming sound of the shower stopped, pulling Brom out of his thoughts. He took a few paces to the kitchen and filled the kettle on the counter with water before flicking the switch. He opened the cupboards and after a couple of tries, found a shelf with mugs piled on top of mugs. He pulled one down, setting it beside the kettle. Then he studied the selection of tea on the counter. He thought he’d heard that lavender was supposed to be good for sleep, but then again, maybe it was mint? Or was that for an upset stomach? He took off the lids to both tins and sniffed. Both varieties smelled good, so he took a bag of each and placed it in the empty mug.

As he worked he fought to ignore the thoughts that swam in his mind. A couple of days ago he’d wondered what it would be like to be in Matty’s apartment. Or, more accurately, he wondered what it would be like to be in their apartment—or house. What would it be like to make her favourite tea—or coffee—in the morning? Would they have pancakes, or did she prefer bacon and eggs? Verla would pop in as they laughed over the morning paper, finishing the last of their breakfast in a gulp before he hurried to the high school and she headed off to her store.

And then he’d woken up with a massive headache to see Kat standing over him with Matilda beside her, his wrists tied and chafing under the rope while Ichabod explained that his wife had put him there.

Things were complicated to say the least.

The electric kettle rumbled to a boil and switched off, and Brom blinked to regain his focus. He poured the water into the mug and watched the tea bags rise. The sweet smell of the lavender mixed with the coolness of the mint and Brom hoped he’d made the right choice. 

He heard the bathroom door open, followed by the click of the bedroom door, and Brom ignored the heat that thrummed in his veins. Strange how something so ordinary could feel so intimate.

He brought the mug over to the coffee table and sank into the couch. He grabbed the remote and switched on the TV that was only mid-size and a few years old. He was surprised that it looked so normal, given Verla’s origin story. He flipped through the channels, not really paying attention to what was on the screen.

“Hey,” a voice said softly and he glanced up. Matilda stood in front of him, dressed in a baggy sweatshirt and leggings. Her wet hair fell in waves and curled on her shoulders, and her face was bare. Her hands were free of her usual rings except for the gold band on her fourth finger.

Brom felt a skip in his chest and he stood up. “Hey,” he echoed. 

She walked around the coffee table and sat on the couch. As she sat down, she noticed the tea. “Is this for me?”

“Yeah,” Brom said, running his hand through his hair as he sat down beside her. Why was his mouth suddenly dry?

She picked up the mug and breathed in the steam that rose up. “Mmm,” she said. “Lavender and mint. How did you know?”

Brom raised his eyebrows. “You like it?”

She smiled and blew on the liquid. “Yeah,” she said with a nod before taking a sip. 

She leaned back into the couch and Brom relaxed. He wasn’t even sure what channel the TV was on—he couldn’t help but watch her, curled up on the couch, in sweats and no makeup, wet hair, sipping on her tea. If it wasn’t for the metaphorical elephant in the room, there was a small part of him that couldn’t help but think, this is what you were imagining—but better. 

She stared at the TV as its blue light flickered, but he could tell her thoughts were a million miles away. Brom noticed her eyes well up with tears, and his heart tightened under his ribs.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked slowly.

“No,” she replied without looking at him.

“Do you”—he took a deep breath—”do you want me to leave?” He studied her expression, fearful of what her answer might be and even more fearful of what he wanted her to say.

She shook her head as tears rolled down her cheeks. “No,” she said more softly, her eyes still fixed on the TV.

Brom nodded and sat back on the couch beside her. He draped his arm across the back of the couch and before he knew it, Matilda had wordlessly shifted herself into him and rested her head on his shoulder. Brom licked his lips and brought his arm around her, the ache in his chest growing as her wet hair brushed his cheek.

Chapter Text

Matilda awoke to a strange-yet-familiar view, and she squinted as she tried to orient herself. It was her living room, the TV in front of her and Kat’s bouquet on the coffee table. The floral scent filled the air with a hint of something other-worldly, a sweetness that was hard to identify. But it was something else that alerted her senses—the earthy musk of quality cologne along with the freshness of eucalyptus soap.

Her breath caught in her throat as she realized it was not the fabric of a pillow under her head, but the very warm and solid muscle of a man. She shifted her arm to find a good spot between their bodies to push herself up, holding her breath so as not to disturb him. She shifted to the edge of the couch and his arm fell behind her.

Right. Brom had come over. They must have fallen asleep on the couch. 

She let her gaze fall over him, his features relaxed in sleep, the rise and fall of his chest a hypnotic rhythm. His feet were planted on the ground and his head had fallen back against the back of the couch in what had to be an uncomfortable position. 

Matilda slowly swung her legs out from under her and bit back a groan as her muscles protested. That was certainly a stupid sleeping arrangement.

She stood up, which caused the couch cushions to shift. Brom rolled to his side and Matilda froze as her heart started to pound. All of a sudden it was imperative that he stay asleep for just a little while longer, as if they found themselves between worlds where nothing bad had happened or would happen, where she didn’t have to decide if she wanted him to stay or leave.

She kept her gaze focused on his eyes for what felt like forever, his dark lashes brushing his cheeks. A lock of hair fell across his face, and Matilda squeezed her fist to resist the urge to sweep it back. 

She grabbed the crocheted blanket beside her and dared to drape it over him, and she smiled at how his feet poked out at the bottom.  

She could only imagine what Grandma would have said to know her great-grandmother’s blanket was now covering a Van Brunt man.

“What’s he doing here?” a stern voice asked, and Matilda jumped. She turned around to see Verla pointing at Brom.

“Nothing,” Matilda replied without bothering to think of an excuse. She wound around the coffee table and made a beeline for the kitchen, her nerves on edge. “What time did you get back?” she retorted, failing to calm the bite to her voice. She carefully opened the cupboards in search of anything appropriate for breakfast.

“The hour when the veil between worlds is at its thinnest and the spirits beckon mortals to play.”

“Hmm?” Matilda asked without turning around.

“Around three o’clock.”

Matilda nodded as she grabbed a box of Lucky Charms cereal shoved in the back of a lower cupboard, paired with a box of Shredded Wheat. That would have only come from her mother, and her suspicions were confirmed when she checked the expiry date. 2018 . She sighed and placed the box in the garbage with unusual care, glancing at Brom across the room to check that he was still sleeping. 

No movement as of yet.

She returned her attention to her meagre breakfast offering and exhaled to see that the marshmallow cereal was still good. Satisfied with the date, she fished out a piece of cereal and popped it into her mouth to be sure. It was sufficiently crunchy, so she placed the open box on the counter. 

“Cereal?” Matilda offered Verla, who hovered behind her.

“No, thank you,” she replied. She instead went to another cupboard and pulled out a bag of dried pasta and began crunching on its contents.

“Sh-h-h!” Matilda hissed. She didn’t mind the girl’s choice of sustenance—at least it was food. Then again, she was still hazy on the rules for her ghost-slash-undead-slash-wraith-slash-all of the above charge, but she still cringed when she caught Verla chewing on an old charging cable or the odd battery. Uncooked pasta was harmless enough.

She groaned when she opened the fridge to reveal a lack of milk. She’d spent so much time at The Drugstore this week that groceries had fallen off the to-do list. If she was honest, she hadn’t even thought past The Night. In the preparations of the last two weeks, today hadn’t existed on the calendar as far as she was concerned.

Nothing could have prepared her for where she found herself now.

Matilda shook her head at herself as she continued with her mortal routine. At least there was coffee, but she couldn’t remember—did Brom drink it black? Maybe she had that flavoured creamer that Kat had left…

Soon the coffee maker was bubbling to life, filling the small apartment with the heady scent of its dark roast. As she worked, Matilda would catch a glimpse of the ring on her finger, and she would sneak a glance to Brom still sleeping on the couch. There was something sweet about him lying there, and Matilda was reminded of their primary school days with naps on brightly-coloured rugs.

Kat would always be the first to wake up, and she would be sure to wake Matilda up with her. The girl with perfect golden hair in her new ribbons would immediately find some way to make Matilda giggle, earning Matilda a stern look of warning or even a “ Sh-h-h-h! ” from Miss Maple while Kat got away scot-free.

“That smells good.”

Matilda whirled around to see Brom in the kitchen behind her. He gave her a smile and she felt her knees wobble as his charm seemed heightened by his ruffled hair.

“Uh, hi,” she murmured. She caught Verla glancing between them both as she continued to crunch on the uncooked penne. 

“What?” Brom asked. “Is there drool on my face?” He wiped his mouth with his hand, his ring catching the light from the kitchen window. 

Matilda shook her head and stepped back towards the coffee maker, suddenly feeling underdressed. Why hadn’t she at least brushed her teeth or combed her hair?

“Your appearance is neither offensive nor desirable,” Verla replied in her monotone. With that, she glided out of the kitchen towards the bedroom, her bag of pasta in hand.

“I—okay…” Brom said with a nod in her direction. He shrugged at Matilda and smiled again before taking a step towards her. 

Matilda backed up until she bumped into the counter. “Did you sleep okay?” she asked—the most banal question, she thought with a cringe.

Brom nodded and reached for his neck. “I mean, I’m definitely not a teenager anymore,” he said with a chuckle. “But I’ll survive.”

“Oh!” Matilda said with a start. “I’ve got something for that.” Before Brom could respond, she brushed past him and made her way around the corner, ignoring the way her pulse quickened when her arm touched his in the small space. She grabbed a jar with a handwritten label from the bathroom and returned to the kitchen.

She untwisted the lid. “This should help,” she said, lifting it up for him to inspect. It was a heavy cream with a green tint, and a slight astringent though not unpleasant scent. “It’s rosemary,” she explained as he raised his eyebrows. “May I?”

He nodded and turned around, holding his hair back with his hand. Matilda dipped two fingers into the jar and brought a dollop of the cream to his neck. 

Shit, shit, shit, she swore to herself as her fingers made contact with his bare skin. As intended, the cream warmed as she rubbed it into the nape of his neck, up to his hairline and under his collar. She swallowed as she felt heat rise in her middle that had nothing to do with the salve.

“That—that feels good,” Brom breathed, and Matilda snapped her hand away. She stepped to the side and placed the jar on the counter, screwing the lid in place, relieved to put some distance between them, even if it was just by a foot.

She took a breath before she turned around to face him. “It’s a family recipe,” she explained, “but I’ve tweaked it a bit.”

“Is it… magical?”

Matilda nodded. “There’s a charm involved. That’s why it warms up so quickly, and the pressure works it into the muscle.” Stop talking, stop talking, stop talking.

Brom nodded. “Oh.”

Oh, like you’re relieved? Oh, like you’re disappointed? Oh, like you wish there wasn’t anything supernatural about it?

Suddenly, Matilda remembered the coffee that had finished its drip. “I made coffee,” she offered, crossing the small kitchen in a step. “Do you want some?”

“Sure,” Brom replied. Without missing a beat, he closed the distance between them, opened the cupboard, and pulled down two mugs. He handed them to her.

“Thanks,” she said. She cursed the fluttering in her middle. It was strange, how Brom of all people could simultaneously ease the knot in her stomach and wind her up tighter than a jack-in-the-box about to pop. She had rolled her eyes in high school when Kat gushed over him, so why did she feel like she’d traded places with her best friend?

She poured two mugs of the dark liquid and handed one back to him. Their fingers brushed and Matilda bit her lip. For goddess’ sake, you have handed this guy his beers dozens of times at The Drugstore. Calm down.

She’d heard about this. Grief showed itself in any number of ways, and she’d seen it firsthand when countless residents came to her grandmother and mother for any relief they could get. Of course, there wasn’t much to truly be done for a broken heart, but the Bishops provided what little potions they could to ease the superficial symptoms. 

The hole buried in one’s heart was a lot harder to reach.

“I’m sorry I don’t have any cream or milk,” Matilda apologized. “I might have some sugar—”

“It’s fine,” Brom replied. “I take my coffee black.” As if to convince her, he took a sip and his expression instantly twisted into a grimace.

Matilda laughed. “You do not!”
Brom grinned and shook his head. “I do not,” he agreed. Still, he took another sip, and Matilda could see him fight to control his expression. The gesture was ridiculous and sweet all at once, and Matilda felt her shoulders relax. 

She leaned against the counter and crossed one ankle in front of her. She couldn’t help but think he looked good in her kitchen—his clothes slightly rumpled, his hair loosely swept back, her mug in his hand. 

“Oh, I almost forgot—there’s Lucky Charms,” she added, reaching behind her to show him the box.

His face brightened. “Now that's more my palate,” he agreed. He took the box from Matilda and rearranged himself at the counter opposite her. She watched him with amusement as he poured some cereal into his hand and picked out some marshmallows.

“You have to eat the cereal too, Brom,” Matilda chastised, her tone too bright to hold any weight.

He looked around, studying her kitchen until he found the drawers. He reached for the top one and pulled out a spoon. He proceeded to drop in his handful of marshmallows, giving the concoction a stir before he lifted it to his lips for a taste. 

“Better?” Matilda asked, one arm crossed across her stomach as she held her own coffee close to her mouth.

Brom let out an exaggerated sigh as his eyes crinkled with mirth. “Nope!”

Matilda rolled her eyes, unable to keep a smile back, and she took a sip of her coffee. This breakfast was disastrous, and yet, she hadn’t felt this light in days.

And then everything came crashing down upon her with a weight that was somehow harder to bear, having experienced its brief absence. 

If someone had told Brom a week ago that he would be waking up in Matilda’s apartment after spending the night, he would have laughed in their face—and been secretly intrigued. Though things were innocent enough, it took all his effort to remain still when he awoke to her shifting beside him on the couch. Her slow movements made him realize she was trying not to wake him, and he was grateful he’d had enough control not to open his eyes, though not before he’d rolled towards her. He’d hate to startle her in a repeat of the last time they’d found themselves in this position. 

His mind raced as he kept his eyes closed. Was she sorry to see him there? Or did she want him to stay? Honestly, both options made him nervous.

Instead, he held off the real world for as long as he could with eyes closed and steady breaths as her arm brushed his thigh while she pushed herself up. Cool air filled the space she had left, and his heart fell.

Snap out of it, Bones! After everything that’s happened, you have no idea what she’s thinking.

And then, she draped the blanket over him. Brom used every ounce of self control to keep his expression in place in case he gave himself away, and he was grateful she couldn’t hear his pulse thrum under his skin.

Well, he was pretty sure she couldn’t.

He listened as she puttered around the kitchen and chastised Verla for crunching. He let himself smile, eyes still closed, believing himself at a safe distance and unobserved.

He indulged in a few more minutes of espionage before the draw towards the kitchen was too much. He knew it was risky, to give in to the temptation of the domestic scene. It would only break this bubble they found themselves in. Oh, well, he’d have to face the disappointment of reality sooner or later.

He slowly lifted the blanket off of himself and sat up, wincing at the stiffness in his neck. He rubbed the offending area, and a quick assessment told him it was only a tight muscle rather than a pinched nerve. 

It was worth it.

He took a deep breath as he made his way to the kitchen. Gosh, she was cute in her sweater and leggings, with her hair slightly frizzy in its natural curl. That annoying beat in his veins only quickened when she realized he was there, the way she seemed to relax but also avoid eye contact.

Do you want me here?

He hated that, despite the coziness of the space, he couldn’t help but feel the weight of her betrayal, the depth of the secrets she had kept, and the sting of loss. He’d forgiven her, of course—it had almost been a matter of instinct once the pieces fit together, to finally understand what she’d been through—but he couldn’t ignore the wall that had risen between them once more.

And then she’d rubbed that damn cream on his neck and all rational thought flew from his body.

He was pretty sure she could feel it too, the way she snatched her hand away, and he struggled to make sense of the barrage of emotions that pricked at him. 

The simple act of pouring coffee should have at least been grounding, but all it took was seeing her at the coffee maker, her back to him, to materialize the image of him coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her, breathing in her floral-clean scent, and—

Brom walked across the room towards her and opened the cupboard with the mugs. That was normal, right?

What was not normal was the way it felt like his fingers were touching hers for the first time.

Soon she was laughing at antics, and his heart swelled to see a glimmer in her eye, a freedom from the grief she’d carried for so long. Just as suddenly, he could see the veil return as her eyes darkened and her shoulders slumped. 

He would have given anything to be able to take that burden from her.

Instead, he kept himself firmly planted on the other side of the kitchen, unsure of what to do or say to make things better. He knew there wasn’t a magic fix for what had happened, or where they found themselves, but damn, did it have to be so painful?

For now, he was going to enjoy what this was, drinking coffee with Lucky Charms with Matilda in her very normal kitchen, feeling not-spooky-or-cursed-in-any-way, which was more than enough for him after recent events.

Reality soon reached them, however, when the doorbell made them both jump. Matilda rushed to the buzzer. “It’s Judy!” a cheery voice called out, and Matilda buzzed her in. She opened the door and Brom came up behind her to welcome the mayor’s-assistant-turned-morgue-assistant. 

“Oh, well hello, Mr. Bishop, I didn’t expect to see you here!” Judy greeted as she reached the landing with a casserole dish in both hands. Brom jumped back. 

“Oh, it’s not—he didn’t—”

“We’re not—I mean, really—”

The three friends stopped and exchanged looks, and Judy raised her eyebrows.

“Well, then,” she continued, “I thought I would bring you this.” She held out the dish to Matilda. Matilda stepped inside the doorway and nodded for Judy to come inside. Brom closed the door after them and followed them to the kitchen.

“I just wanted to bring this over for you,” Judy explained. “I know it’s been a rough time for you, and we’re really sorry about Kat.” 

“We?” Matilda looked up at Judy, and Brom could see tears glisten in her eyes.

Judy nodded as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “Ichabod and the Babes and I.” She leaned in closer and whispered, “But don’t worry, I’m the one who actually made it.”

Matilda let out a chuckle though her lip trembled. 

“Why don’t I put that away for you,” Brom offered, and before she could answer he took the casserole from her arms and placed it in the fridge. 

Matilda waved Judy to the couch. “I’m sorry I’m such a mess,” she said. “I slept in, and I wasn’t really expecting anyone.” She twirled a strand of hair with her index finger.

Judy shook her head as she tucked her skirt under her and sat down. “You look fine,” she replied. “And I promise I won’t take long.”

Brom raised his eyebrows and sat beside Matilda. He and Judy had spoken briefly about next steps at the morgue, and Judy said she would find out more from the funeral home. Brom didn’t have the first idea about how to deal with a body or whether there should be a funeral or memorial, especially when everything had happened so fast. He couldn’t see Matilda’s expression as she faced Judy, but he could see her body tense and her fist clench. He hadn’t had a chance to bring it up, and it looked like the thought had only just sunk in for her. He instinctively placed a hand on her shoulder,

“I wanted to let you know that, well, given the unusual circumstances, Mayor— Mr. Van Tassel is being transferred downtown, so you’re the closest thing to family for Katrina.” 

Brom felt like a hand had reached inside his chest and squeezed the air out of his lungs. His own grief mixed with anger at Katrina was confusing enough, but how was Matilda possibly going to make sense of anything? She couldn’t be expected to plan a funeral.

Judy glanced at Brom and back at Matilda before she hurried on. “I spoke with Mrs. Van Ripper at the funeral home and I’d be happy to help you organize a service with her if you like. They usually use the church down the street, and then I thought we could hold a small reception at Colonial Drugs ‘N’ Stuff. Just something simple.” 

Judy paused and studied Matilda’s expression. Brom could see her head bob up and down in a nod. After a pause, Judy went on. “I also wanted to ask how you wanted to—explain what happened.” She dragged out the last few words and she looked at Brom. Brom squeezed Matilda’s shoulder as he returned Judy’s gaze. He didn’t trust himself to speak. 

Judy returned her gaze to Matilda, who remained silent. “We can just say it was an accident at the theatre, or a medical condition like an aneurysm, and leave it at that. But with Mr. Van Tassel being arrested, and eventually there will be a trial—”

“A trial?” Matilda straightened, and Brom winced. He could already imagine how this tragedy would be dragged out further in court. And would Matilda have to testify…? The thought made him shudder.

Judy nodded. “But we don’t have to worry about that now. I just wanted you to know we’ll tell people whatever you think is best.”

Matilda sighed, and Brom inhaled deeply, his muscles tense as he waited for her reply.

“I think—I think we should tell the truth,” she finally said. “That Baltus… that there was an accident between him and Kat that…”

Judy reached for Matilda’s arm and nodded with tears in her own eyes. “Of course, we’ll do that.” She sat back and smiled. “You don’t have to worry about anything.”

Matilda turned around to Brom, as if to reassure herself that he was there, and he returned her sad smile with one of his own. She returned her attention to Judy. “Thank you.”

The thought of Kat’s funeral hit Matilda like a tonne of bricks, and yet she needed to be involved in her last chance to say goodbye to her best friend. After Judy left, Matilda found her phone to go through photos from the last few years since it was the only thing she could think of to do. She also dug out an old photo album she had on a shelf, though she had most of her photos in boxes at her parents’ house. Brom joined her in the hunt, scrolling through his own phone for documentation from their years growing up in their small town. It almost felt like she was looking at someone else’s life, the perfect smiles and poses. How could one life be summed up in a few pictures? Especially when the faces looking back at her seemed like different people.

“Here’s our prom,” Matilda said, holding up the photo album to Brom. He leaned over, turning his attention from his phone to the pages of photos taken on film and printed with ink. She wore a sleek black dress with dark makeup while Kat wore a silver gown, her blonde hair piled high with perfectly styled ringlets framing her face. Brom had his arm around her, wearing a pale blue suit, and his smirk to the camera looked almost cartoonish. “Kat was so mad that you wore that colour.”

Brom chuckled. “Was she? I don’t remember, but I don’t think I remember much about that night.”

Matilda rolled her eyes. “That’s ‘cause you and the Babes spiked the punch bowl so much you could smell it across the room. I don’t know how you could see after that night—I don’t know how you snuck the Babes in.” She didn’t add that she probably knew more about what happened between Brom and Kat that night than Brom did, but she also knew that that was in the past. The man beside her really was a different person, and he’d proven that more than ever the last couple of weeks. 

He lingered on the photo, and Matilda could smell his cologne. “You looked pretty,” he said. “And powerful.”

“Thanks,” she replied. She was glad he was looking at the photos so he couldn’t see her cheeks flush. 

Still, the photos spread before her created a pang in her stomach, a reminder of what had been—both good and bad—but also a guilt that her life would move forward without her friend, whether she was ready or not.

“Hey,” Brom said, pulling her from her thoughts. He touched his knee with hers as they sat side by side. “I really should get going. Are you going to be okay? Do you need anything?”

Matilda bit her lip. “Can’t think of anything,” she assured him. Truth be told, her mind raced to think of something she could use to keep him with her. The thought of facing the night alone made her shiver, but she couldn’t ask him to stay even longer. 

As he stood up, his phone buzzed, and he read the text. “Judy’s asking if this Saturday will work for the funeral service.” He looked at her. “Is that okay?”

Matilda nodded and swallowed the lump in her throat. At least there would be enough to do to keep her occupied. But what if nobody showed up? Or worse, what if everybody showed up just to jeer? 

“Hey,” Brom murmured, reaching for her hand. She instinctively took it, and he pulled her up from the couch. He placed his hands on her arms. “Just take a deep breath. You’ve got me, and Icky, and Verla, and Judy. Plus, this whole town loves you, and they loved Kat.” She could see a flicker of emotion in his eyes as he said the last name, and she couldn’t help but wonder how much of his conflicted emotions were also directed towards her. 

He dropped his hands and headed towards the door. “You’ve got the casserole Judy brought, and I’m only a text away. Just make sure you get some rest, okay?”

Matilda nodded. “You too,” she added as she crossed her arms over her middle. He gave her a smile before he left, and Matilda tried to ignore the flutter in her chest. The door clicked behind him and she sighed. It was still early but she felt like she could crash for the next twenty-four hours. Inviting as her bed suddenly seemed, she realized there was one more thing she had to do.

She grabbed her phone and scrolled through her contacts until she came to “Mom”. She tapped the name and held her breath as the phone rang, her eyes welling up in anticipation. 

“Hello?” a voice answered.

Tears streamed down Matilda’s cheeks at the familiar tone of one who could usually make everything better.

“Matilda, honey?” her mother continued when Matilda didn’t answer. “What’s wrong?”

Matilda collapsed on the couch as she held her phone to her ear and began to sob. “She’s gone,” Matilda cried. “Kat died, and her funeral’s on Saturday.”

She took a deep breath and told her mother everything.

Chapter Text

The next few days passed by in a blur, and Matilda was grateful for the distractions. She insisted on working at the bar, keeping it open, albeit with limited hours (at the owner’s insistence—and her parents’, and Brom’s). Judy was a goddess-send as she handled the administrative details with the funeral home but also let Matilda plan out what she could. Her parents were unable to make it back in time for the funeral, but Matilda didn’t feel alone. Brom helped her put a photo slideshow together—a bittersweet task to say the least. The hardest part was writing out a eulogy, and though she wasn’t sure if she’d actually be able to read it out in front of the small group of mourners who were likely to attend, she would never forgive herself if she didn’t at least attempt to give Kat a proper tribute.

On her first day back and Colonial Drugs ‘N’ Stuff, Matilda held her breath as the bell announced the first customer of the day. She looked up from the counter, cloth and spray bottle in her hand, and for a second she regretted coming back to work. Then, she saw Ichabod shuffling in. He made his way towards her, and Matilda remained frozen in place as her fingers gripped the plastic nozzle. Next to Brom, Ichabod was the one person to whom Matilda had the most to explain—and apologize.

“Hi,” he said with a cautious smile and a timid wave. In spite of herself, a corner of her heart lifted at the remembrance of the first time he’d entered the bar, his big eyes full of hope and a little too much optimism behind his glasses. Now, his gaze fixed on hers with a look of deep sympathy that Matilda almost had to look away.

She honestly hadn’t expected to see him for awhile, but she was so glad he was here.

“Hey,” she breathed with a tremble in her voice. She waited a beat to collect herself, and she was grateful that he gave her that time. She licked her lips before she continued. “Ichabod, I’m so sorry about everything. I wish I had told you sooner. I just didn’t know that…” That you would become one of my best friends.

Ichabod replied with a smile filled with understanding—and a little bit of darkness that cut at Matilda’s core, to glimpse the hurt that would certainly take time to heal. She knew he had truly cared for Kat, and she could only imagine his confusion and grief as he processed everything. “Thank you,” he said. “I appreciate that. And I—well, I talked with Brom. And I want you to know that I’m here for you.”

“Thank you.”  There should have been more to say, but somehow that seemed enough. There would be plenty of time to deal with emotions that still felt too raw at this moment. She was tempted to ask Ichabod about Brom—he’d just confirmed her suspicions that they’d been talking—but she also wasn’t ready for answers she didn’t want to hear.

Instead, their conversation turned towards more practical issues, and before she knew it, Ichabod had offered to help her plan and prepare the food for the reception after the funeral. Matilda was glad for many reasons, not least of which because she didn’t want Brom anywhere near the knives or oven.

The day of the service arrived, and Matilda was touched at how many people crammed into the small church to pay their respects. She shouldn’t have been surprised, given the Van Tassel name, but she also wasn’t sure how much the rumours had spread around town. Gossip could be vicious at the best of times, and in this case, the truth was more brutal than fiction. Matilda felt tears prick her eyes and sting her nose as people continued to shuffle in a few minutes before the service was about to start, with some having to stand at the back. Matilda turned around in the hard pew, surveying the gathering, with Brom on one side and Ichabod on the other. Scattered throughout she saw Lucretia, the Trousers, and the Babes—even Trevor Trinkets, with his suit that was a little too short—and of course, Judy. Her eyes widened to see Rip of all people enter at the last minute, and he shuffled to a spot in the back corner.

Brom whispered in her ear. “They’re here for you.” Matilda had to whip around and stare ahead as she gripped the papers in her hand. 

They should have had the service at the theatre with its larger capacity, but that was never an option. It was bad enough to see Kat’s casket in this unassuming building, laid out with the bouquet left by Henrietta Hudson—a detail only known to Ichabod, Brom, Rip, and herself—and a framed picture of the blonde woman, her teasing smile full of secrets of which Matilda wondered how many she actually knew. To be remembering Kat in the place where she died, where Matilda had made her fateful decision….

No, this was better. Even though Kat probably would have hated it, or at least part of it. To be in a church, for one, when neither Matilda nor Kat had darkened its door for ages. To have such a benign photo framed by a boring cream paper with the script “Beloved daughter and friend” that fell so flat. And yet, it was blessedly neutral. Matilda had struggled to come up with anything that didn’t betray her friend’s trust, or heighten her own sense of guilt, so dignified and neutral felt like the best place to land.

Besides, Kat had what she would have wanted the most—the attention of the whole town, gathered together to say their last goodbyes to Sleepy Hollow’s darling.

After the service, they proceeded to the cemetery for the internment. It was beyond strange to be there in the daytime, and Matilda was glad for Ichabod and Brom at her side. How the hell were she and Kat here together a week ago? How was it that she and Ichabod and Brom had been digging up heads for the Horseman from a few rows over? And now, here she was, laying Kat in the cold ground beside her mother, and Matilda was the one who put her there.

No. As if reading her thoughts, Brom gave her elbow a squeeze, and Matilda swallowed the lump in her throat. It was not her fault.

She picked a flower out of the bouquet she gripped and took steady steps towards the coffin. She placed the bouquet on top of the polished wood and took a deep breath. 

Goodbye, Kat. See you on the other side.

Tears blurred her vision as she stepped back and turned to join Brom and Ichabod. Brom put his arm around her and Matilda sunk into him, her legs threatening to buckle from underneath her. Ichabod placed a hand on her back, and Matilda felt wet drops streak down her face.

It wasn’t fair.

Matilda didn’t hear the few words spoken by the pastor. She could only stare at the coffin as it was slowly lowered into the ground, and she couldn’t help but wonder if part of herself was being buried in the earth as well.

Thank goodness for Brom’s steady grip as he led her back to the church. She followed him to his car with Ichabod, and the short ride to the bar helped her refocus. She could not cry when she was surrounded by most of Sleepy Hollow’s residents who were eager for food and drink.

The string of condolences should have been grating, but Matilda could sense the sympathy behind the words and looks. Maybe she’d spent too much time with Ichabod.

The hardest person to face was Rip, and Matilda couldn’t hide her shock when he approached her. She instinctively turned to leave, but Brom reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze. He nodded to Rip, and Rip took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said quietly, and Matilda bit her lip. She wanted to look away, to assuage her guilt that crashed over her for the countless time, but she knew she owed Rip her full attention, even as her heart beat wildly against her ribcage.

“I—I know you’re probably surprised to see me,” he continued, “and I’m still—mad—about what happened but, I… in a very bizarre way, I owe Kat my life.” He paused for a moment, and Matilda saw his features soften. “It could have been me being buried, either a year ago, or today, but I’m still here, and…” He trailed off before flashing Matilda a meaningful look. “Thank you.”

Matilda nodded as tears streamed down her cheeks. With a few words, a look, so much of the weight she’d carried for the last year, like a fog that threatened to choke her, lessened its hold. It was still there, but Rip had held out a light to chase away some of the darkness.

As did Ichabod and Brom.

“I’m sorry too,” Matilda managed to choke out through her tears. Rip nodded, and glanced at Brom.

“Thanks, Bro,” Brom said with a nod, and Matilda couldn’t help but wonder if the two men had shared a conversation or two to bring them to this point. 

Whatever the reason, Matilda was grateful for the unexpected olive branch.

The gathering continued with the hum of subdued conversation. Matilda noticed Verla weaving in and out of the guests, and she chuckled when someone would do a double-take at the form gliding beside them. Ichabod seemed more quiet than normal, his shoulders slumped, but he mingled with the various residents—some who he knew, some who he didn’t. Matilda realized some were the parents of his students. Her heart went out to him as she wondered what on earth he could be saying to people about Kat.

Goddess, they’d all been put in an impossible situation. 

She also smiled to see the Babes emerge on roller skates with platters in their hands. She should have been horrified—she could see the accidents just waiting to happen in a room surrounded with glass cabinets and limited space—but their antics lightened what had been an awful day.

Brom shrugged with a smile. “I told them they needed to help serve the food,” he offered as the only explanation.

Matilda rolled her eyes. 

The afternoon continued and the gathering began to thin out. Soon it was just Matilda and Brom with Judy, Ichabod, Verla, and the Babes. Matilda was grateful for the company and welcomed the help. She’d expected to leave what she could for the next day, but before she knew it, the little group had finished cleaning up entirely. Well, Ichabod and Judy helped in the kitchen—Brom was ordered to keep an eye on the Babes as they skated around the main area of the bar now cleared of the pesky obstacles that had been there earlier, supposedly helping to sweep and mop. Matilda winced when she heard a crash followed by Tripp yelling, “I’m okay!”

Brom poked his head in the door. “Everything’s fine, but do you have any paper towels?”

Judy grabbed a roll and handed it to Brom before he disappeared.

Less than a minute later, Brom reappeared in the doorway. “Everything’s still fine, but do you have a first aid kit?”

Matilda bit back a retort and pointed to the box on the shelf beside her. “Thanks,” Brom said as he took a few steps and snatched the white and red box and returned to the site of the accident. “Don’t worry!” he called over his shoulder. 

Matilda and Ichabod exchanged raised eyebrows, but as long as stitches were not required, Matilda couldn’t bring herself to care.

With everything in its place, Matilda flicked off the lights and locked up, the single flower from Kat’s bouquet in her hand. She hugged Judy goodbye, followed by Ichabod. “Thank you,” she said for what felt like the hundredth time. The words felt so trite, and yet there was nothing more she could say.

She turned towards Brom. He’d been by her side all day, but they’d almost always been surrounded by other people. Matilda was glad to have the chance to have a moment alone, to take a good look at him in the soft light of sunset. He was dressed in a black suit—a stark contrast to his usual gym-teacher attire—with a dark purple tie knotted at his throat and his hair slicked back. Matilda ignored the heat that rose in her middle, an instinct she’d almost mastered as she pushed down a myriad of emotions over the last day, the last week, the last year.

“I’ve got to drive the Babes home, but did you want to come?” he asked. “I can drop you off at your place after.”

Matilda glanced behind him to see the Babes arguing about who would ride shotgun. She nodded. “Sure.” Verla would have apparated back to the apartment, if she hadn’t already begun her nightly haunting.

He led her to the car and opened the passenger seat. “Ahem,” he said with a jerk of his head at Cal. The offending party jumped out and climbed into the back with Tripp and Blair, who groaned in response.

“My lady,” Brom said with a wave to the now empty seat. She took his hand as he helped her into the car.

He closed the door after her and she took a deep breath to steady herself. This was not the time to start reading into gestures, or pretending they were something that they weren’t. She realized she was fiddling with her wedding ring as Brom climbed into the driver’s seat, and she shoved her hands underneath her, her flower on her lap.

The sunset was clear as they drove around town, and Matilda could almost appreciate the beauty of the natural phenomenon, the glow of the sun dipping below the horizon as it gave up on the day, its shades of pink and purple streaked across the sky. It seemed a good send-off for Kat.

The drive was quiet for a few moments, but Matilda could hear the Babes almost buzzing with the effort of keeping still. She reached for the radio and turned it on, flicking through the stations, unsure of what she was looking for. A few notes of “Bohemian Rhapsody” played before she switched to the next station.

“Go back!” Cal called from the backseat.

“Guys, I don’t know if that’s a good idea,’ Brom warned, but Matilda switched back to the station as requested.

“You sure?” Brom asked. He threw her a glance and Matilda nodded.

Brom turned up the volume and before she knew it, Matilda was being serenaded by a four part rendition of “Bohemian Rhapsody” at full volume.

“Galileo!” cried Cal.

“Galileo!” echoed Tripp.

“Galileo figaro-o-o-o-o-o-o-o .”

Matilda laughed at the obvious familiarity of the quartet, and Brom flashed her a smile as he sang his part—albeit slightly off key. By the end, Matilda had joined in, though she could not quite match the Babes’ enthusiasm. For a few moments, this bizarre choir was all that existed, and relief bubbled in her chest.

As the song finished, they had reached their first destination. Matilda rolled her eyes as Blair climbed over Cal to get out of the car, but no one else seemed to mind the inefficient exit.

“Good night, Boss! And Mrs. Boss.”

Matilda nodded, unsure if she should correct him, but he slammed the door before she could say anything more.

The music continued as Brom drove to the other Babes’ houses—first Cal, then Tripp—without a repeat sing-along. When Tripp closed the door, his arm wrapped in paper towel and tape, Matilda could feel the shift in the air of the small car. The radio still played its top 40 tunes, but the notes couldn’t chase away the stillness that settled over her.

Brom drove in silence around the familiar streets towards Matilda’s apartment, She kept her gaze fixed ahead, though she could see him throw her a look every now and then, She could feel the thoughts that she’d kept at bay close in on her, clawing their way back with a force that made her blood turn cold. What was happening? Why was she singing gibberish one moment, and then feeling like she wanted to yell a string of curses at the top of her lungs the next?

Brom rolled to a stop in front of her apartment and shifted the gear stick to park. He didn’t move, and Matilda focused to keep her breathing steady, her fists clenched at her sides

“Matty… is everything okay?” She could hear the concern in his voice, and she knew if she met his eyes she would burst into tears.

She was so tired of crying. 

“No,” she spat with a force that surprised her. “No, it’s not okay. Nothing about this is okay.” Her heart began to beat faster, as if every cell in her body was pounding, and her breathing became shallow. “I’m supposed to be grieving for Kat, but all I am is angry.” She took a deep breath and continued, her words tumbling out before she could think. “Her stupid dad thinks it’s okay to poison someone for a job and then she gets in a fight with him and drinks it instead? How messed up is that? How can you be so stupid, to kill your own daughter?! And then I have to come in and save the day by chasing down Rip and they don’t have any idea how magic works. But of course, I do it because I’m her best friend. I always do it. And then a year goes by and Ichabod comes, and the Horseman, and you, and Kat just expects me to drop everything for her-and-no-one-asks-what-I-think-and-why-the- fuck- did-I-have-to-choose?!”

Matilda gasped, unable to stop herself from sobbing as she choked on her words. Before she knew it, Brom had reached for her, wrapping her in his arms as best he could with the centre console in between their seats. Matilda gripped the back of his jacket, as if he was the only connection she had to reality, her anger threatening to shred her to pieces. This was the second time in less than a week she was sobbing into his shoulder, but this time her grief was fueled by a rage that ripped through her body. 

And just as he had before, Brom held her tightly as she battled the emotions that demanded to be acknowledged, their force seemingly renewed after having been suppressed during the long day.

“Let it out,” he murmured as she sobbed, his cheek pressed to her hair. “Be angry. Be upset. It’s okay.” She could barely hear the words, but his tone cut through her agony and the strength of his arms around her kept her anchored to the physical world.

After a few minutes, or hours, Matilda’s tears finally ran dry. Her fingers loosened their grip on his suit, but she kept her head down, buried in his shoulder. “Just breathe, in and out,” Brom coaxed. “Match my breathing. In—and out. In, and out.” Matilda nodded against his suit as she fixated on his body, the movement of his chest, the sound of his breathing, until her rhythm matched his own. The gear stick dug into her hip and her legs were twisted at an awkward angle, but she didn’t want to break away. She could smell his cologne, the leather musk of him that felt more and more familiar, even calming, as she breathed in and out, in and out…

As her anger slowly dissipated, Matilda could feel the pull of him drawing her back from the darkness, from the sharp edges that threatened to swallow her. As her shallow breaths began to come more deeply, the world came back into view with a softness that seemed to surround Brom.

Matilda couldn’t ignore the sensation that had been seeping into her bones over the last couple of weeks: that Abraham Van Brunt made her feel safe.

She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment before she lifted her head and met Brom’s gaze. The light from a street lamp poured in behind him, darkening his features, but she could still make out his eyes as they flitted back and forth, searching hers.

Without a word, he brought his hand to her cheek and brushed a strand of hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. Matilda’s heart began to race as if it was the most intimate of gestures, and she cursed her nerves that felt raw and exposed. 

And yet, her body instinctively relaxed as they looked at each other, with Brom’s hand hovering at her ear. Matilda shivered from the heat of it, and Brom furrowed his brow.

“Are you cold? Oh, god, I’m an idiot, I should have offered you my jacket—”

Matilda noticed his shoulder and winced at the spot she’d left. “Brom, I’m so sorry, I’ve made such a mess.” She wiped her eyes and nose, horrified at the slimy result. “Ew, this is so gross.”

Matilda sat back in her seat and Brom twisted to pull something out of his jacket. He handed her a cream handkerchief with his initials embroidered in the corner. “Here, use this. A Van Brunt always comes prepared. Uh, sorry it’s a little ‘one percent,’” he added. 

Matilda took the handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes before wiping off her hands. She blew her nose last, embarrassed at the sound and the state it left the cloth in. She carefully folded it up and looked around before stuffing it into the cupholder.

“I’m sorry,” she said again. “That’s… really embarrassing.”

Brom shook his head. “You should see me after a Friday night with the Babes,” he said with a chuckle. “Now that’s embarrassing.” 

Matilda was too drained to offer more than a small smile, but her heart felt lighter.

The two sat together in the dark car, the sun having set long ago, neither breaking the silence. The damp autumn air held the chill of winter to come, but Matilda didn’t mind. For now, this was the coziest place in the world.

But she couldn’t stay here forever. 

Finally, Matilda shifted in her seat, and Brom sat up straighter. “Do you want me to come up?” he asked with a nod to the apartment. 

Matilda took a deep breath and looked at him. “No, that’s okay.”

“You sure?”

Matilda nodded. “I’ll be okay. I’ll probably just crash anyway.” She couldn’t ask him to stay another night, on her couch—especially since she wasn’t prepared for what it meant if he said yes. 

“Can I at least walk you to your door?”

Matilda shook her head. “No, this is fine. I think I need to be by myself right now.”

Brom nodded. “Okay.” 

Matilda thought she saw his hand flinch, as if he was about to reach out before he stopped himself. She dismissed the thought quickly.

Matilda grabbed the flower from her lap before she climbed out of the car. Her heart sank as she realized she’d crushed some of the petals during her breakdown. And yet, there was something poetic about the lonely flower’s state.

“Thanks for the ride,” she said as she ducked down to see him in the driver’s seat. Brom gave her a wave and a smile before she shut the door.

As she walked towards her building, she listened for the sound of the engine, and she smiled when he started the car only after she’d unlocked her door and closed it behind her.

Chapter Text

Brom watched Matilda disappear into her apartment building. He took a deep breath as he turned the key in the ignition and the engine roared to life. He swallowed the lump in his throat that had been lodged there all day as he’d kept a watchful eye on Matilda, not daring to leave her unless she was in good hands.

Not that he had any right to. She was her own woman, regardless of their marital status, and he couldn’t pretend to know what she was struggling with. 

The storm that had shadowed him for the last week since Kat’s death had finally broken, a grief that crested in an angry wave as he held Matilda in his arms in his small car. Her body shook with a fury that stoked a blistering heat within him, as if the chaos of their emotions had fused together in a torrent that showed no sign of relief.

As Matilda’s tears had slowed, Brom’s blood pounded with increasing strength. He blinked to clear his vision as he drove the familiar roads through Sleepy Hollow, his eyes and chest burning. It had been ages since he’d felt this rage that blinded him to everything else, and yet, he was glad for it. Maybe, just maybe, he’d been able to take the despair that threatened to drown Matilda on to himself, transforming that dark and wild ocean into a violent boil that seethed white-hot in his veins.

Brom fought to control his breathing for a little while longer as he pulled into the Van Brunt drive. The gravel crunched under the tires as he maneuvered towards the garage of the Georgian-style manor. The house was dark, save for the beams from his headlights and the faint moonlight, and he pressed the button on the visor to swing the wide door upwards.

Brom mindlessly parked the car and turned it off. He pressed the button again, filling the garage with the whirring sound of the door lowering itself shut. There was just enough light to see his path to the door, though he was barely aware as his legs carried him inside, as his hand flicked on the lights. All he could feel was his blood beating at him from within.

He continued his path to the basement, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it on the bannister. He tugged at his tie to loosen it without breaking his stride. He slipped it off his neck and let it fall to the stairs. He unbuttoned his collar, desperate to drag more air into his lungs as he reached his destination.

He squinted at the bright lights that illuminated the home gym with the touch of the switch. He blinked to adjust his vision, still blurred with tears that threatened to spill. Every fibre in his body felt white-hot, his muscles coiled tight and ready to unleash on the punching bag that hung from the ceiling. 

He unbuttoned the sleeves of his shirt and rolled them up. He took the familiar stance, not caring in the least about his attire. His white shirt strained against his arms, but there was enough give to suit his purpose. With his fists raised before him, he noticed the glint of gold on his left hand that only fueled the fire under his ribs.

His fist met the vinyl in a satisfying thwack , with just enough resistance. Again and again, Brom pounded on the bag, his motions precise, his breaths sharp as he focused his anger towards the object in front of him.

That’s for Kat , he thought as his hand connected with the bag, for asking too much of Matilda. How dare she take advantage of their friendship that meant so much to one, and so little to the other.

Thwack!

That’s for Baltus. How dare the mayor of Sleepy Hollow and father figure demand that Matilda sustain the impossible, and be so willing to sacrifice his friends.

Thwack, thwack!

That’s for me. How dare he follow Kat around like a puppy-dog for so long. How dare he not realize it was Matilda he’d been drawn to, not the blonde homecoming queen who’d been quick to drop him when it no longer suited her. How dare he not realize how much he’d fallen into the chase of the perfect domestic life his father insisted on, even after all his hard work.

“Always Tassels and Brunts getting married,” chimed his father in the thinly-veiled demand Brom had heard since he’d been old enough to nurse a crush.

Brom let out a series of punches in quick succession, as if he could purge the anger that continued to rise and spurt like magma until he couldn’t distinguish between pain and relief. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that Matilda had to bear the weight of everyone else’s decisions. It wasn’t fair that he was so mad at Kat and devastated that she was gone. It wasn’t fair that he wanted some time to figure out what he wanted from his relationship with Matilda when he also wanted to take her in his arms and hold her there forever. It wasn’t fair that he wanted to protect her from ever being hurt again when he knew that it was impossible—and that she might not want him to. It wasn’t fair that he’d finally found something that felt right for it to completely crumble around them.

Brom realized he was panting, his muscles aching in a bittersweet release of tension, the proof of exertion. He let his arms fall as he stood motionless, his forehead and temples slick with sweat that dripped down his face, his shirt soaked through. His thoughts blurred together, and he focused on the rush of blood in his ears and the air that passed through his lungs. In and out, in and out.

Finally, he turned and made his way out of the room and up the stairs. He ignored the tie on the ground but he picked up his jacket that had slipped to the floor. He fished out his phone and pressed the button to light up the home screen. 

“Hey, Champ. Just wanted to let you know I’ve extended my trip for a couple more weeks. I should be home by the end of the month. Dad.”

Brom let out a sigh and ran his fingers through his hair, annoyed that he was disappointed at the text from his father. He should be grateful to have some more time to himself.

And of course, his dad’s text hadn’t even asked about the funeral.

Brom dragged himself up to his bedroom and stripped out of his clothes, careful to leave the suit jacket and pants on the bed rather than in a heap on the floor. He continued to the bathroom and tensed as the cold water of the shower hit his back and slowly eased his muscles. He took a deep breath and relished the feeling of nothing between him and the water, save for the gold ring on his fourth finger. He was determined to wash away the bad until only the good remained.

Matilda found herself in the graveyard in the dead of night. She looked around, expecting Brom or Ichabod at her side. Her heart sank when she was alone without even the hum of crickets—or the ghostly appearance of Verla—to keep her company. She also realized she had a shovel in her hand—had that always been there? The rough wooden handle felt heavier than it should in her grip.

The clouds covered the moon, and an other-wordly fog rose up around her. Just as suddenly, it cleared, and the full moon pierced the clouds in a supernatural beam that landed on a single headstone. 

KATRINA ELIZABETH VAN TASSEL.

“No, no, no, no, no,” Matilda whimpered. Her heart began to race as she stepped backwards, her hands clammy as the shovel slipped to the floor with a clang.

She backed into a hard surface, waist-high. Now she was in The Drugstore, but it wasn’t quite The Drugstore. The edges were foggy, like things that should be there weren’t, but she couldn’t tell exactly what was wrong. Unease turned to fear as it slithered within her, choking the breath from her lungs. 

A solid object appeared in Matilda’s hands, and she fought the urge to recoil in fear should she smash the thing to a thousand pieces. It was a skull, dark and polished, and Matilda’s stomach lurched.

Headless was before her, sitting on a stool in front of her, awaiting this final step. The figure couldn’t speak, but there was something menacing about her form. Matilda wished she could run away, and her eyes darted around, desperate to find Brom, or Ichabod, or anyone else, to come to her aid. Her body was fixed in place, and her arms reached toward the body to place the skull on its neck, much as she willed herself to stop. 

Despite the lack of dust, the skull merged with the neck in a golden glow to reveal Kat herself sitting in front of Matilda. Matilda gasped.

“So, you chose that nerd over me?” Kat spat out as she crossed her arms. “And, what’s worse, you’re still married to that airhead?! ” The spectre nodded towards Matilda’s hand, and Matilda clasped her hands behind her back.

“Kat, I’m sorry, I couldn’t—and you, you were—” Matilda choked on her words as all explanations slipped through her grasp, as unsubstantial as the figure before her, despite appearances.

Kat’s frown deepened and she jumped out of her seat. Matilda willed herself to move backwards, but she was pinned in place. Sweat collected on her brow, and she clenched her fists together, her nails digging into her palms. Kat closed the distance and jabbed a finger at Matilda’s chest.

“You were supposed to be my best friend! And then you went and MURDERED ME! ” Kat was shrieking, and Matilda winced as she leaned back as far as she was able. Her blood felt ice-cold in her veins, and yet there was a heat bubbling in her chest.

She furrowed her brow at Kat. “And you were supposed to be my best friend!” she yelled back. The phantom Kat stepped back, a flicker of surprise on her face. Matilda felt a stab of guilt, wishing she could take advantage of these last moments with her friend, however unreal this reunion actually was. And yet, here they stood, hurling insults.

Matilda took a deep breath. “I. Did not. Murder. You!”

Matilda’s eyes shot open and she blinked as her bedroom materialized around her. She realized her cell phone was ringing and she rolled over to grab it from her bedside table.

Mom.

“Hello?” she asked, her words shaky.

“Hi, Sweetheart, it’s just me,” a warm voice answered. “I’m sorry, did I wake you up?”

Matilda didn’t bother to lie. “Yeah, but it’s fine.” A quick glance to the window told her it had to be late morning. Shit . She should be at The Drugstore by now. “I guess I slept in.” She tried to calm her heart that still raced, the remnant of her nightmare.

“I just wanted to let you know that we should get back to town around three. Did you want us to pick you up?”

Matilda absentmindedly traced patterns on her comforter with her free hand. “No, that’s fine. I’ll come by after work.”

A pause settled between them before her mom continued. “I know this has been a hard week for you.” Matilda squeezed her eyes shut as tears welled up and her nose began to sting. She pinched her nose, begging her mind to keep to benign subjects. 

“I’m fine,” she said in as calm a voice as she could manage. She didn’t want to fall apart when she was already late for work and needed to get through her shift. She also knew she would be a mess as soon as she saw her parents. “I will be fine.”

The line was quiet, and Matilda could feel the weight of everything strain against her thin lie that both she and her mother could see through, like cheap fabric stretched taut. Much as she wanted to see her parents, she knew that their reunion would make everything even more real.

A world without Kat.

Her mom put her dad on the line for a quick hello, and Matilda absentmindedly answered his questions. As her hand ran along the stitching of her comforter, the gold band on her finger caught the light from the window. Matilda clenched her fist as she said her goodbyes before she threw aside the blankets and raced to get ready for the day. 

It was late evening by the time Matilda was finished at Colonial Drugs ‘N’ Stuff. The November chill nipped at her cheeks and lungs as she walked the familiar route to her house—her parent’s house—though Matilda found it a welcome change after spending the day indoors. Her breath clouded before her in the light from the streetlamps overhead, and she drank in the atmosphere of the sleepy town preparing for its winter hibernation. The vibrant colours of fall had died out, and the first blanket of snow was still weeks away, leaving the landscape in a haunting palette of muted browns, not yet touched by the sparkle of frost. She shoved her hands in her coat pockets as she shuffled up the steps to the grand covered porch of the Bishop house, the bleakness of the season a perfect match to her own mood.

She paused before reaching for the doorknob, her heart beginning to race in anticipation of all that would have to be said once she crossed the threshold. Her thumb instinctively rubbed the ring on her fourth finger, and Matilda wrenched her hands free and wiggled the ring off her finger. She managed to shove the gold band into her pocket just as the door swung open.

“Hey, Kiddo,” a deep voice said in a subdued greeting, and Matilda could feel herself dissolve as she fell into his embrace.

“Daddy,” she whimpered as she squeezed her father tightly, his arms around her as they stood on the porch. The wool blend of his sweater was soft against her cheek, and he smelled like lemony laundry detergent and woodsmoke. The smell of home, the pressure of his embrace unlocked that last part of her heart that had been hidden away, and she felt another torrent of tears escape. These tears, however, lacked the violence of previous breakdowns, and instead came in a quiet rush, a gentle purge that ended in relief.

They stayed like that for a few minutes, neither making a sound, neither caring about the chill that threatened to seep into their bones. Instead, their embrace seemed to create a warmth, an extension of the house, the home, the healing that was always waiting for Matilda should she need it.

And right now she needed it more than ever.

Finally, when Matilda’s tears had dried, she pulled back and noticed her mother standing in the doorway, her arms crossed to wrap her cardigan around her. 

“Mom,” Matilda said as she made her way into the house and hugged her mother, surrounding her with the same lemony-clean scent. 

“Hey, Baby,” her mother murmured as she stroked Matilda’s hair. 

Soon, Matilda found herself being lead through the grand foyer of the Victorian house to the kitchen. She climbed up on a stool on one side of the counter while her mother made her way to the modern stove where the kettle rumbled, working its way up to a boil. The old wood stove was warm behind her, and Matilda felt her muscles relax as the warmth seeped under her skin, the same warmth that had soothed a scraped knee or a bruised ego through her childhood and teenage years. It would be harder to heal the broken heart that still bled within her now, but there was a comfort in the familiar—and a peace in the knowledge of being loved.

“Is chamomile okay?” her mother asked as she brought the old china teapot down from the shelf. Its hand-painted blue and white pattern spoke of a time before the Bishops had crossed the Atlantic, and its porcelain held a few chips, but that made it all the more beautiful to Matilda. She could still remember watching her grandmother carefully measure out the tea leaves into the pot before pouring the water in. Sometimes, Matilda would lean over and see the leaves swirl around in the hot water that coaxed out the rich browns or greens, the scent of jasmine or bergamot rising up in the steam to fill her nostrils. 

Today, it was the golden chamomile that streamed from the spout as Matilda’s mother poured the liquid into three large mugs, holding the strainer over each cup to catch any leaves that escaped. The herbal tea smelled earthy-sweet, with the lemon balm and rose that her mother added. Matilda wrapped her hands around the mug her mother gave her—though Granny would have insisted on teacups—and inhaled the herbal aroma. Despite all reason, she was sure she could breathe in its healing essence, swirling in lazy tendrils into the nooks and crannies of her innermost being and easing the hurt that had been nestled there since even before Kat’s death. 

“How was Grandma?” Matilda finally broke the silence and glanced between her parents whose gazes she could feel fixed on her. She knew they must have a million questions, but she wasn’t ready to dive straight into everything. Better to stick to the shallow subjects, like their trip.

“She’s good,” Matilda’s father replied, placing a hand on her back. “She misses you and was sad you couldn’t come, but she understands.” 

Ever since her grandfather had passed away a few years ago, Matilda’s parents had visited her dad’s family in the midwest on the date of her paternal grandparents’ anniversary. Matilda had always stayed in Sleepy Hollow with Kat since Halloween—or Samhain, as it was known to the Bishops—was a big deal in town. And since Kat’s accident last year, the date was more important than ever.

And now it would always remind Matilda of….

Matilda wondered if her mother really knew what she had done. She also wondered if she should have come to her mother for help, but she knew what the current matriarch of the Bishop family would say. It seemed foolish now, to think she could conquer death, but at the time, it felt like her only option. When the person you were closest to in all the world was drowning, how could you not grasp at the one thing that could save her?

Matilda stared into the golden liquid in her mug and blew on the surface before she took a sip. She couldn’t look into her mother’s eyes for more than a moment for fear of what she might read there.

And yet, her mom hadn’t said anything. Not on the phone, not at the doorway, and not as they sat around the kitchen counter with their tea in a routine that had seen the family through countless celebrations, tragedies, and ordinary days alike.

“Everyone sends their love,” her mother said as she leaned on the counter, nursing her own mug. “They were sorry to hear about Kat.”

Matilda nodded, her gaze lowered as her eyes and nose began to sting, a sensation that she was both tired of and painfully accustomed to.

“We’re so sorry we couldn’t get back in time for the funeral, Sweetheart,” her dad added beside her. “But you said you had your friends to help?”

Matilda nodded again. She parted her lips and chose her words carefully, and she prayed the gold ring wasn’t burning a hole in her pocket. “Brom Van Brunt was there, and the new guy in town, Ichabod. Judy was also a huge help—she basically organized everything.” 

Her parents nodded at the familiar names of Judy and Brom, but they paused at the mention of the newest resident of Sleepy Hollow. “Ichabod? That’s an old name.”

Matilda nodded again, a faint smile tugging at her lips at the memory of their first meeting at The Drugstore. Damn, he was fun to scare—and he made such an easy target. “Yeah. His family is from here originally but they moved away years ago. His parents died so he was living with his grandmother. And then when she passed away, he came back here to be the new middle school science teacher.” Matilda gulped down some tea as she finished, desperate to keep away from the subject of science teachers, especially of the older variety.

“His family was from here? What was their name?” her father asked. 

Matilda swallowed her tea. “Crane. But, uh, we actually found out they were originally the ‘Storms’ family, from Anneke Storms.”

“Really.” Matilda’s dad sat back on his stool, his eyes alight at the new information. Though he hadn’t grown up in town, Paul Bishop had a deep-seated interest in the town’s history. He’d get along well with Ichabod, Matilda thought as she took another sip.

Or Brom.

She shook her head, willing herself to keep the conversation as far away from Abraham Van Brunt as possible. She had told her parents most of what had happened—or at least the SparkNotes version—but she did not have the energy to bring up the fact that they technically had a son-in-law now. 

“We’ll have to meet Ichabod soon,” her mother said, and Matilda felt the tension in her chest ease slightly as her mom kept the conversation light. Maybe she’d be able to get through the rest of the evening without having to explain more.

As the three Bishops finished their mugs, Matilda’s mother offered to make another pot. “I could read your leaves, if you’d like,” she offered, her brown eyes dark with meaning.

Matilda was quick to shake her head. “Maybe later,” she added. “I’m, uh—I think I’m ready to head to bed.”

Luckily, her parents didn’t press her further, and instead gave her reassuring nods and hugs before they sent her up the old wooden staircase to her childhood bedroom. Matilda barely noticed the floral wallpaper of the hallway, or the black-and-red damask pattern she’d insisted on when she was thirteen, though she smiled at the aroma of recently-burned sage that hung in the air. She rushed through her bedtime routine with a splash of water and soap to her face and a quick brush of her teeth. She threw on a pair of flannel pajamas she found in the drawer and hopped into bed, grateful for the soft pillows and her grandmother’s quilt. Before she closed her eyes, she heard her phone buzz from her purse, now strewn over her armchair. She fished her phone out of the side pocket and realized she’d missed some texts.

Hey, I’m at your place with Chinese. Are you hungry? 

Matilda bit her lip. It was Brom.

His next text he’d just sent read, Guess I missed you. I hope you have a good night. He finished it with a smile emoji.

Matilda climbed into bed and sat up against the headboard with her blanket tucked up around her.

I’m so sorry! I didn’t see your message. I’m at my parents’. Hope you didn’t wait long.

She hit send before she could think about it for too long. She tapped the side of her phone absentmindedly, knowing she should put it aside and get some sleep.

Before she could do so, however, the phone buzzed in her fingers. The screen flashed and Matilda eagerly read the message. 

No worries! I found Ichabod and we had a feast. So you’re at mom and dad’s now huh?

Matilda took a deep breath as she read the last words. Mom and Dad’s . She guessed that was technically true, but what did he mean by that?! She chewed on her lip, her mind blank at what she should say. Then, she saw the three little dots appear, and she furrowed her brow, dying to know what was going through Brom’s head.

After what felt like forever, his next text popped up.

Sorry. Bad joke. 

Matilda let out a sigh and relaxed into her pillows. Still, she wasn’t quite sure what to say back as her fingers hovered over her phone’s keyboard.

Another message appeared. Hopefully I’ll see you at the drugstore tomorrow. Sweet dreams!

Matilda smiled as the emojis of a crescent moon and a star popped up. She punched in her own message in reply. 

Thanks. And sorry that I missed you. Have a good night. She finished with the snoring emoji and hit send before she could stop herself. She ignored the buzzing in her veins as she placed her phone on her bedside table and sunk down into her bed, pulling her covers over her.

Chapter Text

The next morning Matilda almost questioned what year it was as she awoke in her childhood bedroom. She stretched lazily and took a deep breath as she realized she felt a little more rested, with a little more energy humming under her skin. She’d avoided even simple charms for the last few weeks, though whether from pure exhaustion or guilt, she wasn’t quite sure. The weight pressing on her chest was still ever-present, but so too was the itch to use a bit of magic—to test if she still could. As she readied herself for the day, she twitched a finger to lay out her clothes and even managed to levitate her brush for a run through her hair, though it proved to be more of a hassle than it was worth as she fought to untangle some knots.

After a quick breakfast—fresh cinnamon buns and coffee—made by her mom, she could almost pretend that she was about to head off to Sleepy Hollow High with Kat instead of preparing for another shift at Colonial Drugs ‘N’ Stuff, although a few rearranged items spoke of Verla’s presence that morning. The thought of her school years usually made Matilda squirm, but now the hint of her past held a nostalgia that was hard to resist. Surely her best friend would be waiting for her on Main Street, and surely their biggest problem was their history essays and what they should wear to the Christmas dance, and whether Brom would…

Matilda shook her head at herself as she walked the familiar path from her parents house to The Drugstore. She found the gold ring in her coat pocket and slid it on to her fourth finger, surprised by the comfort it brought. It was silly, really, to keep up the charade, but she couldn’t bring herself to take it off entirely—not when Brom seemed to wear it so proudly. Or maybe that was wishful thinking. 

Life was definitely less complicated when she wasn’t secretly or not-so-secretly married to Brom Bones.

Matilda dug her keys out from her purse, and the clink of metal matched the chime of the bell overhead as she swung open the door. Even the late morning sun peeked out through the clouds, as if to suggest that things were looking up. 

And yet, as Matilda automatically went through the motions of what had been her opening routine for the last few years, she couldn’t help but feel like she straddled the past and a nebulous future, with no footing in the present.

The bell tinkled over the door, and Matilda’s heart lifted when she glanced from behind the back counter to see the identity of her first customer. Something in her fell slightly when she realized it was Judy sauntering over in her usual cheer.

Who did you think it was going to be?

Matilda summoned a smile for her friend, who looked to be on official business, judging by the slim folder in her hands.

“Good morning, Matilda,” Judy chirped.

“Hi, Judy,” Matilda replied. “What can I do for you?”

“I just wanted to catch you before you things got busy,” Judy explained as she placed the folder on the counter. She leaned in, and Matilda frowned. Judy lowered her voice. “So, I was talking to Rip, and he told me all about your little marriage to Brom.”

Matilda’s eyes widened. Was Judy upset? Could they be in trouble? Wait, what would Rip know about any of this?

“Uh, what exactly do you mean?” Matilda asked. She fought to keep her voice controlled and her expression neutral.

“I have it on good authority that you and Brom are not actually together,” Judy continued as she splayed her hands on the counter. Matilda swallowed as her mind whirled to grab the first answer she could think of. Not only did she want to avoid any charges of fraud, but she was even more desperate to avoid Judy’s ire. 

Judy’s expression softened into one of concern and, Matilda realized with a pang of guilt, a touch of hurt. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Matilda leaned in closer to match Judy’s position. “I’m sorry, Judy. I don’t even know what happened. One minute, we’re trying to find evidence of Baltus’ involvement in Anne Tarry’s murder, and the next… you’re insisting on marrying us.” Matilda risked a smirk. “You’re impossible to argue with.”

For a beat, Judy studied Matilda, and Matilda held her breath. Then, the assistant-extraordinaire’s features relaxed into a smile, and she flipped her hair over her shoulder. “That’s true,” she agreed. “And I get it—there was a lot going on.” Then, remembering herself, Judy pointed to the papers on the counter. “So, I just wanted to bring you these, so you guys can get back to normal. Heck, you can pretend it never happened!” 

Matilda thought she saw understanding in Judy’s expression, but all she felt was her blood turn to ice as she opened the folder to see “NOTICE OF DIVORCE” in bold letters. She snapped the folder closed. “Uh, thanks, Judy.” She swallowed before she continued. “And, um, we won’t get in trouble? For it being, like, a pretend marriage?” Somehow it hurt to say the words aloud, especially to Judy. 

In fact, there was something almost fun about having Judy believe she really was with Brom in that way. She’d been so excited to marry them, and with the truth out, Matilda almost felt a strange sense of loss that she didn’t want to question right now.

Judy waved her hand. “Don’t worry. As far as the government’s concerned, it was just a mistake. Easily fixed with a couple of signatures” Judy laughed. “It happens all the time in Vegas. Who knew it happened here in Sleepy Hollow?” 

Matilda forced herself to chuckle along with Judy, though it sounded hollow. At least Judy didn’t seem to notice. 

Before Matilda could offer her friend a beverage, the door chimed to announce another customer. This time, Matilda’s gaze was met with a pair of familiar dark eyes and a shock of dark, wavy hair to match. Brom flashed her a grin from across the room as he made his way to them, and Matilda felt her shoulders relax in spite of herself. 

“Hey, there, we were just talking about you!” Judy greeted with a wave.

Fear suddenly clutched at Matilda’s chest and she grabbed the papers in front of her and shoved them under the counter. She then yanked a dry cloth that was within reach and began to wipe the counter, cursing herself for not having a spray bottle handy. She ignored Judy’s frown directed at her and tried to return Brom’s smile.

“About my devilishly handsome good looks and brains to match?” Brom asked as he ran a hand through his hair. 

Matilda threw the rag at him, which he barely caught. “More like, how does the middle school gym teacher still keep his job when he’s at the bar in the middle of the day?” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she feared she’d pushed her teasing too far. She’d never really worried about that before.

“Hey, it’s my lunch hour. I just thought I’d drop by for the soup-of-the-day.” He glanced at the chalkboard sign, which only had the faint remnants of yesterday’s special rubbed out in streaks. 

Before Matilda could say anything, Brom turned to Judy. “And what brings you to this establishment on this fine day?”

Judy smiled. “Oh, I was just bringing Matilda and—”

“Oh-h-h-h, Judy was just, uh, bringing some, uh, some records of—the local… ghost sightings that have been reported.” Matilda winced and scratched her head as both Judy and Brom gave her puzzled looks. “For Verla.”

Nice save.

“Yeah,” Judy replied slowly. “Something like that.” She stared at Matilda like she had three heads before snapping back to her cheerful self. “Well, I’d better get back to work. Turns out, there’s even more to do without the mayor.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Trudy and I haven’t even had a date night in weeks so I’m trying to finish early tonight.” With a wink, she made her way to the door, her heels clicking on the tiles. “Let me know if you need anything else!”

“Thanks, Judy!” Matilda called out a little too cheerfully. She bit her lip as she returned her attention to Brom, whose confusion matched Judy’s.

“Is everything okay?”

“Of course,” Matilda replied with as calm a tone as she could manage as her pulse beat wildly. She appreciated both of her friends’ concern, but it was beginning to make her squirm.“How are you?”

“I’m fine…” Brom said. He took a step towards her and leaned with one elbow on the counter. “I was hoping to get some lunch but if you don’t want me to patronize you, I’m sure I can grab something at the diner…”

“You mean ‘patronage’? Of course,” Matilda replied quickly. She was always being reminded to make customers feel welcome. “I can make you a grilled cheese sandwich. We might even have some tomato soup.”

Brom lifted an eyebrow, and she realized they were both leaning over the counter towards one another. She could feel herself being pulled towards him, the warmth of him and his cologne, almost sweet and earthy with a hint of leather. 

“I thought the customer was supposed to order what they wanted?” Brom asked, his voice low in the small space between them. 

Matilda tilted her head. “Is that how it’s done? Not here, I’m afraid. Here, the manager tells you what you’re having.” Because we’ve been a little disorganized over the last few weeks and I’m not sure I could make anything more complicated.

Brom grinned, and Matilda ignored how her heart lurched when his whole face lit up, with the creases around his eyes and his faint dimple. “Well, it’s good that that’s exactly what I wanted.”

“I mean, the manager is a witch.” Matilda replied.

“So I hear. Pretty talented, too.” 

“I’ll have to tell her.” 

“It’s too bad she’s married, though.”

“That’s unfortunate. She’s probably out of your league, anyway.”

“Most definitely.”

Matilda licked her lips, her pulse beating out a warning as they entered new territory. Was Brom actually flirting with her?

And even more unsettling, did she like it? 

Before she could enjoy the rush that Brom’s attentions gave her, Matilda caught something out of the corner of her eye that made her jump. She focused behind Brom, her stomach cold as she strained to see a petite woman with blonde hair. For a split second, she was sure Kat had been in The Drugstore with them, but the figure had vanished before she could get a closer look.

Brom frowned and looked behind him. “What is it?” he asked. 

Were you seriously doing what I think you were doing? Matilda winced as if Kat had whispered in her ear. Brom turned back to face her, his brows furrowed and his eyes full of concern.

Matilda realized her fists were clenched and her breaths had become shallow. She relaxed her hands and waved off Brom’s question, aware of the white crescents she’d made on her palms. “It was nothing,” she insisted, though Brom’s features didn’t relax.

“I—okay,” he finally said. Matilda swallowed. For a brief moment, the wall between them had come down enough that their teasing had held something more—something she wanted to push further, to test the limits of to see what might be on the other side. And then, just as suddenly the wall was back up in the form of their childhood friend who had a firm grip on their past. 

“I should go get your food ready,” Matilda said at last, her feet unwilling to carry her to the kitchen. 

“Can I come?” Brom asked. He quirked a small smile, one eyebrow raised, and leaned towards her with both elbows on the counter. Matilda wondered if he was even aware of how he turned on the charm, but at this moment, it made her chest flutter—a new and not entirely unwelcome sensation. 

“I really shouldn’t…” she trailed off. Brom must have sensed her lack of conviction and he grinned as he stood upright, ready to follow her. “But you cannot touch anything, ” she added, a caveat to her acquiescence. She should really be careful, but for whose sake, she wasn’t entirely sure.

“Aye, aye, Captain!” Brom said with a mock salute. Matilda turned and made her way to the kitchen door and barely caught Brom behind her asking, “Hey, can I grab the ghost sightings that Judy brought?”

“ No!” Matilda snapped as she whirled around on her heel, shooting a glare at Brom that made him freeze in his tracks. His eyes widened and Matilda felt another pang of guilt stab at her. She desperately grabbed at an explanation—anything to keep him from the divorce papers.

Anything to stop him from looking at her like she was keeping another secret from him.

“It’s, uh, it’s—it’s for a surprise!” she fumbled.

Brom’s expression slowly lightened. “A surprise? But Matty, you know my birthday was in September.”

Matilda groaned, half seriously. “Well, like, not a surprise, but also, uh, you know all about the hauntings around here, so I thought I really should just come to the source…”

Brom grinned and brushed past her to the kitchen door and held it open for her. “I keep telling you, I’m a history ‘spert. And if you wanted to spend some time with me, you could’ve just asked.”

Matilda was glad that Brom was behind her as they entered the kitchen so he couldn’t see her cheeks flush. She could barely admit to herself the hint of truth to his words, let alone to the man himself. 

“Can’t let you get an even bigger head, huh, Bones?” she retorted over her shoulder with a self-satisfied smirk. 

“Always one to keep me humble,” Brom replied with a mock bow.

Matilda reached for her apron and washed her hands. “Okay, like I said, just stay there—don’t touch anything.”

Brom froze in place, his hands at his sides as if he was standing to attention. 

Matilda rolled her eyes, though her heart felt light. Perhaps she’d overreacted out there. If anything, the fear that had clutched at her middle has dissipated, and Brom seemed to be his happy-go-lucky self. She clicked on the griddle to heat up before she grabbed a bag of bread and pulled out four slices. She worked at the counter between her and Brom, grateful that she could keep an eye on him.

“Uh, do you think you can grab me the cheese slices from the fridge?” Normally, if she was alone, she would summon the items with a wave of her wrist, but she hadn’t done that for awhile and she wasn’t ready to push it. “They should be on the middle shelf.”

“Sure thing, Captain,” Brom replied. He gave another mock salute, and Matilda couldn’t help but relax. No magic needed. Maybe it was just because she’d been spooked by another apparition, or by the close call with Brom almost finding the papers from Judy, but there was something strangely cozy about being in the small kitchen with Brom, hidden away from the rest of Sleepy Hollow.

“There was actually something I wanted to ask you,” Brom said more seriously as he brought the cheese over to her. Matilda felt a lump in her stomach, the fear of the domestic scene about to become something else. 

“Oh?” she asked as calmly as she could.

“I was just wondering if you wanted to help me and Ick do some ghost hunting around the covered bridge,” Brom continued. 

Matilda let out a snort of relief as she buttered the bread slices. She bit her lip, not daring to meet Brom’s gaze in case he’d misinterpret her response. “Ghost hunting?” The idea both terrified her and held a deep appeal—another chance to get into trouble with her two friends as if the last few weeks hadn’t happened. 

But would they meet Kat?

“Yeah…” Brom replied slowly. He crossed his arms and leaned across the counter, a move that made Matilda’s chest warm in its quick familiarity. “There have been reports of faint music coming from that area, and the Babes say they’ve been getting some weird readings.”

“Readings?” Matilda stopped in the middle of buttering the last slice and looked up at Brom. Damn, was he really giving her a smoulder? No, she was just being stupid.

“Yeah. We’ve got all the tools—the REM pod, and the spirit box. I figured, with Ick’s science knowledge and your witch skills, along with my history ‘spertise, we might be able to figure out what’s going on.”

“Ichabod agreed to this?”

Brom shrugged. “Sure. Why wouldn’t he?”

Matilda laid the cheese slices on the pieces of bread. “Are two sandwiches okay?” she asked.

Brom frowned for a moment. “What about three? And are you going to respond to everything with a question?”

Matilda shook her head. “Three it is,” she agreed as she pulled out another two slices and continued to assemble the sandwiches. Her mind returned to the subject at hand, and she hated how her pulse quickened in anticipation. This should be a very bad, no-good idea, but instead, she only felt a thrill at the possibility of getting some answers—or at least spending an evening with Ichabod and Brom, away from her thoughts, in a haunted bridge. Heck, maybe they really would be able to help some wayward soul.

With the sandwiches properly buttered and lined with cheese slices, Matilda turned and slapped them on the griddle where they sizzled. With Brom behind her, she could feel a smile tug at her lips. Of all the questions she should ask him, only one came to mind. “When were you thinking of doing it?” 

Brom slapped the counter. “I knew I could count on you!”

Matilda rolled her eyes again and forced her expression to remain neutral as she turned to face him. “It doesn’t mean we’re going to find anything,” she reminded him. Did she want to find something?

“Matty, have you seen what happens around here?”

Matilda let out an exasperated sigh as she turned back to the grilled cheese sandwiches, torn between the extreme outcomes that such a night could bring them. 

But damn, if it wasn’t nice to see Brom so excited.

Chapter Text

Brom leaned back from the bundle of twigs he had just lit, pleased as the first flames licked at the kindling. He crouched down to blow on the small fire with just enough air to coax it to life. He then arranged more logs around the teepee he’d created, and soon the glow lit up the area around him, casting orange light a few yards in every direction. 

He stood up and looked around, rocking on the balls of his feet. The sun had set a couple of hours earlier and a dampness hung in the air. His breath clouded before him, and he knew they’d be grateful for the warmth of the campfire that night, with a pile of extra logs a couple of feet away. He quickly scanned the area and strained to hear the approach of footsteps, but all was still in the beam from his headlight he had strapped to his forehead. 

With a sigh, Brom clicked off his light. At first, everything was dark, except for the glow of the fire that crackled, but soon he could make out the treeline against the night sky, and the covered bridge just down the path. 

He pressed his earpiece. “Dr. Venkman requesting a status update on Operation Ghostbusters, over.”

He winced at the fake radio static that Tripp made with his mouth before he replied, “The hearse is online and the goons are ready.”

Brom frowned after a moment. “Guys, you have to say, ‘over’ when you’re done. And what?! Over.”

This time, Blair answered. “Boss, we’re in the van and the equipment is powered up. Any objects coming towards you, paranormal or not, we’ll let you know. Over.”

Brom gave an emphatic nod in reply, though he was alone. Which only left the last piece of the puzzle—his partners in crime. He knew it was a risky move, reuniting the team when emotions were still raw. He also had to admit, even if just to himself, that he found himself searching for excuses to see Matilda. He thought she looked happy to see him as his visits to the bar became more frequent (although he was already a pretty regular customer) and when he dared to push a little further, the sparkle in her eye gave him a thrill. Just when she seemed to soften, however, the guard she’d honed into a fine piece of armour came back up, and the glimmer of something new would cloud over once more. Brom would remember the punch to his gut when he woke up to find himself tied up by his wife—and not in the good way—and he felt his own fears twist within him as he ached to know how to help his friend. 

His wife, he reminded himself as he fiddled with the wedding ring that still adorned his fourth finger. Against all logic, the thought made him smile.

Brom took a deep breath and pulled himself back to the immediate future. Anticipation soon bubbled up in his chest and limbs, and he knew he couldn’t be the only one who missed their adventures. He and Matilda and Ichabod had spent time together in the last weeks, of course, but it wasn’t the same, grabbing lunches at The Drugstore or gathering for Trivia Night, where they might as well be talking about the weather. 

They needed something more.

Brom sat down on one of the large logs he’d dragged to the fire as a bench. His knee began to bounce, and soon he jumped up and paced back and forth, wearing a rut in the leaves and pine needles. He glanced at his wrist before he remembered he wasn’t wearing a watch, and he tried to ignore the shadows that the fire began to cast on the walls of the covered bridge not far down the path. 

Was it just him, or was the town behind him strangely quiet? All he could hear was the faint rush of water from the river.

A bird called from the woods, and Brom whipped his head in the direction, as if he’d be able to see into the inky black. 

“Boss, er, Dr. Venkman, we have spotted an anomaly. Over.”

Brom took a deep breath to steady himself as he held his earpiece—a motion entirely unnecessary, really, except it did feel cool, especially when his heartbeat was already accelerating. 

“Uh, thank you, Melnitz 1. Possible identification? Coordinates? Over.”

“Melnitz 2, here. Approaching objects look to be closing the distance between you and them, located at six o’clock. Or, no, twelve o’clock—definitely twelve o’clock.”

Brom whipped around. His pulse raced as he tried to see in all directions at once, an impossible task, especially without his headlight turned on. He could hear the shuffle of footsteps come closer and with the Babes’ warnings in his ear, he almost wondered if the Horseman had returned. 

Or something worse.

“Hey, Brom,” a voice called out as a lanky shadow became larger and larger. 

“Ah-h-h-h- h-h-h!”

“Brom! Brom, calm down, it’s just us!”

Brom willed his eyes to open as the rest of his body stood still. He then fumbled for the button on his headlight and turned it on to reveal the figures of Matilda and Ichabod in front of him, their hands shielding their eyes, and he instantly relaxed.

“Oh. Hey! You guys made it!” He threw himself at them and wrapped them both in a hug on either side of him.

When he stepped back, they both looked at him with wide eyes, frozen in place.

Right. They weren’t exactly big on hugs.

“Whoops, sorry. I’m just glad you guys are here! Look, I’ve already got a campfire started. Safely .”

Brom led them to the side of the trail where he’d set up the campfire, along with his pack of equipment. He could see the worry in Ichabod’s eyes as he took in the scene, and Brom waved it off. “I know campfires aren’t exactly kosher, but I don’t think the town is going to waste paperwork on us right now.” He couldn’t see Judy or Meinhoff caring about dealing with a ticket for this misdemeanour while their previous mayor awaited trial. 

Brom then noticed Ichabod’s messenger bag slung over his green parka, and Matilda with her backpack. “Ichabod, did you not get my memo about wearing dark colours?” he asked with a sigh.

“Brom, it’s close to freezing, and this is the warmest coat I own. And can you turn that thing off?”

Brom obligingly clicked off his headlight. Matilda had already settled on a stump by the campfire and began to unload her bag of thermoses. He smiled to see she was wearing all black—her signature look that would suit their purpose to a tee. 

“Matty, you look perfectly ninja-like tonight,” he said as he sidled up as close as he could on the log next to her. She threw him a look that was hard to read in the dim light, but he thought he saw a flicker of amusement. After everything that had happened, it might as well have been a grin, and he tried to calm a different sort of thrum in his veins. 

“Camouflage,” she said as a matter of fact in acknowledgement of his own attire, and Brom nodded. He couldn’t help but wonder if it reminded her of a fateful night with Judy, but she lowered her head and he couldn’t study her expression in the shadows. “I didn’t realize we were trying to hide from the ghosts as well.”

Brom shrugged off the hole she poked in his logic before he realized Ichabod was standing on his other side. He sat up straight. “So,” he said in his best teacher voice, “did you guys bring the supplies?”

“Drinks,” Matilda said. “Green tea for Ichabod”—she handed Ichabod a thermos—”black coffee for me”—she rested a thermos on the stump between her legs—”and hot chocolate for you.” She handed Brom his thermos and Brom warmed as their fingers touched for a moment. 

“With whipped cream?” he asked. 

Matilda rolled her eyes. “Yes, with whipped cream. And I added some cinnamon.” She threw a glance at Ichabod. “My grandmother always said it was calming.”

Ichabod nodded. “Cinnamon is known to relax the muscles because it reacts with prostaglandin in the body and is even said to be a mild pain reliever. Although I don’t think it will be much use given all the sugar in the hot chocolate.”

Brom looked between Matilda and Ichabod and back again before he let out an exaggerated sigh. “Guys, let’s focus. You can geek out about spices tomorrow. Also—you think I need to calm down?”

“Of course not,” Matilda replied a little too quickly as she laid a hand on Brom’s arm. “You are the pinnacle of level-headedness.” Her voice dripped with light-hearted sarcasm but Brom barely noticed as she let her hand linger on his sleeve for a few moments before she pulled back.

God, maybe he would need help to focus tonight.

He quickly pivoted to face Ichabod, though he remained highly aware of Matilda out of the corner of his eye. “And you, Bestie. What do we have for snacks?”

“Yes, snacks,” Ichabod echoed as he opened the flap of his messenger bag. “I’ve got an assortment of protein bars and granola bars.” He grabbed a handful and held them up. 

Brom and Matilda both grimaced. “Ew,” they said together.

Ichabod frowned. “Well, uh, I’ve also got some popcorn that I microwaved earlier”—he held up a Ziploc baggie—”and some fruit and cheese”—he dug out another baggie, the slices only just visible through the plastic.

Brom leaned towards Matilda. “Remind me to put you in charge of snacks next time.” Matilda nodded. 

“Hey, these are healthy!” Ichabod protested. “They’re high in fibre and protein with just enough carbohydrates to keep our energy up, without the crash of refined sugars.”

Brom ignored Ichabod, his mind already on the next task as he reached for his gym bag behind him and placed it in between his feet. He unzipped the bag and pulled out various pieces of equipment. “I’ve got the gear,” he explained to his team. “This is the spirit box.” He held up something that looked like a walkie-talkie. “It scans through radio signals quickly and picks up on words. Any ghosts that might be around can manipulate the signals and isolate words or phrases to communicate with us.” Brom paused and looked at Matilda and Ichabod, his eyes flitting back and forth. Despite the low light, the doubt in Ichabod’s expression was unmistakable, his brow furrowed. “Bro, it’s science ,” Brom explained. “It changes stations too fast for it to just be a coincidence.”

“Sure,” was all Ichabod said. 

Brom moved on to the next item. “This is the REM pod,” he announced, holding up an item that looked like an oversized tin can with two lights and an antenna on it. “It stands for ‘radiating electromagneticity and it measures the electric field. It will light up and buzz if there are any disturbances. If the green light comes on, we’ll know there’s a ghost.”

Ichabod and Matilda simply nodded in reply, though Matilda looked slightly more impressed. Or mildly entertained.

“You can also ask ‘yes or no’ questions, and the light will show if the ghost has answered,” Brom continued. “It’s the same as using flashlights that have the tops screwed on loosely, but this is more high tech.”

“Brom, I don’t know—”

“It’s science !” Brom insisted. 

“It’s science ,” Matilda repeated, her eyes twinkling.

Brom wasn’t entirely sure if she believed him or if she was just teasing, but he couldn’t deny it felt good to see her looking a little more cheerful than what had been her usual self lately. Honestly, he hadn’t been sure if she would agree to come, or if the associations with death would only remind her of things she wanted to forget. Still, she was always one for the dark and gothic.

So far, she was definitely giving him good vibes.

“The Babes have set up sensors around the bridge, so they’re also monitoring from the van up the hill. We can talk to them with these,” Brom continued as he handed Matilda and Ichabod their own earpieces. “Ichabod, your codename is, ‘Stantz,’ and Matilda, you’re, ‘Barrett.’ The Babes are, ‘Melnitz 1,’ ‘2,’ and ‘3.’ I’m Venkman.”

“Won’t that be confusing?” Ichabod asked as he adjusted the earpiece.

“You can always be ‘Barrett,’ if you want,” Matilda retorted. 

Brom summoned his teacher voice again. “Come on, guys, we need to take this seriously.”

Matilda and Ichabod both nodded like chastised students.

“Good.” He returned his attention to the bag. “I’ve got a flashlight for both of you.” He handed them out. “And, Matty, I brought some candles. Just in case you wanted to do a seance thing, or something.” He pulled out three pillar candles and laid them on the ground at Matilda’s feet. “And I’ve got some salt. That’s important, right? For witchy stuff?”

She stilled and her eyes widened. “So, uh, do you have any ideas on the identity of this ghost, then?” she asked, her voice suddenly small. 

Brom paused. Somehow, the question seemed loaded, but he wasn’t sure why. “Not sure. It might be the spirit of a travelling musician from the fifties. They say he wandered out after too many drinks and met his end with the Headless Horseman.” Brom held up his hands. “So that part’s not true, but it could be the guy. Or, some say it’s a woman from the 1800s who was jilted by her lover and died from a broken heart as she wrote love songs for him.” He dropped his voice low. “Supposedly, this very bridge was the spot of their clandestine meetings. ”

He glanced between Matilda and Ichabod, holding the pause to enhance the spookiness of their surroundings. He caught Matilda’s eye, relieved to see a hint of amusement return, though he had to resist the urge to take her hand and silently ask, “Are you okay?”

Perhaps distraction was the best course of action.

He slapped his thighs and clicked on his headlight. “So! Let’s get this party started. Why don’t we head down to the bridge?” Before he stood up, he grabbed his thermos and took a swig. “Mm-m-m-m,” he murmured. “Nothing like some hot choccy, a campfire, and some ghost hunting with the team!”

Matilda and Ichabod followed Brom down to the bridge, his headlight guiding the way as he hummed the Ghostbusters theme song. The whole thing felt a little silly, but she’d been through too much to pass up on some light-hearted fun. Or maybe it was more about the company than anything else. Brom had clearly put a lot of thought into tonight, and his enthusiasm had her lips tugging into a smile more than once.

Her high school self would have been horrified.

Underneath the pseudo-science nonsense of the youtube-variety of ghost hunting, however, Matilda felt an eerie weight of something more. Was there a lost soul who struggled to move on? That was the best scenario. Or worse, it could be a darker spirit with nefarious intent. 

Matilda tried to ignore the visions of Kat that seemed to be haunting her since her death, a malevolent presence reaching for Matilda from the grave. She squeezed her eyes shut briefly as if to dissipate the image. Besides, Kat wouldn’t choose to haunt the old road into town… would she? And yet, part of her longed to connect to Kat any way she could, though that was exactly what had gotten them into the whole mess in the first place—her inability to say good-bye.

She fingered the small crystals in her pocket—charms from her grandmother from years ago for protection. She didn’t want to worry Brom or Ichabod, but she figured the precaution couldn’t hurt.

“You okay?” Ichabod asked, pulling Matilda from her thoughts.

“Hmm? Yeah, fine.” She gave him a weak smile, touched at the softness in his question. Still, she’d had enough pity and sympathetic looks to last her a lifetime. Tonight was about something beyond herself. “We’re here to see a ghost, remember… Stantz ?” 

“Sure thing, Barrett. ”

They stopped at the entrance to the bridge, and even Matilda had to admit that the dark tunnel made the hair on her arms stand on end. Tourists liked to joke about cartoon-ish ghosts haunting such places, but the Bishop family knew that the past held far more sinister sins that didn’t fit into cutesy dark tourism.

Brom turned to them. “Now, I thought we could start with the spirit box,” he explained. He placed his bag on the ground and fished out the contraption in question. “There are a couple of ways to use it, but the most effective is to have one person put on the headphones and a blindfold while the others ask questions.” Matilda felt warmth bloom in her chest at Brom’s earnest expression while he explained everything. His sincerity held a certain charm that she had to admit was endearing.

“I’ll say whatever I hear from the spirit box while you ask the questions. Got it? And I won’t be able to hear what you’re saying, so the answers will be one hundred percent genuine.”

“Got it,” Matilda affirmed. “You won’t be able to see or hear us.”

Brom nodded. “So, uh, before we start, is there a way you wanted to create a welcome? Or like, an opening to let the ghosts know we’re friendly?”

Ichabod joined in. “How about”—he cupped his hands and yelled down the bridge—“‘hello, ghosts! We mean no harm! We’re here to help you!’”

“Sure,” Matilda said with a deadpan expression. “That’ll work.”

Brom grinned and put on the blindfold and the headphones to the spirit box. He then felt his way to the opening of the bridge and carefully sat down.  He gave them a thumbs up sign while looking slightly past them as his headlight shone on the path the way they came. 

“Apple,” he said after a moment. “Spaghetti.” 

Ichabod and Matilda looked at each other. 

“Should we just leave him for a few minutes?” Ichabod asked with a smile.

Matilda nodded in approval. “Look who’s become all mischievous.” 

They stepped back a couple of paces, enough to distance themselves from Brom’s mutterings but staying close enough to keep a watchful eye on their leader. The fire glowed back at their “campsite” and the gurgle of the river sounded a few feet away. The November night threatened temperatures close to freezing, and Matilda could almost make out her clouded breath before her. She took a sip of her coffee and looked up. The sky was mostly clear, though it was hard to make out the stars between the branches of the trees overhead and the light pollution from surrounding towns. 

“Roller coaster!” Brom shouted, and Ichabod and Matilda chuckled. 

“He’s, uh—he’s really into this,” Ichabod said. 

“Yeah.” Matilda studied Brom, and a lightness that was becoming more and more familiar settled within her. He was sort of cute, sitting cross-legged in his camouflage outfit and eagerly calling out random words from radio signals that he thought were messages from the beyond. “Is it wrong that I’m enjoying this?”

“Well, if it is, that makes two of us.”

It was hard to distinguish Ichabod’s expression in the darkness. Matilda took a deep breath, unable to enjoy the sense of peace that usually came as night crept along towards midnight. The worries of the waking world were held at bay for now, with only the lullaby of the river and the wind in the trees as signs of life. 

Well, besides the random words coming from the man who was technically her husband. 

Ichabod took a drink of his green tea. “I, uh, I was wondering—do you think there’s actually something out here?”

  Matilda shrugged. “I’m not sure.” She ignored the fear that suddenly threatened to snake within her, though she wondered if Ichabod had the same thought. Please don’t say it, please don’t say it…

"Do you—is there any way it might be…” 

“—Cat Theatre!” Brom yelled, and Matilda and Ichabod jumped. Ichabod only just kept his grip on his thermos, and Matilda let out a nervous snort-laugh, as if to ignore how one name gripped her heart.

“He, uh, must be picking up some local radio waves,” Ichabod said to reassure himself. 

“Yeah,” Matilda agreed, annoyed at the way her heart raced. Goddess, was she always going to be so easily spooked? 

Matilda scrambled to find a safe topic. “So, there’s no scientific basis for any of this, right?”

Ichabod chuckled. “No. There’s no such thing as ‘electromagnificity’ so I can guarantee that it’s just supposed to sound vaguely scientific so people will buy these things. But whether ghosts are real….” Ichabod trailed off and Matilda remained silent, encouraging him to finish. “Well, I think my answer to that question has changed in the last month.”

Matilda took a deep breath. “A lot has changed in the last month,” she admitted, and tears pricked her eyes. “I’m glad you’re here, though.” It was too dark to give Ichabod a meaningful look, but she hoped he could hear her sincerity. He could be clueless about a lot of things, but he was pretty good at that.

“Yeah. I am, too.” 

Matilda smiled into her thermos before she took a sip of the rich liquid. She was glad they didn’t need to say more.

They stood together in silence for a few moments before Matilda asked, “Should we go ask some questions to at least say we did it?” 

“Sure.”

Chapter Text

Ichabod and Matilda clicked on their flashlights and returned to the entrance of the covered bridge. Matilda bit the insides of her cheeks to keep quiet as Brom spouted random words. It was hard to believe anything supernatural could happen as the former jock of Sleepy Hollow High sat with his legs crossed and his eyes blindfolded, his brow creased in concentration at the gibberish.

“So, uh, Mr. Ghost,” Ichabod started. “Do you have a favourite food?”

Matilda threw Ichabod a “ What?” look, thoroughly unimpressed.

After a pause, Brom said “Blockbuster”.

Not a great start.

Matilda mulled over what to ask, torn between making jokes and trying to be helpful. Spirits could use all sorts of silly things to communicate, including T.V.s and dolls, but was she ready for someone to respond?

“Is there a reason you’re here?” she said at last. Her shoulders fell, immediately deflated at her lackluster question.

“Sorry asses,” Brom said. 

Matilda threw up her hands, but Ichabod’s attention was captured. “That means something to you?” she asked.

“Maybe…” Ichabod said, his gaze fixed on Brom. “Are you from here?”

“Disaster.”

Matilda snorted. “Yep, couldn’t have said it better myself. Look, we should probably let Brom get up and—”

“Listen!” Brom shouted with a shift in tone, and Matilda froze. She glanced at Ichabod, whose wide eyes matched her own. 

“That’s… strange,” Ichabod said. 

Matilda nodded slowly. A sharp breeze cut through them, and she could have sworn it came through the bridge. 

“Can you tell us who you are?” she asked, her voice smaller than she intended. 

A long pause followed before Brom said, “Friend.—Or ‘Fined’, I’m not quite sure on that one.”

Ichabod looked at Matilda, and she thought she saw his features etched in worry behind his glasses. “Or ‘fiend’ ,” he added.

Matilda clenched her fists as one hand grew clammy around her thermos, her other in her pocket. “Have you—have you been here long?”

Another pause. Matilda held her breath and wondered if the silences meant that there really was a spirit trying to break through to them. 

“Full moon,” Brom said calmly. Matilda felt her heart jump to her throat. 

Calm down, Matilda. You don’t have enough information.

“It’s probably nothing, right, Matilda?” The tremble in Ichabod’s voice betrayed his fears, and Matilda wished she could laugh at her friend’s worry-wart tendencies. Instead, they seemed to feed her own anxieties.

Matilda licked her lips as she worked up the courage to ask another question. “How… how did you die?”

Another pause before Brom spoke. “Guys, uh, this is weird, but I definitely heard the word, ‘murder’—like, really clear.”

Matilda felt for the crystals in her pocket. They clinked together against the metal of her rings, including the golden band on her fourth finger. She took a deep breath and realized she hadn’t moved. 

Neither had Brom said anything more. 

He slowly took off the headphones and slipped off the blindfold, shaking his head. He blinked to adjust his eyes to the beams of the flashlights before clicking on his own headlight. “What happened? Did you get anything good? We were going for awhi—” His face fell when he met Matilda’s eyes. In a swift jump, he was in front of her, his hands on her arms.

“Matty? Matty, what is it?” Matilda took a deep breath and focused on the pressure of his hands on her arms. Brom looked between her and Ichabod. “What happened?”

Ichabod shook his head as if coming out of a daze. “It sounded like someone—that is, your responses—it sounded like someone saying they were a friend who was murdered on the night of the full moon.”

Brom’s eyes widened. His lips parted in an excited smile before his features fell and he looked at Matilda. “That could mean anything. There’s a lot of history that’s happened around here, so it could be from any era, or their ‘friend’ could be anyone, not just us…”

Matilda’s breathing evened, and she felt her pulse return somewhat to normal. Brom’s ramblings, which might have irritated her before, only helped to calm her somehow, his voice warm and familiar. At the very least, she was glad he wasn’t in that trance-like state with the spirit box, open to whatever might come through.

Whoever it was had a message they wanted to get across.

“Are you okay?” Brom asked as he searched her eyes, and she winced as the light from his headlight streaked her vision. 

“Yeah,” she said with a nervous chuckle. She realized how little space separated her from Brom, and her breathing seemed to match the rise and fall of his chest as he kept his hands on her arms.

“We can stop,” he added. “Come back another night, or never. It’s fine.”

Matilda knew how excited he was for this night, and his offer tugged at her heart.

She breathed in deeply. “No,” she said with more force than she meant. “I think we should keep going.”

They owed it to whoever it was, to find out what was happening. 

“You’re sure?” Brom raised his brows and leaned closer. The intimacy would have been sweet if his headlight wasn’t shining in her eyes.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” she echoed, leaning back in spite of herself. 

“Oh, sorry.” Brom dropped his hands from her arms and took a step back, and Matilda wished a part of her heart didn’t drop at the cool space between them.

“Venkman! Barrett! Stantz! Do you copy?! Over! ”

Matilda jumped at the shouts that came through her earpiece, and she glanced to see Brom and Ichabod had done the same. Matilda’s pulse quickened at the realization—had the Babes been listening to her and Ichabod?

Shit.

Brom was the first to respond. “Babes! I mean, Melnitzes! I mean, what is going on?”

“There has been supernatural activity in the hearse! I repeat, supernatural activity! A figure in a white dress with long dark hair, looks to be either a very young child or a very old woman. Can’t see the face yet, and…. Oh.”

Matilda pinched the bridge of her nose. “It’s Verla, isn’t it?”

“You didn’t say, ‘Over’. Over. ”

“ Over .”

“Yes. It’s Verla. Over.”

Ichabod let out a nervous chuckle. “Sounds like it’s a family affair,” he said.

Matilda didn’t have the energy to respond as several thoughts rushed through her head, and she didn’t dare look at Brom to gauge his reaction. Besides, it was kind of funny, picturing Verla crammed into the van with three guys who would make easy targets for her antics. Or hell, they might even put her through her paces.

“Right,” Brom said in a take-charge voice that Matilda wondered if he used to corral his middle-schoolers.. “Time to regroup.” He lifted one finger in the air and made a small circle. “We’ve attempted to contact the spirit that may be haunting this bridge—a site known for its ghoulies—and we may have been successful. I’ve got the REM pod that we can use next to see if this spirit has more to say. Or”—Brom held Matilda’s gaze—“we move on to phase two. If our bad-ass witch friend is comfortable.”

Matilda wished she could read Brom’s expression but she was forced to shield her eyes from his headlight instead. She stood upright and looked at Ichabod, whose look of concern she assumed matched Brom’s. There was something more than concern, as well—there was a trust, a confidence in her abilities.

It reminded her of the day Brom brought Ichabod and the Headless Horseman into her shop. It reminded her of that fateful night when Ichabod threw her Henrietta’s skull.

“Let’s do it,” Matilda breathed.

“Yes!” Brom exclaimed with a fist pump.

The three of them began to set up a sort of altar in the middle of the bridge. Matilda couldn’t help but shiver as they retreated deeper into the tunnel, as if they were cut off from the natural world with only their flashlights for illumination. The air was still—she couldn’t even hear the river below them, an odd phenomenon given the gaps between the boards, and she knew that at this time of night, the barrier between the physical world and the spirits was at its thinnest. She set up the three candles in a triangle and then proceeded to arrange the crystals in between the candles. Meanwhile, Ichabod poured the salt in a wide circle around the area, careful to join it closed—another precaution from Granny Bishop.

Brom also set up the REM pod a couple of feet away. “Just in case,” he said with a shrug.

Matilda took a breath to steady herself and exhaled over each candle’s wick to light it, her lips pursed. She noticed Brom’s look of awe with satisfaction, and even Ichabod seemed impressed. She carefully placed each candle so that it was evenly spaced amongst the crystals, and the yellow flames illuminated the pale pinks and purples of the rocks, which dispersed faint sparkles on the old wood of the tunnel.

“What now?” Brom asked as he stepped over to her side.

“Now, we invite,” Matilda said. Her heart beat fast as she stood straight and flicked her hands before reciting, “Spirit in this tunnel housed, here we’ve placed these candles three, and should to us your story tell, you may choose to soon be free.”

Matilda felt a rush of energy encircle them, and she held her breath. The candles flickered wildly, and she could see Ichabod and Brom exchange looks before looking at her.

“Is anyone there?” Matilda asked as she fought to keep her voice steady. The flames of the candles became eerily still, though Matilda knew that the drafts should easily pass through the walls of the covered bridge.

“If someone’s there, please blow out two candles.”

They watched the candles, and Matilda held her breath as two began to sputter before going out completely.

“Hello,” she said. “We’re here to help you. We also want you to know that you can’t harm us. Should you try, we will close this opening and leave you alone.” Matilda ignored all the possibilities that flew to mind of such seances going wrong and continued to choose her words carefully.

“If you would like us to help you, however, please light one candle.”

After a moment, one candle’s wick burst into flame.

“Good,” Matilda said to the darkness. “We are happy to help you.”

Brom shifted his weight beside her. Truth be told, she couldn’t ignore the nervous energy bubbling within her, and she wasn’t entirely convinced of the benevolence of this spirit.

“You said that you died on the night of the full moon,” Matilda continued. She closed her eyes at the realization that they were close to the next full moon, and perhaps that was another reason why this spirit was more active.

Had it already been almost month since everything had happened?

“Was that the most recent full moon? If yes, please light the last candle.”

The candle in question alit spontaneously.

Matilda swallowed. She could feel an otherworldly energy, a heat that buzzed around them, but she couldn’t discern if the spirit was friendly or vengeful.

Or perhaps it was her own guilt clouding her judgment.

“Is everything okay?” Brom asked softly. He was almost close enough that their shoulders could brush, and she could just make out his face in the faint light from the candles at their feet.

“Mmhmm,” she said with a nod, not trusting herself to say more. She could feel tears prick at her eyes and her nose start to sting, and she willed herself to keep control.

Suddenly, a strange noise floated through the tunnel, and Matilda realized it was the faint notes of a ukulele. Instantly, she was transported back to the night with Kat when they fled the theatre and chased after the strange bard in the cemetery.

Are you there, Kat? Matilda bit back the words, as if she didn’t want to scare off the spirit until they had worked up to such an important question. Or, was she just being a coward?

“Do you have unfinished business?” Matilda finally said, her words small. She closed her eyes to fight off the image of Kat in the graveyard, her head being dug up like those they used for the Horseman—the same cemetery where they had been on her last night alive, and the same cemetery where she’d been buried a week later.

Brom squeezed her arm, and Matilda opened her eyes to see the candles sputter on and off in perfect succession. A tear rolled down her cheek, and she noticed the strange air movement that seemed to follow the path of the candles, swirling around in a circle.

“Do you know who murdered you?” Matilda cried out. She could feel the air in the covered bridge crackle and snap, with a buzz that began to hum in her ears. They didn’t have much longer. “Do we know who murdered you?” she added. “If so, extinguish the candles.”

In an instant, the candles blew out, though no smoke appeared. Matilda could feel tears stream down her cheeks, and her limbs tingled. “Please, just tell us you are!” she shouted.

The candles burst to life in a flash, and Matilda swore she saw the figure of Kat before her, her blonde hair and cold stare that, for a moment, looked so real and so other-worldly at the same time. Matilda gasped, and only barely realized that Brom and Ichabod saw the figure too.

“Get behind me!” Brom cried. Before Matilda knew what had happened, Brom stepped between her and the space where the figure had been, spinning her around him in one swift motion.

Ichabod stepped closer as well, and Matilda gasped for air. The figure seemed to appear in flashes, an image made more menacing by the flicker of candles.

“No!” Matilda cried. “No, not like this!”  Tears blurred her vision as she spun around, desperate to find the figure and help solidify their form. A rushing noise filled her head and her knees suddenly gave out. She crashed to the ground with one hand landing on a candle. “Ah!”

She knocked two candles to the ground, plunging the bridge into almost-darkness as the wax spilled over the boards and smoke curled up from the wicks..

“Matty!” Brom dropped to his knees and reached for her. “Are you hurt? Hon’? What happened?”

 Matilda sat up on her knees. The buzzing in her head began to quiet and she blinked before she could focus on Brom as best she could. She realized her hand stung. “Ooh,” she winced. “I’m fine, I think.”

Hon’.

Brom clicked on his headlight and looked down. He knelt before her and took her injured hand, carefully studying her palm. “Your hand is burned,” he said as he examined the pink flesh. “Come with me—I’ve got a first aid kit in the van.”

Matilda nodded and let him help her up, his grip steady on her other arm.

“Ichabod, you stay here and tell us if anything else happens.”

“I—are you sure you don’t need—it’s not—” Ichabod replied.

Matilda let Brom lead her out of the covered bridge and up the path to the van. His grip on her arm was firm, but gentle, and he kept his other hand on her back.

Brom opened the sliding door of the van  with a clunk and helped Matilda inside. His heart raced, but he wasn’t even thinking about the ghost as he waved off the looks from the Babes and reached for the first aid kit. 

“Let’s see that hand,” he said as he clicked on his headlight and rubbed his own hands with hand sanitizer. He shifted to find a decent position in the small space filled with equipment, sitting on his heels with his knees under him. Matilda tucked herself in between him and the Babes and held out her right palm for him. 

“We’ll have to clean it first,” he said. He glanced up only to shine his light in her eyes, and he looked down. “Sorry.”

I’m sorry for dragging you into this whole mess.

“It’s okay.”

“Babes, do you have a water bottle?” he asked, carefully glancing behind her, the codenames forgotten. Cal offered him a water bottle, and Brom unscrewed its top. He held Matilda’s hand outside the van and poured the liquid over it to cleanse the skin of the debris as best he could. He grabbed some paper towel from Blair and wished they’d had a proper sink with soap and warm, running water.

“It doesn’t look too bad,” Brom assured her as he carefully wiped the remaining dirt and wax away from the skin. He let go of her hand for a moment and grabbed an alcohol wipe from the kit, ripping the package. “Now, this might sting a bit.”

Matilda nodded. Brom looked up from under his headlight as he placed the wipe on her skin. He could see her in the shadows. She barely flinched, and his heart swelled as he wondered if she was in some sort of shock.

What are you thinking, Matty? You look like you’re a million miles away. It was clear that they’d all seen something in the bridge a few moments ago, but to Brom it was a faceless figure. To Matilda, however, it seemed to be someone she’d rather not encounter, and Brom had a hunch he knew who it was. 

But if it really was Kat, wouldn’t they have all seen her?

Brom had too many questions running through his mind, too many emotions ranging from guilt to worry and other things he couldn’t name as they were almost pressed up together in the van. Instead he focused on the immediate task in front of him. He finished cleaning the skin, dropped the wipe on the floor, and reached for the tube of polysporin. 

The area of the burn covered the middle of her palm a couple of inches across. They would need more than a Band-Aid. 

As he worked, Matilda’s gaze rested on their hands. “You’re really good at this.”

“Oh?” Brom said with a lift of his brow. “You sound like you’re surprised.” He carefully applied the polysporin with a cotton ball.

Matilda let out a sad chuckle. “No, no. It’s just—I remember the last time you asked for a first aid kit, one of the Babes ended up with a wad of paper towel wrapped around his hand.”

Brom snorted. “And you blame me for that, huh? I tried to help, but a certain someone insisted on doing it himself.” He threw a glance to his posse, who all conveniently had their backs turned to them and stared at the monitors. 

Brom returned his gaze to Matilda’s hand as he began to wrap it with gauze, careful to keep the tension loose enough. “Between my time in sports and now having to wrangle a bunch of twelve-year-olds, I’ve seen enough cuts and bruises to know what to do. And trust me, this is nothing. Talk to me when there’s a bone poking through your skin, and then we might need some help.” Brom winced. Gruesome injuries weren’t exactly the type of conversation to make someone feel better.

Matilda only gave a small smile, and Brom’s heart lifted. “Fair point.”

Brom finished by taping the bandage securely. Suddenly, he was very aware that he was holding Matilda’s hand and that their knees were practically touching in the small space. Even with the van door open beside them and the Babes behind Matilda, it felt strangely intimate.

Brom’s breath hitched in his throat and he swallowed. He clicked off his headlight before repacking the first aid kit. His breathing evened as he focused on the hard metal of the box that he tucked away. 

Matilda broke the silence. “Did I do the right thing?”

Brom’s attention returned to Matilda and he searched her eyes, his hands settling on her knees. “Do the right thing?” he echoed, desperate to reassure her but for for what, he wasn’t sure.

Her eyes brimmed with unshed tears as she looked away. “I keep thinking about Kat in that cemetery, and with all the heads we dug up, and what if she should have been cremated?” She blinked, causing two tears to roll down her cheeks on either side.

“Oh, Matty,” Brom murmured as he placed his hand on her arm. He fought the instinct to pull her to him, unsure of what she wanted, and his chest ached at the helplessness that washed over him.  “I’m sure you did. It’s what the Van Tassels have always done. And it really shouldn’t have been up to you.” The words felt so small, and he prayed he didn’t sound condescending. He slid his hand down her arm until he reached her good hand and gave it a squeeze.

Matilda dropped her head and nodded. “You’re right,” she said so quietly that Brom had to strain to hear her. She squeezed his hand back, and Brom could swear he could feel time stop for a moment.

“Guys!” Ichabod’s voice suddenly broke through their earpieces, wrenching them back to the small van that smelled a little too much like three men in close quarters. “Guys, you’re going to want to come see this!”

Matilda took a deep breath. “Are you sure it’s not Verla?”

Brom looked around the van and realized Verla was nowhere in sight.

“It’s definitely not Verla. Get down here. Now!”

“Boss, there are some crazy readings coming from the bridge,” Blair affirmed as he turned around. Brom nodded and climbed out of the van before he offered his hand to Matilda. She grabbed it with her left hand, and they ran down the path, past the dying campfire, to the entrance where Ichabod stood.

“What is it?” Brom asked, his pulse racing more from anticipation than from physical exertion.

“Look,” Ichabod said. He pointed his flashlight deep into the bridge, and the three of them took tentative steps in that direction. Matilda gripped Brom’s hand, and he tried to give her a reassuring squeeze back, all while keeping his gaze forward. He wondered if the same question that seemed to roll over and over in his brain was also shared by Ichabod and Matilda.

Could it actually be Kat?

Brom squinted as a figure solidified and moved towards them. Fear gripped his chest and he shrieked before he noticed something familiar about this ghost: the distinct form of a young man with short hair who wore a vest and clutched a small guitar. Er, ukulele.

“Oh, thank god you guys can actually see me! What took you so long?!”

Chapter Text

“ Diedrich ?!” Brom, Ichabod, and Matilda all exclaimed together.

The man—ghost?—in front of them nodded and rubbed his neck. “Yeah.”

“You’re— alive?! ” Ichabod asked.

“Uh, not exactly.”

Brom squinted. Diedrich looked mostly like his normal self, except that he became slightly see-through whenever Ichabod shone the flashlight directly on him.

“Where were you?” Brom asked.

“Where do you think? I’ve been stuck around this gross bridge trying to get someone to actually hear me,” Diedrich answered. Brom raised his eyebrows and looked away. Recently resurrected ghosts were a bit testy.

“How do you… feel?” Ichabod asked.

“Just peachy, thanks. Is this twenty questions?”

Brom snorted. He then realized that Matilda hadn’t said anything, and he was still holding her hand. He also decided that he was not going to be the first to let go.

“Hey, Boss—er, Venkman—the readings seem to have stabilized. Any updates on the ghost sightings? Over.”

“The ghost has been identified as one Diedrich Knickerbocker,” Brom answered. “And nobody was scared. Over.”

Diedrich rolled his eyes. “Do you think we could move this to somewhere less… haunted?”

Ichabod, Brom, and Matilda all stared at him.

“Don’t you think any place you go will be haunted by default?” Matilda asked, narrowing her eyes. 

Brom bit back a laugh. He also couldn’t help but relax at the hint of sarcasm in her tone, and he instinctively rubbed her wedding ring with his fourth finger. 

“Ouch,” was all Diedrich said in reply.

“Maybe we can go to the campfire?” Ichabod suggested. “See if you can make it there? Then maybe you can go further…”

They all agreed and made their way back to the entrance. They passed the REM pod on the way, and it lit up and buzzed. Brom screeched and yanked Matilda to him, his heart racing, until he realized the culprit. “I’m fine,” he said as he ran his hand through his hair, willing his heart to stop racing. Matilda turned her head, but not before he saw her bandaged hand cover a smirk.

“Good to know it’s working,” Brom said as he snatched it up and fumbled to turn it off with one hand.

The three of them kept their attention fixed on Diedrich as they exited the bridge. He appeared to be walking with them, though if Brom looked closely, he could see him glide over the ground, his feet not truly making contact. Brom couldn’t help but stare—aside from Verla, who might be something else entirely, this was the first ghost he’d seen face-to-face.

Well, and the Headless Horseman and her incarnations. And Kat, but she was definitely more of a zombie than a ghost.

Brom jumped when he saw Verla seated at the campfire. She held a stick with something on the end over the dying embers, and Brom realized he didn’t want to know what she was roasting. She vanished when she saw them, and when Brom glanced at Matilda for an answer, she only shrugged.

They sat around the campfire and Brom reluctantly released Matilda’s hand to grab the last pieces of wood and placed them on the embers. He blew to coax the fire to life and waited for the logs to alight. Satisfied as the flames grew and licked at the sides of the logs, he joined Matilda on the makeshift log bench and placed his hand on her back, her shoulders hunched over. He glanced around at the sky to try to determine the time. It was still dark except for the glow from the town’s lights, though he thought he could make out the slightest hint of the approaching dawn on the horizon.

“What now?” Ichabod asked, and Brom noticed that he too was hunched over, his elbows resting on his knees. Diedrich sat beside him, though he hovered in the air. 

“Can’t we get out of here?” Diedrich asked. “I’m dying to be somewhere that doesn’t smell of rotting wood and river.”

Brom snorted at Diedrich’s choice of words but thought better of saying anything.

Matilda shivered beside him. “Here, Babe,” Brom murmured as he shrugged his coat off and draped it over his shoulders. Matilda nodded her thanks as she hugged it around her, and Brom placed his hands on her arms and rubbed.

“Do you think you’ll be able to leave this place?” Ichabod asked. 

“It should be fine,” Matilda piped up. “I think we’ve been able to tether Diedrich to our world.” 

Brom smiled to himself. She was generous to include him and Ichabod in that sentiment, but it had all been her. 

Diedriche breathed a sigh of relief. “Good, ‘cause I am not going back there.”

Ichabod raised his brow at Matilda. “What exactly does that mean?”

Matilda leaned forward. “You needed some help in making that last connection to the physical realm, so we took that final step. You don’t have a physical form anymore, but otherwise you’ll be your normal self. People will be able to see you and hear you. It may be a bit tricky at first, but you should be able to learn to control how much you are visible or not. You should even be able to apparate from place to place, and move through physical objects, et cetera. You also won’t need to do the things you used to do, since you don’t have a body to sustain.”

“So… no eating or drinking?” Diedrich replied.

Matilda nodded. “Or sleeping,” she offered as a consolation. “Verla might have some more advice.”

Diedrich nodded as he took in this information. 

Brom could feel the cold press in around them, and he saw Ichabod shiver. “Guys, uh, for those of us who do have corporal bodies, maybe we can pack up and get someplace warm?”

“Corporeal?” Ichabod said.

“What?”

“Nevermind.” 

After a pause, Brom continued. “We, uh—we could go back to my place. We know Ichabod’s apartment is cramped A.F., and Matty’s is even worse. I’ve got lots of room, and we can make breakfast. Besides, everything is still closed.”

Everyone nodded and slowly began to pack everything up. Brom notified the Babes over his earpiece, but was only met with a garbled voice.

“Come again? Over.”

“Mmmphanphwam.”

“What?!”

After a pause, a slightly more clear voice answered. “Sowwy. Verla made us s’mores. We’ll pack up. Over and out!”

Brom glanced at Matilda. “Better not to tell them,” she said with a twinkle in her eye.

Brom shook his head as he put out the campfire and pushed the logs and stumps back into the forest. Matilda gathered his equipment into his duffle bag while Ichabod went down to the bridge to gather the candles and crystals and thermoses.

By the time everyone had arrived at the Van Brunt manor, the sky had started to turn purple with the promise of dawn. Brom’s muscles relaxed as he entered the warmth of the house and dropped his equipment in the mudroom. His limbs felt heavy as he led everyone to the kitchen and waved them towards the table that overlooked the ravine with floor-to-ceiling windows.

It was nice to have the large space filled with friendly chatter for once. Or, more accurately, the grunts and groans of his friends who had stayed up all night ghost-hunting.

The Babes collapsed into the chairs around the table, and even Verla popped into the scene. Diedrich hovered around the walls and tentatively reached for the solid surface, only for his hand to disappear through it. Poor guy had some things to figure out.

Ichabod joined Diedrich, but Brom couldn’t hear what they were talking about.

Matilda followed Brom behind the counter to the kitchen proper. He smiled to see she was still wearing his jacket. He couldn’t resist tugging the corner, and she stepped closer to him. “It looks good on you,” he teased, searching her eyes.

“Oh? Uh, thanks,” she replied. She glanced around, a bit distracted, or tired, or both. Brom held his breath as he tried to remember when she might have been to his house last. She’d definitely been at the big bash he’d thrown senior year, and she usually made a quick appearance with Kat at his New Year’s Eve parties. Still, that was when there was a throng of people where you had to yell to be heard. This was different.

Suddenly, it felt very important that Matilda was here, in his house, in his kitchen, and he longed to know what she was thinking as they stood so close together.

He realized he still held the edge of the coat and he dropped it before taking a step back. His hands lay at his sides and he stuffed them into his pocket. Matilda looked at him and her gaze rested on his forehead. “You’ve still got your headlight on,” she said, tilting her chin up. 

“What? Oh.” Brom tugged it off and ran his hands through his hair. 

“You’ve got—it’s a bit red,” she took a step forward and Brom’s breath hitched in his throat as she reached for his forehead. She ran a thumb over his forehead where the band had dug into his skin for the last few hours. 

“It’s still there,” she said with a nervous chuckle. She stepped back and shrugged off his coat. 

“You can just throw it anywhere,” Brom said, remembering himself as he felt her touch linger on his skin.

“Uh, Boss, can we get some coffee?”

Brom whipped around to see Tripp on the other side of the counter, looking more asleep than awake.

“Sure thing.”

“On it,” Matilda said, glancing around the space. “I’ll do the coffee, you take care of the food.” She pointed to Brom, and he had to appreciate her take-charge demeanour.

“Your hand’s okay?” Brom asked with a jerk of his chin towards her hand. She nodded, and his shoulders relaxed. “Aye, aye, Captain!” he said with a grin. He turned to the table where a bevy of hungry Babes sat with the ghost-girl, all staring at him. “How about pancakes with bacon and eggs?”

Matilda wasn’t sure about Brom’s ambitious breakfast with three different foods that involved the stove, but he handled the situation with aplomb. Truthfully, he’d handled the whole night impressively, taking every curveball that had been thrown at them with a steadfastness that Matilda was learning to appreciate. Or maybe more than appreciate.

All with his usual enthusiasm, of course.

Matilda ended up working at the second stovetop—because of course the Van Brunts had a second stove—and fried up the eggs and bacon while Brom made the pancakes, careful of her injury. She should have been able to work a quick healing charm, but the seance to bring Diedrich back had wiped her energy, and she couldn’t deny she liked how quick Brom was to help her. Her hand instinctively flexed at the memory of his fingers against her skin as he bandaged the wound and held her hand.

Cal popped up by her side, yanking her from her thoughts. He ran back and forth with everyone’s preferences for how they liked their eggs—including Blair’s very specific description of how he wanted it fried sunny side up in the centre of a piece of toast with the crusts cut off—and Matilda found herself strangely energized by the chaos. She’d been so isolated for the last year without even realizing it, and this taste of true friendship fed a hunger she hadn’t realized had been gnawing at her for so long.

It might have been another reason Kat was so eager to get rid of Ichabod.

“Matty, do I have something on my face?” Brom asked, and Matilda looked up from the sizzling bacon to see Brom with a streak of pancake batter on his forehead.

Matilda laughed, and she noticed Brom’s grin widen. Suddenly, she got an idea and bit her lip. She lifted her finger, causing two dollops of batter to rise from the bowl beside Brom. Slowly, she brought the drops around until they were between them. His eyes widened, and with a grin of her own, she flicked her finger, smattering the two drops on his cheeks. 

“Now you do.”

“Hey!” Brom gasped, his eyes full of glee. “No fair.” 

Before she knew what had happened, he dipped a finger into the batter and smeared a trail across her cheek. 

Matilda squealed and turned her head instinctively, though not in time to save herself from the goopy mark. 

For a second, she met Ichabod’s gaze at the table. She quickly looked away, though not before she saw him smile at her. 

She realized she had her hands on Brom’s chest, though whether that was to keep him at a distance or pull him close, she wasn’t quite sure. She took a step back and dropped her hands to her sides, but she couldn’t deny the way her heart lightened. “Truce,” she declared as she met his gaze and stretched out her hand. She had a hunch the twinkle in his eye matched her own, but she decided she was not going to overthink it. 

Brom grinned. “Truce,” he agreed. He began to take her hand but stopped short and created a fist instead when he noticed her bandage. Matilda echoed the gesture, and they bumped their knuckles together to cement their peace.

“That’s a relief,” Brom said as he turned back to the stove. “I was not going to win that battle anyway.”

Matilda nodded. “Smart man.”

The tension of the night almost faded from memory as Matilda and Brom finished making breakfast. There was something familiar about the way they moved together and navigated the space behind the counter. Though the Van Brunt kitchen was large by any standards, Matilda found herself crossing Brom’s path or brushing past him, and the closeness made warmth bubble up in her chest.

At the very least, she knew she couldn’t blame it all on the copious amounts of coffee she downed to keep herself awake.

She and Brom managed to grab their own breakfasts standing at the counter as they struggled to keep up with the Babes’ bottomless appetites. It gave Matilda a newfound appreciation for the staff at the diner down the road, and she was glad The Drugstore barely opened before lunch. She also caught Ichabod’s wide eyes when the Babes tried to make a stack of pancakes as tall as possible before it finally collapsed on the table with syrup spilling over to the floor, though not before Verla had either tried to help it stand taller or had pushed it over—Matilda wasn’t sure.

She rolled her eyes at Brom who had only encouraged them by providing more pancakes without question. He simply shrugged with his usual grin, and Matilda had to hide her own smile behind her mug.

“So, do you think if Diedrich tried to eat anything, it would just fall through him to the floor?” Brom asked, bumping his shoulder to hers as they grabbed a few bites at the counter.

Matilda swallowed her coffee and shrugged. Her heart went out to the town’s recently deceased troubadour as he gazed longingly at the mountains of hot food, despite his look of disgust at the Babes’ antics. She watched him slowly bring his finger to a piece of bacon and close the distance until it passed through the piece of meat, and his shoulders fell. “I don’t think he’d even be able to bring it to his mouth just yet,” she admitted. “But I’m sure he’ll be moving items and scaring residents in no time.”

Brom chuckled. “Our very own poltergeist.”

Soon, the tornado that had swept through the Van Brunt home dissipated almost as quickly as it had appeared. The Babes left in their ghost-mobile, or hearse, or whatever they called it, and Ichabod left with Diedrich, and Verla popped out in her usual manner.

Matilda found herself half awake at the kitchen table, her elbow resting on the one non-sticky spot she could find, her head propped up with her hand as she gazed out the window with half-closed eyelids. The sun peeked out over the horizon, its deep pinky-orange rays shining through the bare branches of trees and bushes, all framed by the giant floor-to-ceiling windows.

It certainly wasn’t the worst way to start the day. Or end the day.

She heard the chair across from her slide across the floor and creak with the weight of Brom settling into it. For a few moments, they didn’t speak, and Matilda enjoyed the rare moment of quiet where her thoughts and heart felt settled in a pleasant fog. Perhaps she was just overtired, but she had already decided not to question the ease that bloomed in her chest, or the way her muscles seemed to relax despite the prior chaos.

Even if she was just in the eye of the storm, she was going to enjoy this chance for a deep breath while she could. 

“Is your hand okay?” Brom finally asked. 

Matilda glanced over at him and gave a lazy nod. “Mmhmm.”

Brom gave her a small smile. “That’s good.”

He sipped his drink, loaded with cream and sugar so that it could barely be called coffee, before he continued. “I, uh, I was just wondering…” He trailed off for a moment and swallowed. “You thought it was Kat back there, didn’t you?” 

A lump rose in her throat at the question, though it was more from the look he gave her than from the subject itself. With all that had gone on that night, he knew.

Matilda pursed her lips together before she answered quietly. “Yeah. I thought it might be.”

Brom looked down before he looked up again. “Have you been seeing her a lot?” 

“I… I don’t know,” Matilda admitted. “I’ve been seeing glimpses of a figure that could be her, but I don’t know if it’s real or if I’m making it up in my head. And then, well, when I sleep, sometimes…” She shook her head, unable to finish the thought. Her chest became tight, and yet, it felt good to give these fears a voice—to show them to someone else.

Well, not just anyone.

Brom’s features softened, and he tightened his grasp on his mug. “I’m so sorry, Matty,” he said. “From what you said in the van, and what you looked like when you did the seance and there was some sort of ghost—I just can’t imagine what that’s like.”

Matilda nodded and began tapping her mug with fingers. After a pause, she spoke. “I just… I just don’t know if she’s real, or what if I’m crazy and making it up in my head? Or what if she hates me for what I did to her?”

Brom reached across the table, and she relaxed as his large hand grasped hers. “You didn’t do anything to her, Matty. She and Baltus made their own decisions, and you couldn’t save them from them.”

Matilda nodded again, amazed that for once, she didn’t feel the sting of tears. Still, the familiar weight on her chest began to press on her again. “I know,” she whispered. “It’s just… hard to believe sometimes.” Brom began to rub the back of her hand, and she noticed how he seemed to pay special attention to her gold ring.

Hon’. Babe. 

Suddenly, Brom released her hand and stood up, causing his chair to screech across the floor. Matilda frowned.

“I want to show you something,” Brom said, his eyes determined as he held out his hand to her.

“Brom, what are you talking about?”

“Just trust me, Matty.” 

Matilda gave a mock sigh and placed her coffee mug on the table. She took Brom’s hand before he led her out of the kitchen and to the stairs that lead them to a lower level. Her curiosity piqued, her mind raced to come up with any possibilities. After staying up all night, however, she came up empty, and she couldn’t hide her annoyance when Brom flicked on the lights to a home gym.

“Brom…” she groaned as she took in all the exercise equipment.

“No, no, hear me out,” he replied quickly. Matilda saw the pleading look in his eyes as he squeezed her hand, and her expression softened.

He tugged her towards a punching bag in the middle of the room. She wondered if she’d have been able to figure out Brom’s meaning if she wasn’t running on fumes, but she had to settle for giving him a frown as a silent demand for an explanation.

“Sometimes I need a way to let out some steam,” Brom finally said, “especially lately, and I find this has been a healthy way to get some of those… emotions out.”

Matilda took a breath and glanced at the punching bag before studying Brom. She was dying to ask him what emotions he’d let out on this oversized bean bag—anger? Betrayal? Heartbreak?—but was too exhausted, or too cowardly, to voice the question aloud. 

“I know you’re probably too tired now, but I just wanted to let you know you can use this anytime you need to hit something. I know, I know, it sounds silly, but sometimes doing something physical can really help get it out of your system. Endorphins and exercise and all that.”

Matilda tilted her head, and she couldn’t help but feel a tug in her middle, a deep warmth, that Brom was sharing part of himself with her. All so he could help her through her own grief. 

It made her head swim. 

“Thanks, Brom,” Matilda said softly. She could feel tears well up. Not now.

Brom gave her a small smile with a nod and squeezed her hand. “And for what it’s worth, I don’t think Kat would hate you. You two were inseparable—it was almost kind of annoying.” 

Matilda let out a nervous chuckle, though his words touched something in her heart that she hadn’t been sure was still there. “Yeah?”

Brom tugged her closer. “I mean, I don’t understand the technicalities of being a zombie, but maybe Kat didn’t have all her senses this past year? Like, what if her heart wasn’t right? Or her head? She wasn’t thinking right, or she wouldn’t have asked so much of you. But you were always her family. She would never hate you.”

Matilda blinked to clear her vision, her mind too foggy by a lack of sleep—and perhaps something else—to make sense of all that Brom was saying, or to question his logic.

She had no trouble, however, understanding the sentiment behind his words. Before she could second-guess herself, she leaned into him and lay her head on his shoulder.

“Thank you.”

They stood in silence for a few moments, side by side, hands clasped with her head on his shoulder, until a thud from upstairs made them jump.

“What was that?” Brom asked Matilda with a frown, and she shrugged before glancing at the doorway. Slowly, they crept out of the gym and up the stairs to search for the source of the disturbance. As they passed a display shelf, Brom let go of Matilda’s hand and grabbed an empty vase, waving at her to stay behind him. He held it aloft, and Matilda could almost see his muscles tightly coiled, ready to jump into action.

Matilda had to bite her cheeks to keep from giggling.

As they rounded the corner, the sound of shuffling grew louder. Matilda realized she was holding her breath as she saw a figure in the middle of the kitchen.

“Diedrich, what are you doing here?” Brom asked, his body relaxed as he dropped his hands to his sides, the vase in his grip. Matilda came up beside him and rested her hands on her hips.

“I wish I knew!” Diedrich exclaimed with a sigh as he threw his hands in the air. “One minute I was at Ichabod’s dingy apartment and thinking about how much bigger your place is, and the next, I was back here.”

Matilda gave her best comforting smile. “It will take some time to learn to, uh, control yourself,” she reassured him.

Brom frowned at her. “Does this mean that I’m stuck with him?” Diedrich took a step forward and Brom winced. “I’m sorry, Bro, I didn’t mean ‘stuck’, I just meant…”

Matilda wanted to laugh at the horrified looks of both men in front of her. “No, I’m sure it’s fine. For now, why don’t we just take you back to town? It will also help if you relax and keep thinking about the place you actually want to be.”

“Should I get the car?” Brom asked as he placed the vase on the counter.

Matilda shook her head. “I think it would be better to walk.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m fine.” Matilda fought to suppress a yawn. “Really. And it will help Diedrich get acclimatized.”

Diedrich looked like he’d rather be doing anything else, but after a pause, he agreed. “Okay.”

And so, the night that had begun with a mysterious ghost-hunt ended with a witch, a gym teacher, and a ghost-bard walking together back to the centre of Sleepy Hollow.

Chapter Text

On the walk back to town, Brom itched to hold Matilda’s hand as they’d done earlier that night—er, the day before?—but there never seemed to be a good time. They walked behind Diedrich, who strummed his ukulele to no one in particular. Brom’s own legs were beginning to feel like lead, and he could see Matilda struggle to keep up to Diedrich’s pace. However, any time they slowed down—and put some much needed space between the bard who had somehow become more annoying after death and themselves—the person in question insisted they hurry along.

“I’m not here to chaperone your morning stroll!” Diedrich chirped. “Let’s keep it moving. The sooner we get back to town—”

“—the sooner you’re safe from being killed for a third time,” Matilda grumbled just loud enough for Brom to hear.

“What was that?”

Brom coughed. “The, uh—the sooner you can get settled in with your new roommate!” he added a little too cheerfully. Matilda glared at him, and he raised his eyebrows.

“Don’t,” she told him.

“What? I didn’t say anything.”

“I know what you’re thinking.”

“Is that, like, a witchy thing?”

Matilda smirked. “Nope.”

Brom swallowed as she gave him a sly smile, and for one step he thought his knee might give way. She used to try to hide that smile from him. But now….

He flexed his hand that was closest to her, and he cursed the chance that he was walking on the side of her injured hand. 

Her expression fell and she let out a sigh. “I know I suggested this walk, but I thought it would be a little more… leisurely. And, uh, I forgot you lived so far away.”

Brom stuffed his hands in his pockets and smiled. “It’s not that far.”

Matilda grimaced. “Nothing in this town is that far. But it feels like it.”

“Well, at least you had the most excellent of breakfasts for energy,” Brom offered as a silver lining. He braced himself for her token sarcastic retort. 

Instead, Matilda agreed. “It was pretty good.”

Brom beamed at her, and Matilda narrowed her eyes. “I said it was pretty good, Bones—don’t get a big head.”

“It’s too late for that.”

“Oh, for f—” Diedrich whirled around, and Matilda and Brom stopped in their tracks. “If you two lovebirds don’t cut it out, I’m going to end up apparating back to the Van Brunt house and be stuck there forever, and I’m pretty sure none of us want that, hmm?”

Brom dared to look sideways at Matilda. “That can’t actually happen, right, Matty?” When she didn’t answer, he asked again, a slight panic in his voice. “Right?!”

“No, Brom, that’s not going to happen.”

Brom let out a sigh of relief and his shoulders relaxed. He couldn’t help but feel like a ghostly roommate was the last thing he wanted right now.

“Wait, did you call us lovebirds?” Brom asked. 

Diedrich rolled his eyes and turned back to continue their walk towards town. He began to strum again and, to Brom’s horror, sing.

“Brom and Matilda, sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S— hey! ” A string snapped with a screech, and Brom looked over to see Matilda tuck her index finger in her fist, a wicked smile curling her lips paired with a twinkle in her eye.

“You’ve got better material than that, Diedrich,” Matilda said as she quickly settled into a deadpan expression. 

“I know, but give me a break, I’ve been stuck on that covered bridge for a month.”

“It hasn’t been a month.”

“Well, it’s almost been a month.”

Matilda sighed. “Come on, Brom, let’s get back to town.” She brushed past Diedrich with steady steps, and Brom couldn’t help but pause for a moment as he watched her surprisingly quick strides in her boots and tight pants. 

“Well, you heard the lady!” Bom said when he managed to pull his eyes away. He shrugged at Diedrich, his hands still in his pockets, before he jogged to catch up. 

“Okay, fine , I’ll find another song,” Diedrich said as he hurried behind them. Brom glanced over his shoulder and wondered if he would ever get used to the gliding thing that Diedrich now had going on.

As they turned the corner to the main street, Matilda pulled out her phone from her pocket. “I’ll let Ichabod know we’re almost there,” she said with a huff as the only acknowledgement of Brom’s presence. She blew a stray piece of hair out of her face that had fallen from her clip.

God, she was cute when she was grumpy. 

And energetic, he realized as he fought to keep up with her renewed speed.

They rounded the last corner that revealed Ichabod’s building, and Brom relaxed. Things felt a little crowded with Diedrich’s surprise reappearance, especially when it felt like Matilda was about to open up to him back at the house. He wondered if there were any spells that she knew that could turn back time, but one glance at her scowl blew that thought away. Besides, she would have used that skill many times over the last year if she could. 

He fingered the ring on his left hand at the idea, and a small pit formed in his stomach.

Ichabod emerged from his building and made his way to them as their little trio hurried down the street. “What happened?” he asked as he crossed his arms in front of him, his parka open.

Matilda rolled her eyes. “Diedrich’s having some trouble staying… grounded.”

“Grounded?” Ichabod echoed. His eyes flitted to Diedrich who glided up to Brom’s side, and Brom jumped.

“He just needs help to focus on his surroundings to be able to stay in one place,” Matilda continued. “Did you see him disappear?”

Ichabod shook his head. “He was in the living room when I went to have a nap, and when I woke up, he was gone.”

“Ah, maybe that’s part of it,” Matilda said with a nod. “He probably got distracted by himself, and once he was thinking of Brom’s place….” She finished with a wave of her hand to explain what they already knew.

“I’m right here,” Diedrich said with a dramatic sigh and a strum of his ukulele.

Ichabod’s focus returned to Diedrich, and his eyes widened. “Why don’t we, uh, get you back inside,” he said, his voice higher. He glanced around the street, as if checking for spies, and Brom had to chuckle at his friend’s paranoia. Diedrich looked normal enough, especially in the long shadows of the early morning. Besides, Ichabod’s place was secluded from whatever rush hour traffic their town actually saw.

“Just, focus on your surroundings, okay, Diedrich?” Matilda said with more softness than her previous tone had held. “I’m sure you’ll get your bearings.”

“Yeah, well, you can tell me how easy you find it when you become a ghost,” Diedrich muttered as he followed Ichabod up the walkway to his building. 

“Thanks!” Ichabod called out with a wave.

“Keep us posted!” Brom called back. He watched as the two friends disappeared behind the large wooden door before he turned to Matilda.

Her shoulders fell, and he noticed the dark circles under her eyes. 

He realized he hadn’t thought beyond this moment, and he knew it was too far to walk back to his house. “Do you want me to take you to The Drugstore?” he asked as he studied her response, his breath clouding in the early-morning chill. “Or your apartment?” The bar was certainly closer, but he imagined a proper bed was more appealing than the worn cushions of the couch in the staff room.

An image of her sleeping in one of the beds at his house flew through his mind, and he brushed the thought away before he could picture which bed she would have used. 

“I’m actually still staying with my parents,” she replied. “If you want, we can walk there…” she trailed off and looked up at him from under her lashes, and his heart caught in his throat.

“Yeah,” he choked out. “That would be nice.”

They turned to retrace their steps back to the main street. Brom took his chance and maneuvered himself to Matilda’s left side, though he couldn’t bring himself to take her hand immediately. Did she want him to? 

They walked in silence as they made their way through the sleepy town only just waking up as the sun’s rays began to light up the small streets. The perfectly-kept lawns shimmered with frost, and stray leaves glinted like amber, as if to pretend for a few moments longer they were not about to decay. A bird called from a nearby tree, and Brom knew that Tripp would be able to tell him what kind of bird it was and whether it would be flying south for the winter.

Brom could hardly care about the birds as he found himself studying the distance between himself and Matilda. He could swear she was closing the gap, inching closer to him as their strides fell into a rhythm—a slow and perfect rhythm.

Brom’s breath caught in his chest when Matilda’s fingers brushed against his, and he couldn’t resist lacing his fingers with hers. When they’d held hands earlier, it had felt natural but almost accidental, whereas this… He glanced at her, and she offered him a small smile that made his pulse quicken. 

This was on purpose. 

They continued on, winding through the side streets of Sleepy Hollow as the historical houses grew in size and became more spaced apart. For the first time, Brom didn’t feel the need to say whatever popped into his head. Honestly, he was too tired for thought, or perhaps it was the heavy breakfast he’d had, but even the crisp November air couldn’t touch the warm fullness in his chest. 

Brom prayed that their newly-resurrected ghost friend wouldn’t make another surprise appearance.

He followed Matilda’s lead on the last part of their journey, down a wide road shaded by tall trees that looked to be three times as old as Sleepy Hollow itself. He tried to remember the last time he had been to the Bishop house. With a start, he realized it had to have been around high school or shortly after graduation at most when he likely picked Kat up from Matilda’s for the last time.

The faint memory gave him a pang in his chest for more reasons than one.

Matilda turned them on to a more narrow drive, and Brom held his breath as they approached the imposing structure. It wasn’t as grand as the Van Tassel mansion, but it felt so somehow. Brom had expected the building of Matilda’s childhood to be black—that’s how he’d remembered it, anyway—but the woodwork was painted a deep maroon, with dark purple trim. Pops of pale yellow highlighted architectural decorations, and the wide wrap-around porch and siding was painted a light green. There were bay windows and alcoves and turrets at various points, and though it should have looked chaotic, the effect was somehow cozy and magical, as if generations of Bishops had added on to the place.

Brom’s stomach fluttered as his footsteps echoed on the wooden steps that led to the large wooden doors inlaid with stained glass. Before they came within arms’ reach of the brass knocker, the door was flung open to reveal a petite, middle-aged woman with long dark hair past her shoulders, wearing a housecoat. 

Matilda froze beside Brom and dropped his hand. Brom glanced between Matilda and her mother, unsure of his next move. All of a sudden, he wished Matilda had told him some things—or that he’d asked her some things. 

Before he could speak, Mrs. Bishop stepped out and gave him a warm greeting. “Brom, Honey! It’s so nice to see you.” Her eyes flitted back and forth between him and Matilda, and he thought he noticed a glimpse of confusion. “Come on in.” 

She stepped inside and waved them in. Brom looked at Matilda, suddenly feeling like there was a whole football field between them rather than just a few inches of empty space. He placed his hand on her back and gestured towards the door. Finally, Matilda put one foot in front of the other, though she still felt stiff, and he followed her inside.

Mrs. Bishop took Brom’s coat from him while Matilda shrugged off her jacket and hung it up in the mirrored armoire beside them. Matilda threw Brom a pleading glance and he frowned, unable to ask her outright as Mrs. Bishop hurried them along. They followed the mistress of the house through the dark oak-panelled foyer to the bright kitchen, its shelves crammed with mismatched dishes, teacups, and jars of every colour, along with pots of herbs spilling along the windowsill.

“Hey, Kiddo!” a male voice startled Brom and he took his hand off of Matilda’s back. “Oh, Brom! This is—a surprise. How are you?”

Brom stepped forward and took Matilda’s father’s outstretched hand in greeting as the older man stood up from the table. “Hi, Mr. Bishop. Doing well, thanks. How ‘bout yourself?”

“Good, good. Still able to handle those middle schoolers?” Mr. Bishop threw a look behind Brom to the ladies in the kitchen, and Brom turned around. 

“They, uh, they keep me busy,” Brom replied, looking back and forth between Matilda’s parents and Matilda.

“Would you guys like anything to eat? Drink?” Mrs. Bishop offered with a warm smile. “Sorry things are a bit of a mess. I didn’t realize you’d be stopping by.”

Matilda shook her head. “We’ve already eaten,” she replied. 

Brom ran his hand through his hair, suddenly wishing he’d freshened up when he’d had the chance. This was not how he’d anticipated the day going. “We ate back at my house,” he explained. “But, uh, I wouldn’t mind a drink.” 

“Of course. What would you like? Tea? Coffee? Juice?”

“Whatever you have is great.” Brom followed Mrs. Bishop behind the counter and lifted his brow at Matilda. What’s the plan now? “Please, let me help.”

Mrs. Bishop waved him off. “It’s no trouble. You just make yourself comfortable.” She nodded to the barstools on the other side of the counter. 

Brom slowly pulled the seat out and sat down at the far end so he could see the length of the kitchen, with Mrs. Bishop at the stove and Mr. Bishop seated at the table by the window. Matilda leaned up against the counter opposite him, by the sink. Normally he was great with parents, but Matilda seemed frozen in place, and her apprehension made his own nerves jitter under his skin.

He’d also never cared so much about making a good impression before.

Mrs. Bishop measured what looked like loose tea into a blue-and-white teapot and poured boiling water in. “So, how did the seance go?” she asked without looking up.

Brom held his breath and threw a glance at Matilda. Most mothers wouldn’t ask about a seance so casually, but most mothers weren’t descended from a long line of powerful witches. Still, he figured Matilda should take the lead.

To his surprise, she relaxed at the question. “Better than I expected,” Matilda replied as she leaned with her elbows on the counter. “We went down to the covered bridge and not only made contact with the spirit, but we managed to tether him to our reality.” Brom’s heart lifted as he watched Matilda’s eyes brighten as she talked. “And you wouldn’t believe who it was.” 

“Who was it, Sweetheart?” her dad asked from the table as he sipped from his mug.

“Diedrich Knickerbocker.” Matilda flashed Brom a smile, and he couldn’t help but grin back.

“Oh, that’s great! That poor boy must have been through a lot,” Mrs. Bishop exclaimed. 

Brom found himself relaxing as he watched Matilda’s mom prepare the tea, her fluid movements proof of a routine—almost a ritual—performed hundreds of times before. He also soaked in the warmth of the Bishop home that seeped from every piece of wood and glass and woollen fabric, but more importantly, from Matilda’s parents themselves. It was so different from his own home, all grand and white and sterile.

And empty.

“And where is Diedrich now?” Mrs. Bishop asked as she poured the tea into large mugs, holding a strainer over the porcelain each time. 

“We left him with Ichabod,” Brom explained. He leaned forward and rested his own elbows on the counter, unable to fight the pleasant heaviness in his limbs as he stretched the slightest bit closer to Matilda, though the length of the counter separated them.

“Brom was a big help,” Matilda added, her chin resting in her hand. “He had this spirit box thing that I wasn’t sure would work, but I think it helped him connect to Diedrich first. And he had the supplies to help with the seance.” 

Mrs. Bishop nodded. “Well done.”

Matilda gave Brom a small smile from across the counter and Brom swallowed before he nodded back, his throat dry, and warmth bloomed in his veins. 

“Here you go, Brom,” Mrs. Bishop offered as she pushed one mug towards him. “Do you want any milk? Sugar?” 

“Yes, please,” Brom said as he reached for the mug. He froze as he noticed the glint of gold on his fourth finger. Mrs. Bishop’s hands also stilled, and Brom glanced up to see the discovery flash across her features, her brow creased. 

Brom’s heartbeat pounded in his ears as Mrs. Bishop turned to her daughter and studied her hands—one bandaged, one bearing a matching golden ring. 

“Matilda Bishop, what is on your hand?!”

Matilda started and lifted her bandaged hand. “Oh, it’s nothing, just a small burn but Brom—”

“Not that— that! ” 

Brom jumped up from his chair at the same time as Mr. Bishop. His mind raced for an explanation as his suspicions were confirmed, and he fought to ignore the sliver of hurt that grew in his chest. “I can explain—”

“Brom and I got married,” Matilda admitted. She crossed her arms and met her mom’s gaze, and Brom stood with his mouth open, his mind clear of all thought.

“Married? When, last night?”

Matilda shook her head. “Right before Kat died.”

“But that was weeks ago,” Mr. Bishop replied slowly in a deep tone that sent a jolt through Brom. 

Brom crossed the small space to join Matilda and placed his hand on her shoulder. “Look, it was my idea,” he said as he scrambled to explain. And yet, what could he say when he still didn’t understand it all himself? “We were trying to find something at the Van Tassels’ house, and Judy walked in and it was the first thing that came to mind—”

“I can think of a few other things that would come to mind before marriage,” Mr. Bishop said as he crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at Brom.

“I know, you’re right, it’s silly, I mean, we should probably take these off—” 

“I don’t want us to take them off.”

“—and then we’ll just…” Brom trailed off as Matilda’s words registered in his sleep-deprived brain. All at once, the panic in his veins stilled, and his heart rose to his throat as he met Matilda’s eyes.

The question he’d wondered about for weeks, and the answer he’d suspected, was confirmed in one gloriously bizarre moment. 

He squeezed her shoulder. “I don’t want to take them off, either,” he said firmly as everything else faded away. And for now, that was all he needed to know.

Chapter Text

Matilda’s head swam and she gripped the counter with her left hand. Did she really just admit to her parents that she was technically married to Brom? 

The worn wooden edge dug into her palm, and the pressure of Brom’s hand on her shoulder kept Matilda’s heart from pounding through her ribcage. She still wasn’t sure why she’d said it when she’d spent the last couple of weeks carefully hiding the ring from her parents. Had she just grown careless with exhaustion after staying up all night? Perhaps, but she could have easily slipped her ring off countless times since she’d crossed the threshold, and Brom’s ring on its own would hardly raise suspicion. Worst case scenario, she knew he’d follow her lead should her parents ask about it.

So why hadn’t she left it at that?

The look Brom gave her when their eyes met told her the answer. Though they’d only been married for a couple of days before Kat—before Henrietta found her head, Brom had never hidden their marriage. Far from it, in fact—he seemed to flaunt his new status as a badge of honour, and Matilda couldn’t help but warm to the strange sense of support she found with him.

Even after everything was revealed, and Matilda had expected an abrupt end to their charade, she’d never seen him without his ring once. He was always there to help, or to keep her company, or to make her laugh. As much as she missed his easy use of pet names, however stupid it was, the last weeks had seen them spend more time together than apart, and not once had he suggested they take off the golden bands that might symbolize more than Matilda wanted to admit. 

The realization in his eyes that Matilda hadn’t told her parents cut through her like the ghost of that awful night—an echo of the betrayal that she prayed they could put behind them, threatening to haunt her once more.

The choice was easy, really, especially when Brom was so willing to appease her parents. Or perhaps it was how her stomach turned to ice when he said they should take the rings off that had pulled the words from deep within her heart. 

A confession.

And not an unpleasant one, given how Brom beamed back at her. 

“Matilda, I think we need to talk about this,” her dad said in his no-nonsense tone, a rarity that yanked Matilda back to the Bishop’s kitchen where she and Brom stood in between her parents. She hadn’t remembered this room ever being so small.

“We’ve barely seen you all year,” her father continued, and Matilda fought to focus on his words as her eyelids threatened to close, “and now it turns out you’ve been hiding…this”—he waved his hand at Brom as if unable, or unwilling, to name the situation—“and only just when Kat has died?”

Matilda squeezed her eyes shut and tightened her grip on the counter.

“Paul!” her mother’s voice cut in. “Not now.” Matilda took a deep breath and opened her eyes, slowly bringing her gaze to rest on her mom, who placed a hand on Matilda’s arm. “Why don’t we let you get some sleep and we can talk about this later?”

Matilda nodded as a wave of tiredness flooded over her. Brom’s hand rested like a pleasant weight on her shoulder, and she could feel the warmth of his body behind her. She wished she could see his face, though he stood too close for her to turn around.

“Brom, you can sleep here, too,” Mrs. Bishop offered. Her eyes flitted between the three occupants in her kitchen as she chose her words carefully. “We’ve got the guest bedroom, unless you’d like to join—”

“No!” Brom and Matilda’s father both said together. Matilda jumped before she smiled to herself, not too tired to see the absurdity of the 1950s sitcom in which they found themselves. I Married a Witch , starring Sleepy Hollow’s hero, finally seeing his magical mother-in-law and his very mortal father-in-law who currently sounded like he lived in the stone ages.

It was a shame, Matilda thought as Brom stepped back and a rush of cool air hit her. She already knew what it was like to fall asleep with Brom at her side, and she wouldn’t mind replicating that arrangement at the present time. 

As they began to shift to leave the kitchen, Matilda’s mom placed her hand on Brom’s arm. “Whatever this is, we’re happy for you both.” 

Brom grinned. “Thanks, Mom,” he said, suddenly wrapping his arms around her in a big hug. Matilda’s eyes widened as Brom turned and did the same for her father. “Dad,” he said before Paul Bishop could escape the ambush. Matilda clapped her hand over her mouth to smother a giggle. 

Matilda couldn’t decide if she hoped to forget this scene when she woke up or remember it for all eternity. As she led Brom down the hall and up the stairs, the last thing she could hear was her father grumbling, “Rosamund, they probably haven’t even talked about their name!” Matilda hurried her steps as best she could, eager to get Brom out of earshot.

Under normal circumstances, Matilda would have found it very difficult to sleep after having brought her surprise husband home to her parents and him sleeping across the hall from her in her family’s guest bedroom. It turned out, however, that staying awake for thirty-two hours or so and helping to resurrect your bard friend in ghost form and then admitting to your parents that you’d had a secret husband for weeks took a lot out of a girl, even if you were a witch. Matilda didn’t even bother to change into pajamas or pull back the covers. She woke to find herself sprawled across her quilt, her head smushed into her pillow. She opened her eyes and squinted as she saw the late afternoon sun peak through her curtains, and she noticed Verla hovering at the end of her bed.

Matilda groaned and pushed herself up, and she winced as her injured hand began to sting at the pressure. “Where have you been, young lady?” she asked, her voice too groggy to hold much authority. 

“Playing with my new brothers,” Verla replied, her face expressionless.

Matilda closed her eyes and gave a small smile as she pictured the mischief Verla would cause the Babes. Then, she squeezed her eyes shut and groaned again as she hugged her knees to her chest, the reality of the night—er, morning?—before washing over her. 

Brom was here. Her parents knew he was here.

Her parents knew they were married.

“Please don’t call them your brothers,” Matilda said through a grimace as she slowly opened her eyes. Verla simply shrugged and turned before gliding across the room and disappearing through the bedroom door. 

With a sigh, Matilda forced herself to roll out of bed. She padded towards her bathroom and flicked on the light before she studied herself in the bathroom mirror. Her hair stuck out every which way and her makeup was smudged around her eyes like a raccoon. She sighed and twirled her finger, instantly washing herself and changing into a sweater and leggings. She shivered, having paid the price for convenience with the cold magical refreshment, though she longed for a traditional hot soak in the tub. 

She slowly removed her rings—all except one—and placed them on her dresser along with the clip in her hair, and she ran her fingers through her damp and wavy tresses. She held her breath as she crossed her room and opened her bedroom door. Brom’s door was still closed, and she exhaled slowly. She should just leave him be, but something in her felt drawn towards that room, unable to resist the urge to at least check up on him. The memory of him sleeping on her couch at her apartment flew to her mind, and she wanted to confirm if the reality matched the image in her head.

She crossed the hall and slowly turned the antique doorknob, careful to avoid any squeaks. The shades were drawn and the room was dark, but Matilda could still make out Brom’s form, his dark hair spilled over the pillow, his eyes closed. For a moment, her muscles twitched to go to him, to brush the hair from his face, but she gripped the doorknob and took a deep breath as she dismissed the notion. 

She closed the door as quickly as she could without making a sound. Truth be told, she knew if she’d entered the room she would have done something very, very stupid.

Instead, she made her way downstairs, unsure of what she was about to find.

The orange rays of the sun poured through the stained glass of the front door, casting a rainbow of colours across the hardwood floor and rugs. She followed the hall to the back of the house, the kitchen and family room now shadowed in contrast to earlier in the day. She saw her mother at her desk with her laptop and walked over to give her a quick kiss.

“Oh, you’re up!” her mother chirped as she leaned into Matilda’s greeting. Matilda glanced around, relieved at her father’s absence. While Matilda and Paul Bishop were more alike in personality, she knew that her mother would be a more sympathetic ear after her earlier confession. 

Before Matilda could pull away, her mom gently clasped her bandaged hand. “Why don’t I take a look at that for you?”

Matilda nodded and followed her to the couch. She sank into the cushions and tucked her legs underneath her while her mom took her right hand. With gentle tugs, she peeled the tape away and unwrapped the bandage to reveal the light pink flesh of Matilda’s palm.

“He did well,” her mother said with a nod, and Matilda smiled. She could see the questioning look her mother gave her, but she kept her focus on her hand. Rosamund Bishop hovered her own hand over her daughter’s, casting a warmth to shimmer between them until Matilda’s skin returned to almost its normal colour. 

“Granny’s balm will take care of the rest,” Matilda’s mom said with a nod, her eyes twinkling with what was left unsaid.

Matilda rolled her eyes. “It just happened so fast, and before I knew it Brom had pulled out the first aid kit.” 

“I didn’t say anything.”

Soon enough, Matilda’s hand was newly bandaged with the Bishop family’s aloe vera balm, and her mother and her sat with their favourite cure-all: mugs of tea.

“So you and Abraham, hmm?” her mother tested before she took a sip.

Matilda swallowed. “He’s not like that anymore,” she said quickly.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to. I know he’s not your favourite person, and Dad doesn’t like him, but he’s changed.”

“Your dad likes Brom well enough,” Rosamund replied.

“Not well enough to be happy about this,” Matilda huffed. 

Her mother chuckled. “Well, you did spring it on him a little unfairly.” 

“I guess.” Matilda sipped at her tea as she mulled over her words, the floral warmth of the jasmine green tea soothing her throat, if not her thoughts. How could she explain that it was almost as much of a surprise to her as it was to her parents? She’d never dreamed she’d end up this close with the jock of her high school days—and her best friend’s ex. And to be fair, this was not how she imagined telling them about Brom.

And yet, when she looked at the man who had been by her side during the hardest time of her life, she realized how much she wanted him there—and how much she missed him when he wasn’t. Besides, she and Brom had always been in each other’s lives in one way or another. 

Rosamund brushed a strand of hair from her daughter’s cheek and tucked it behind her ear. “I’m so grateful that Brom is such a good friend to you right now, Sweetie, but I also want you to be careful.” Matilda raised her eyebrows, and her breaths became slightly shallow. “It’s just—I hope that your grief for Katrina isn’t making you latch on to the one other person who knew her almost as well as you did.”

Matilda sunk into the couch cushions, and she fought to ignore the pit in her stomach. “I know,” she admitted softly. The thought had crossed her mind, and it terrified her—and angered her. Why did… whatever this was with Brom have to be so entangled with Kat? It was true that the trio’s lives were as entwined like an old tapestry, but why couldn’t their story look all neat and tidy like the beautiful pattern it should be, when all she could see were the threads strung together and snagged in a horrid mess? If she tugged at one happy memory with Kat, another bitter one would come with it, and Brom at the other end with everything he had been and now was—all with Matilda caught in the middle.

And who did she want to be? She’d only ever known a life as Kat’s best friend, and the thought of moving forward without her felt unbearable. They were supposed to stay in Sleepy Hollow together forever, and instead Matilda felt like if she were to move on, she would tug her thread and unravel everything that she and Kat had created and planned. 

But then she saw Brom, and the pressure in her chest would melt away and her heart would warm in a way she’d never expected. While the future still seemed more nebulous than ever, he felt like a light that made her want to see what was next—that there could be a “next”. 

That felt like a lifeline when she had been certain that nothing would exist after that fateful full moon.

“It’s alright, you don’t have to figure it out right now,” Matilda’s mother murmured as she slid an arm around her shoulders. Matilda leaned against her mom and took a deep breath, her heart as muddled as ever. And yet, the gold ring on her fourth finger still brought a calm with each glance—even more so now that her secret was revealed. 

And she was so tired of keeping secrets.

Her mother stroked her hair and they sipped their tea in silence. Matilda felt guilt stab at her as she thought about how much she’d missed this closeness with her mom. It had been so much easier to stay away when she knew her mother couldn’t approve of what she was doing with Kat.

“I’m sorry,” Matilda breathed as tears pricked her eyes.

“I know, Baby, I know.”

As Matilda finished her tea, she noticed some loose leaves at the bottom. She raised her brows at her mother, whose smile confirmed her suspicions that the tea had been especially prepared for this purpose.

“Would you like me to read your tea leaves?” her mother asked. 

Matilda nodded. For once, the thought of looking into the future didn’t fill her with dread, as it had when she’d picked up her tarot cards over the last few weeks. Instead of being alone in her apartment, or the bar, there was a sense of calm that surrounded her in the Bishop house, especially when her mother was the one to glimpse into what lay ahead.

Matilda took a deep breath and grabbed the saucer that her mom had placed on the coffee table earlier. She held the cup in her palm and turned it clockwise three times by the handle. She then turned the cup upside down slowly and rested it on the saucer, all while keeping her mind clear and focused on the task at hand: her mysterious future. 

Somewhere deep in her heart, a thought beat out like a prayer in time with her pulse: Please let it be with Brom.

After a moment, she carefully lifted the cup upright and glimpsed at the scattered leaves before handing the cup to her mother. With careful movements, Rosamund Bishop turned the handle to point towards her and studied the signs.

Matilda gripped the saucer still in her hand and sat on the edge of the couch. It had been ages since her mother had read her tea leaves, since Matilda usually favoured the tarot cards. But now, she was a child again, watching with awe as her mother performed the cozy ritual, just as her mother had done before her, all with the hopes of good fortune. 

Matilda fought off the images of ill omens that might manifest in the green leaves. Please, just this once, let it be something good.

Her mother smiled as her eyes swept over the sides and bottom of the cup.

“I see an anchor in the middle,” she said, her eyes alight as she met Matilda’s gaze.

“Success in business and love,” Matilda breathed, her pulse quickening at the lucky sign.

“And it will be over a long period,” her mother continued with a nod. She returned her gaze to the porcelain and made a show of squinting at the sides. Any symbols close to the rim meant the prediction was imminent, and Matilda prayed they did not contain any warnings.

“I do believe I see a nosegay,” she said with a smile. “See, here?” She tipped the cup for Matilda to see. “Possibly even a bouquet.”

Matilda looked at the cluster of leaves. “I think I see it,” she said. “What does that mean?’

Rosamund handed the cup back to her daughter and rubbed her arm. “It is one of the rarest and luckiest of the signs. It means, ‘staunch friends, success, and a happy marriage.’” She beamed at Matilda.

Matilda let out a sigh and sank back into the cushions. “That’s too good to be true,” she whined.

Her mother shook her head. “You can’t argue with the leaves,” she assured her daughter.

“What’s that?” a male voice asked from behind Rosamund, and Matilda sat up. 

“Hello, Brom,” Matilda’s mother greeted. “We were just reading Matilda’s tea leaves.”

Brom’s eyes brightened and Matilda’s heart rose to her throat. “Cool! What did they say?”

Matilda quickly tipped the cup over and placed it on the saucer, resting them both on the coffee table as Brom came up behind her and leaned on the back of the couch. “Oh, just the usual little signs of happiness,” she said quickly. 

“Like what? Four leaf clovers and rings of gold?” He absentmindedly placed his hand on Matilda’s shoulder and she felt warmth bloom under her skin from his touch. 

“Something like that,” she said with a nod, her voice small. She turned around to meet his gaze and her pulse quickened. In another life, he would be here with her at her parents’ house, with them wearing matching golden rings, and he would lean down and greet her with a kiss to her forehead, or she would tilt her head up and meet his lips with hers…

She turned away and stood up, highly aware of the flush in her cheeks that threatened to give her away. She reached for the cup and saucer and carried them to the kitchen, eager to wash away the signs of a life that she was not quite ready for.

Or perhaps a life that she wanted too much.

She bit her lip as she heard Brom follow her into the kitchen, her lips tugging into a small smile in spite of herself. “Did you sleep well?” she asked over her shoulder.

“Yeah, it was great. I don’t know why, but I felt really, I don’t know, calm. Do you guys do something special?”

He came up beside her and stood so their shoulders almost touched. She shrugged as she returned her attention to the dishes in the sink, and she swirled the dish soap and hot water around before wiping the porcelain. “There’s usually lavender sachets under the pillows,” she answered. “And there might be some crystals on the dresser.”

“Oh, right. It smelled really nice.”

All of a sudden, Matilda imagined Brom sidling up behind her and wrapping his arms around her as she rinsed the dishes, her frame fitting neatly into his as he pressed his cheek to hers. The thought made her chest ache, and she bit her lip harder to keep herself grounded in reality.

How had she found herself here, at her family home, with Abraham Van Brunt at her side? She suddenly realized they stood in the same spot where they’d both admitted they wanted to keep their wedding rings on.

That had to count for something. 

She also realized her mother hadn’t said anything from her perch on the couch as she watched the two of them. Matilda took a deep breath, not wanting to appear too interested or disinterested, though whether she was more worried about her mom’s opinion or Brom’s, she wasn’t quite sure.

“Here, let me get that,” Brom said before Matilda could speak. He reached for the saucer she’d just rinsed and grabbed a towel. He dried the dish, and Matilda handed him the mug. She watched as he carefully wiped the cup that had foretold her fortune in business and love—the same fortune that might very well be tied up with the man beside her.

“Do you think you could see my future in the tea leaves?” he asked her with his grin that creased his laugh lines and dimple, the same smile that seemed to calm her nerves and make her heart race at the same time. 

I think I already have.

Chapter Text

Brom rocked on his heels in his bowling shoes as Ichabod sat beside him, doing up his own laces. He couldn’t help but glance towards the entrance to Half Moon Nine-Pin Bowling & Christmas Ornament Shoppe whenever the door opened, though it was an infrequent occurrence on a week night, and it was hard to see through the shelves of decorations. 

Ichabod chuckled. “Brom, it’s fine—she’ll be here soon.”

Brom shrugged off Ichabod’s comment and tried to smirk. “What are you talking about? I’m fine.”

Ichabod rolled his eyes, and Brom wished his bestie didn’t know him quite so well. The truth was, he hadn’t seen much of Matilda since he’d been to her parents house. The discovery that the Bishops didn’t know about the marriage had stung, but it was soothed by Matilda’s quick and firm confession. He’d then woken up in a strange bed and had to figure out if the little scene in the kitchen had actually happened. He should have been more fascinated with the magical house that felt strangely spooky and cozy—including what might have been a real taxidermied raven in the hallway—but the only thing he’d cared about in that moment was finding Matilda. 

The smile she gave him when he saw her on the couch warmed him through, and he instantly relaxed at the sight of her with her mother with only her gold ring on her hand.

She wanted to keep the rings on, too.

The rest of his visit at the Bishops’ passed by in a blur as he grabbed a quick shower—a shower at Matty’s house —before they had a casual dinner of pizza with benign conversation where Brom felt like he both wanted to catch Matilda’s eye and avoid it altogether because there were a million questions he was dying to ask and he couldn’t voice a single thought that he actually wanted to say.

“I didn’t even bring anything!” Brom had complained to Ichabod later. “I was seeing Matty’s parents for the first time as their son-in-law and I showed up empty-handed!”

“I’m sure they understood,” Ichabod reassured him. “You can bring something the next time you see them.”

It had hit Brom that there would be a next time. And a next, and a next. He liked that idea.

He really liked it.

But more importantly, he wanted to talk to the person who he was actually married to. After dinner, he’d rushed home to make it before dark, not wanting to inconvenience the Bishops with a car ride—or perhaps he wasn’t quite ready to be alone with Mr. Bishop just yet. He’d managed to give Matty a hug goodbye, but since then they’d only been able to exchange texts as he was busy with basketball tryouts and she was needed to cover extra shifts at The Drugstore. Even his visits to the bar felt disappointing when she was pulled away to serve other customers and there was only so much he could say over the Colonial Drugs ‘N’ Stuff’s counter when the Babes were waiting for him at their table or Lucretia was giving him the stink eye to finish his order.

Ichabod had suggested that they invite Matilda to one of their bowling nights. Rip was a little hesitant, but Brom latched on to the idea. It could be a good way for them all to spend time together, and perhaps it could be a non-threatening not-date date night. 

Ichabod raised an eyebrow at that. “I think you’re gonna have to work on that name,” he said. 

Brom shrugged with a smile, confident that his friends would all get along. Now he realized it was the first time he’d see Matilda without a counter in the way in what felt like forever.

“Brom, it’s been a few days at most,” Ichabod reminded him.

“Hey, tell me that when you’ve had a secret-not-so-secret wife confess her relationship to her parents while you’re meeting them for the first time—”

“—you’ve known them your whole life—”

“—and then she ignores you when you try to visit her at her place of work and you just want to see her but then you also have to go to work because you’re an adult and adulting sucks, Icky-bod. ”

Ichabod sighed with a smile. “She is most definitely not ignoring you and I’m pretty sure she lights up every time you walk into The Drugstore.”

Brom collapsed into the chair beside Ichabod and his eyes widened. “You think so?”

“Yeah,” Ichabod said with an emphatic nod, his eyes sincere behind his glasses. “I mean, she tries to hide it but I could see even when I was new in town that she has a soft spot for you.”

Brom chuckled. “I thought she was just being mean.”

“Po-tae-to, po-tah-to.” 

“What do root vegetables have to do with any of this? Is that a weird Hartford saying?”

“What, no it’s—”

“ Let’s call the whole thing off ,” Rip sung as he sat down beside Brom, bowling shoes in hand.

“Hey, Buddy!” Brom said with a slap on Rip’s back, his frown melting into a smile. “My Sleepy Hollow Middle School Babes are together again.”

Rip sighed with a smile. “Brom, please don’t ever call me that again.”

Ichabod returned to Rip’s earlier question. “Brom’s a little nervous to see Matilda.”

“Makes sense,” Rip replied. “She did put me in a life-draining spell.” 

“Hey, I do not get nervous,” Brom replied to Ichabod before he turned to his friend on his other side. “And Bro, she’s apologized, and that was ages ago. Besides, you said you would give her a chance.”

Rip nodded. “I was just teasing. You’re right, though. I’m sorry.” 

Brom smiled and gave him the finger-guns sign. “Thanks, Bro.”

Ichabod leaned over Brom towards Rip. “So, you think you can give me a refresher on nine-pin bowling?”

Matilda hurried up the walkway towards the glass doors of the Half Moon Nine-Pin Bowling & Christmas Ornament Shoppe. The Babes were just about to enter, and Blair noticed her coming up behind him.

“After you, Mrs. Boss,” he said as he held the door open for her and stepped back. 

“Oh, uh, thanks Blair,” she said. She wasn’t sure if she would ever get used to him calling her that, but there was part of her that enjoyed the reminder that she was still “Mrs.” in some way or another. 

She held her breath and clutched the strap of her purse on her shoulder with her right hand. She still wore a bandage with aloe vera balm, though her skin had mostly healed. Her eyes scanned the room with four bowling lanes and rows upon rows of Christmas ornaments until they landed on a mop of longer brown hair sat in between two slightly taller men. 

Brom was here, and she was not at the beck and call of impatient customers. 

She walked over to the trio and ignored how her heart beat a little faster. “Hi,” she said in a cheery voice that instantly made her wince.

They all turned around in their seats. “Hey,” they said almost in unison, and Brom shot up. 

“You made it,” he said as if he was surprised. 

Matilda studied his expression before finally replying, “Yeah. I mean, it wasn’t hard to find—I’ve passed by this place my whole life.” And Kat used to work here.

Brom chuckled. “Yeah,” he said with a nod.

Matilda couldn’t see Rip looking back and forth between her and Brom, or Ichabod’s smile that he tried to hide by turning his head away. 

“You’ll need to get some shoes,” Brom said as he walked around Rip to join her. He took her elbow and led her towards the counter where one of the high school students manned the station that involved both footwear and the bowling alley’s popcorn machine.

Matilda remembered Kat’s warnings to avoid the snacks at the bowling alley, and she swallowed as tears threatened to well up.

“What’s your shoe size?” asked the surprisingly high pitched voice coming from a red-headed teenage boy. 

“Oh, um, seven should be good,” Matilda answered.

He turned to retrieve the shoes from one of the cubby holes behind him, and Matilda glanced at Brom who smiled. 

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” he replied. 

“Hey,” the boy behind the counter echoed. “Here you go.”

“Uh, thanks,” Matilda said as she grabbed the shoes. “Do I owe you anything?”

“It’s taken care of.”

“Thanks,” Matilda said again, this time turning towards Brom.

They made their way back to the wooden seats that were joined together. “M’lady,” Brom said with a wave towards the empty seat on the end beside Rip. 

Matilda sat down. Her eyes widened when Brom knelt down in front of her. “What are you doing?” she hissed.

“I was just going to help you with your shoes,” he explained, looking up at her.

Matilda frowned, unsure if the gesture was sweet or just bonkers. “I—okay,” she said. 

He began unlacing her boots, and she bit her lip. The task would prove to be difficult and she tried to offer her help.

“No, it’s fine, I got it,” Brom replied, his jaw set as he held her foot in his lap.

Matilda glanced beside her to see Rip and Ichabod watching the scene play out. She didn’t even dare look at the Babes who were set up a couple of alleys away. 

With a final grunt and a yank, the boot came off, and Matilda swallowed as Brom took her stocking foot in his large hands. For a glimmer of a moment, she wondered what it would be like to come home from work and have those same hands massage her aching feet after a long shift.

She gripped the edge of her seat. 

“How’s your hand?” Brom asked as he slid the bowling shoe on her foot, startling her from her daydreams.

Matilda lifted the limb in question. “It’s good,” she assured him. “It’s just a precaution, really. The bandage, I mean.” 

“That’s good,” he said with a smile. 

He then grabbed her other foot and went through the same process, unlacing all of the hooks, and Matilda wished she’d worn more practical footwear. 

Or maybe she didn’t.

As he finished tying the other bowling shoe, he tapped her foot and rested it on the floor. “All set, Cinderella,” he said as he stood up. He offered her his hand and pulled her up to join him, and for a brief moment, they stood only a couple of inches apart. 

Matilda licked her lips. “Thanks.”

She then remembered Ichabod and Rip beside them. “So, you guys do this often?” she asked as she turned to them. 

Ichabod nodded. “A couple of times. Rip’s been showing me how to play nine-pin bowling. I didn’t know that it still existed in the United States, except for Texas. It’s mostly played in Europe, and Australia.”

Matilda nodded. “Oh, right.” Truth be told, she couldn’t remember if she’d ever played any other type of bowling, and it had been awhile since she’d been to Half Moon. Still, Ichabod’s signature trivia was a welcome distraction from the flutter in her chest.

“So, who wants to start?” Brom asked a little too loudly. “Winky, you want to show us how it’s done?”

Rip winced at the nickname but let it go. “Sure,” he agreed as he reached for the ball. “Uh, Ichabod, do you mind?”

Ichabod carefully made his way to the end of the lane by the pins.

Matilda sat down on a seat and watched him swing in a graceful motion, releasing the ball to roll straight down the middle. He managed to knock down the pins on the left side, including the “redhead” in the centre.

“Darn,” Rip muttered as Ichabod rolled his ball back to him.

He swung again, this time hitting down the remaining pins on the right side. 

Brom grabbed the scorecard and pencil from Ichabod’s seat and began to write. “Nice job, Bro!”

Ichabod pulled the pins in place and rolled the ball back to Rip, who took another swing at the full set. This time, only the pin at the back remained.

Brom then handed the scorecard to Matilda before he jogged to the end of the lane. 

“No running!” called the teenager behind them, and Brom slowed his pace to a walk.

Matilda crossed her arms as Rip took his seat beside her, leaving one empty seat between them. She gave him a small smile and he smiled back, though he still looked… nervous? Guarded? She turned her attention back to Ichabod, who took the ball and lifted it to his chest. She could almost see the calculations in his head as the tip of his tongue stuck out ever so slightly.

Then, he took a step forward and stretched his other leg out behind him and swung, as if his long frame had been coiled tightly and then released to channel the force with pin-point accuracy.

The ball flew down the lane and hit the remaining pin.

“Awesome!” Brom exclaimed as he grabbed the ball and sent it back down before resetting the pins. Matilda clapped and Ichabod threw her a grin. 

The routine was repeated, with the ball sent back down the lane and Ichabod carefully setting up his next throw. When he released the ball, it sped down the lane and sent all nine pins flying.

“Beginner’s luck!” Brom teased from his perch.

Rip shook his head and called out, “It was the angle and the force of the throw!”

Brom shook his head. “Science nerds!” he called back with a grin.

Rip threw a look at the scorecard in Matilda’s hands. “Do you want me to get that?”

Matilda gave a start. “Oh, uh, sure—thanks.” She reached across the seat and surrendered the paper and pencil to Rip.

Ichabod took his last turn, which resulted in a few pins remaining. Brom made his way back down the lane and jerked his thumb behind them. “Rip, can you…?”

Rip finished writing down the latest score and looked up. “Sure.”

Brom turned to Matilda and gave her a smile. “You’re up, Babe.”

Babe . The pet name sent her chest fluttering again, and she stood up slowly. Brom handed her a ball, and she was highly aware of the brief contact of their fingers. 

Get a grip , she thought as she positioned herself for her first throw. She needed to hit the three pins that remained from Ichabod’s turn.

The ball was hard to hold in her bandaged hand, but the only hindrance seemed to be the gauze material rather than any pain. She shifted the smooth ball in her hand and took a breath before she swung and released the ball with as much force as she could.

It veered left and bounced into the lane beside them. 

“Poodle!” Brom called from behind her.

She threw him an exasperated look, and he jogged towards her. 

Rip rolled the ball back and Matilda bent down to grab it before she turned back to Brom. 

“Like this,” he said, coming up behind her, and Matilda’s pulse quickened. He paused, and looked her up and down. “Uh, you’re right-handed, right, Babe?” He took the position that he would normally take, his left foot behind him, and then mirrored his position to switch to his right side. Matilda bit back a smile as his brow creased with focus. 

“So, put this foot here—and that there.” He raised his eyebrows as he crouched down and hovered his hands over her ankles. She nodded her consent, and his palms wrapped around her ankles and shifted her feet on the wooden floor, the warmth of his skin burning through the fabric.

He stood up and pressed himself behind her, grabbing her one arm with the ball and bringing it behind. “Make sure you keep it straight, and then don’t wait too long before you let go.”

Matilda tried to focus on his words, but every rational thought seemed to fly from her head when he was all but wrapped around her and his breath was warm on her ear. “Uh huh,” she choked out.

She was used to Brom Bones driving her crazy, but never like this . 

She took a deep breath to steady herself and Brom stepped back. “You got this, Babe,” he said, and she nodded, not daring to look behind her. 

With one fluid motion, she swung and released the ball. It flew down the wooden planks and smashed into the remaining pins.

She whirled around and grinned at Brom, a thrill running through her. 

“That’s my girl!” Brom beamed. He closed the distance between them and before Matilda knew it, he had wrapped her in a bear hug and lifted her off the ground, squeezing the air out of her frame, her arms clasped around him.

He gently placed her back on the floor and rubbed his neck as Matilda forced her legs to hold her up. “I mean, not that you’re my girl, ‘cause that’s just patriarchal B.S., but like, good job, Babe.”

Matilda just gave him a smirk and turned around on her heel, willing her heart to stop beating its circus rhythm in her chest. She grabbed the ball that Rip returned to her and set herself up for her last turn.

She could feel her limbs tingle with energy, and before she could think anything through, she took her stance and swung, releasing the ball when it was closest to the floor. She watched as it made its way down the lane and hit slightly off-centre, scattering the pins except for the red pin in the middle.

“Awesome!” Brom called out behind her, and Matilda turned to see his grin focused on her. “A twelve-ringer! Babe, you just got a twelve-ringer. ” She tried to keep her expression deadpan for fear she would reveal too much. 

“Not fair,” Ichabod whined good-naturedly as he smiled at Matilda. He then turned to Brom. “You never give me lessons like that.”

Brom shrugged. “We can do it right now if you want,” he said with a wave to the open floor. 

Ichabod chuckled at being called on his bluff. “On second thought, I’m good.” 

Matilda barely noticed the crack of the ball hitting the pins that sounded from a couple of lanes over, and the Babes called out, “ Stri-i-i-i-i-i-ike !”

Ichabod frowned. “There’s no strike in nine-pin bowling, right?”

Brom nodded. “Oh, they know that, but sometimes they get bored and play the other kind.” He paused and shook his head with mock disappointment. “We should have never watched Kingpin .”

Chapter Text

Matilda twisted the key in the lock of her door and turned the handle with one hand, careful to balance the lasagna on her other arm. She threw her weight against the heavy wood with her hip, and the door of her apartment gave way. 

She took a breath as she looked around the small space. Everything was how she’d left it, though she was sure to discover a few surprises from Verla, and she shook her head at herself. She hadn’t meant to stay with her parents for so long, but the coziness of her childhood home was harder than ever to resist, especially with homemade meals. If she was honest, there was a part of her that could pretend that she was young again, and certain events hadn’t happened. At the same time, she knew that if she were to wish away some things, it would mean wishing away others, and a glimpse at the ring on her fourth finger reminded her that she really didn’t want that, either. After her final secret had been revealed, she soon found herself itching for her own space.

And yet, the eerie silence that met her made her question that choice.

Matilda crossed the apartment to the kitchen and opened the freezer door. The compartment was almost empty, except for a half-eaten carton of sorbet that likely had freezer-burn. She shoved it over and placed the lasagna on the bottom shelf.

As she closed the freezer door, she noticed the single flower in a vase on the counter. She held her breath as she stepped closer, a pang of guilt hitting her. Had Verla taken care of Kat’s flower?

What she’d left as crumpled petals seemed to be straighter, almost healthy. She noticed there was only a quarter of an inch of water at most in the bottom, and so she quickly brought the vase to the tap and ran the water until it felt cold. She added a few inches to the vase and placed it on her windowsill as she studied the creamy petals that caught the morning light. 

Though the flower was mature with its wide shape, it did look like it was far from dropping its petals. Tears stung at Matilda’s eyes as she remembered the flowers on Kat’s body after Henrietta had been reunited with her head—after she had chosen to surrender the head to Henrietta instead of her best friend whose very life depended on her choice.

I miss you, Kat.

She raised a finger carefully and brushed one of the delicate petals, surprised at its softness. It held firm to the centre of the flower.

Matilda took a deep breath and gripped the edge of the sink in front of the window. In two days the full moon would rise again, and she could feel its power humming in her veins. So much had happened, and yet she sometimes thought that any day she would walk into The Drugstore and see Kat behind the counter, coffee pot in hand and a knowing smirk across her features. So, what’s up? Did I miss anything?

Matilda’s phone buzzed and she jumped before digging it out of her bag. 

Hey. Are you at the bar by any chance?

Matilda smiled at the message from Brom and she wondered what he was up to. 

No , she typed back quickly. I’m back at my apartment but I’ll be there in about an hour. Why?

Matilda watched as the three dots appeared before Brom’s reply popped up. 

Darn. I wanted to catch you but I’ve got to get to school. Hopefully I’ll see you there later?

Matilda’s shoulders fell. She knew he was busy with the new season as well as parent-teacher interviews. She couldn’t quite picture Brom talking to parents about their children, but she also knew he was great at small talk and connecting with people. Still, it was unlikely that he’d find time to get away, and she would have a late night closing up.

Her thumbs hovered over the screen before she typed out, Sure—drop by when you can.

Again, the three little dots danced.

Definitely! Have a good day!

He ended the text with a heart emoji, and Matilda bit her lip, her chest warm. She tapped on the same heart emoji, and after a pause, sent it back.

Brom paused and stood before the glass doors of Colonial Drugs ‘N’ Stuff. He gripped the wrapped bouquet in one arm and prayed that it had lasted the day. He glanced down and took a deep breath to collect himself. He caught sight of his wedding ring and he instinctively smiled, his shoulders relaxed. 

He was still very—technically—married to Matilda.

He looked up and searched the interior of the bar past the “Closed” sign. Only the lights at the back of the room were on, and he could see Matilda in the middle of the space dancing with a mop as she swirled it around the checkered tiles. 

Dancing?

He smiled as he watched her, and he realized he could hear the faint beat of music coming through the door. For what seemed like the first time in forever—if ever—she seemed almost carefree. She had no idea he was there, and he couldn’t bring himself to interrupt her ritual. He was entranced as she swayed to the music and moved her hips as her lips mouthed the words. 

And then, the temptation to join her was even more irresistible. He carefully pulled at the door, silently begging it to give way and the bell to stay quiet. To his relief, the door was open, and the chime above him was concealed by the beats of the music.

He closed the door behind him and switched the lock before taking careful steps across the bar, each one bringing him deliciously closer to this beautiful witch before him. 

“Did you have to ruin—what was shining, now it’s all rusted…”

Brom’s eyes widened as he recognized the voice coming over the speakers. He licked his lips, unable to fight the grin that took over his features. 

Her back was still to him as she continued to mop in time with the music. Brom knew he needed to announce himself, and he knew he was going to have too much fun doing so. 

“Babe, I didn’t know you were a Swiftie!”

Matilda whirled around with wide eyes and she gripped the handle of the mop. She paused for a moment before she lifted her finger and twirled it around, causing the music to immediately jump into Cake’s “Short Skirt/Long Jacket.”

Brom grinned and took a step closer. “Nuh uh. Your secret’s out now.”

Matilda’s eyes flashed fire at him and she raised a threatening finger. “Brom Bones, if you tell a single soul I will only serve you black coffee for the rest of your life.”

Brom chuckled, though he couldn’t deny that the threat held some weight. The idea of only drinking the dark, bitter liquid made him shudder.

As the bass line of “Short Skirt/Long Jacket” pounded around them, Brom held up his offering, eager to change the subject. “These are for you.”

Matilda’s expression softened, and she leaned the mop handle by the counter beside them in between two stools before she took the bouquet. “What’s this…?”

Brom studied her expression, and he wondered if the crease of her brows was simple confusion or something worse. “Oh, it’s just, uh….” He ran his hand through his hair, feeling suddenly nervous. “It’s just that, it’s been a month today since we were married.”

As her eyes widened again, Brom wondered if he’d miscalculated. Had she forgotten? He’d been thinking about this day for the last week, and while he’d wanted to do more, he wasn’t entirely sure where they stood, and this gesture seemed to be just the right amount of small but thoughtful.

Well, that was after Ichabod had talked him out of the balloons and chocolates—and the very brief consideration of hiring Trevor Trinkets as a candy-gram. 

And then, she smiled at him through her lashes, and Brom thought his heart would burst out of his chest. 

“That’s really sweet,” she said. 

Brom nodded. “Open them,” he said, his pulse buzzing. 

Matilda placed the bouquet on a red stool and tugged at the tape on the paper. She pulled back the wrapping to reveal a bouquet of dark purple flowers mixed with white flowers with yellow middles. 

“Irises and daisies,” Matilda said as she pulled the cellophane off of the blooms. “They’re very pretty.”

“You like them?” Brom asked, a strange nervousness in his chest. He took a step closer to Matilda.

“Yeah,” she said, pulling her gaze from the flowers to meet his eyes. “They’re lovely.”

Brom beamed at her. “I thought they looked nice. And then Mrs. Luyten at the flower shop said the purple flowers meant wisdom and admiration, and the white flowers stood for new beginnings and joy.” He shrugged. “That sounded good to me.”

Matilda glanced down and thumbed the petals of a daisy. “You thought of all that?”

Brom swallowed and dared to step closer towards her, with only a couple of inches separating them. 

“That’s really sweet, Brom.”

Brom resisted the urge to bring his hand up to her cheek and tuck her hair behind her ear. You’re special, Matty. Somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to pass the words from his lips.

“Happy Month-iversary,” he said with a sheepish smile.  

For a moment, they both stood looking at one another as a million thoughts flew through Brom’s mind. And yet, everything in him stilled at the realization that he was here, alone, with Matilda.

And she was smiling at him.

Then, she jerked away. “I’d better put these in some water,” she said as she scurried behind the back counter. She ducked down and disappeared, and Brom frowned when he heard her swear under her breath. 

“Everything okay?” he asked as he followed her and leaned on the edge of the counter on his elbows, his arms crossed.

“Found it!” she chirped from below. She popped up with an almost too-cheerful smile, a plastic pitcher in hand.

“Okay…?”

Brom narrowed his eyes at her and followed her around the edge of the bar, with her on one side of the counter and him on the other, until she got to the sink. Brom realized the music had shifted into a Billie Eilish song that sounded more devil-ish than romantic. 

After she filled the jug with water, she turned back and placed the jug on the counter before grabbing the bouquet. Brom reprised his position, leaning on the counter with his arms crossed as he watched her work. One by one, she cut each stem and arranged it in the jug, crossing them in the centre so they stood evenly. Her black fingernails and rings accentuated the movements of her fingers, almost like a dance.

“Golly gee, Miss Matty Bishop, you should have told me you’ve had other suitors! You’ve done this before.”

Matilda smirked. “Calm down, Cowboy. My granny was really good with plants.”

Brom smiled, but he suddenly wondered who had been in Matilda’s life before. There was definitely a gap after high school where they hadn’t seen much of each other, and he wanted to know everything about the women he was married to. He fiddled with his ring as he realized he also wanted to tell her things that no one else knew.

But for now, they had tonight. 

He looked around and noticed her phone at the edge of the counter. He sidled down to it, keeping a side-eye out as Matilda finished with the bouquet.

He let out a breath as he was able to find her music app and search up another song. As he tapped, “play,” he smiled as the piano notes rang out over the speaker at the back, with the bass guitar coming in as Smokey Robinson & The Miracles began to croon.

Brom came around to the other side of the counter and kept his eyes focused on Matilda as he swayed towards her.

“What are you doing?” she asked, a hint of amusement in her eye despite the frown she tried to keep in place.

Brom reached out and grabbed Matilda’s hands, still swaying to the music. “No magic required,” he told her with a grin as he placed her hand on his shoulder and rested his hand on her waist, keeping their other hands clasped.

Matilda tensed in his arms at first, hesitant and stiff, but he could feel her relax as they swayed in time to the music. 

I don’t like you, but I love you. Seems that I’m always thinking of you…

Brom’s smile softened as Matilda met his eyes. 

You really got a hold on me…

“Isn’t it really late for you on a school night?” she asked him.

Brom shrugged under her hand. “I wanted to see you. It’s not every day you have a month-iversary.” 

Matilda snorted and looked away, and Brom thought she saw her cheeks flush. “I’m sorry,” she said with a sad smile as she returned her eyes to him. “It’s just, leave it to us to have a whole month feel like a year.”

Us. Brom liked the way that sounded, but he wasn’t entirely sure what Matilda meant. Don’t get ahead of yourself, Bones.

On impulse, Brom tucked Matilda into him before giving her a gentle spin and stepping back as she twirled. He then tugged her back to him, and their hands settled around each other once more as they swayed.

“Impressive,” Matilda said. 

I don’t want you, but I need you. Don’t want to kiss you, but I need to…

The heady notes of the music swirled around them, stoking the ache in Brom’s chest as he and Matilda drifted closer together. In some ways, he still felt like he was walking on thin glass, like he needed to be careful with every step in case he shattered this delicate new thing with Matilda—something that he was desperate not to mess up. He wasn’t used to being this careful, since his usual confidence and charge-ahead attitude generally served him well, but this was different.

Brom held his breath as Matilda slid her hand from his shoulder to rest on the nape of his neck, and her fingers on his bare skin sent shivers through him. She relaxed into him and rested her head on his shoulder as they swayed. He slid his hand down her arm and side until he reached her back, bringing both hands together, and Matilda clasped her hands around his neck. He rested his cheek on her hair and prayed his heart wasn’t beating out his feelings too loudly in some sort of mystical morse code.

He was always running headfirst into things, but he needed to be sure of this—for both his sake and for hers. He didn’t want to be so desperate for something that he missed what was right in front of him. Memories of that night, waking to a massive headache to learn that Matilda might not have wanted the same thing, pressed at his chest.

And then Matilda brushed her thumb at his hairline and all thought flew from his mind.

And all I want you to do is just hold me, hold me, hold me…

“What are you thinking about, Babe?” he murmured.

Matilda drummed her fingers on his neck. “I like when you call me that.”

“Hmm?”

She pulled back just enough to look into his eyes with a shy smile. “Your nicknames. You just—you said them so easily, and I kind of miss that.”

“Oh yeah?”

Matilda nodded. “Yeah.”

Brom leaned his forehead to hers, and the daring intimacy, along with her smile in return, sparked the embers in his chest to a flame. “Okay, Hon’.”

Matilda closed her eyes and took a deep breath as she swayed to the vintage harmonies that swirled around them from the speakers. She couldn’t help but relax into Brom’s solid frame after a long day on her feet as the scent of the lemon floor cleaner mixed with the heavy florals from the bouquet on the counter. More than that, it was Brom’s faint cologne, the distinctly masculine and familiar smell of him that seemed to melt away any tension.

And then the memory of the thud of the lamp base connecting with Brom’s skull before she and Kat dragged his dead weight flashed before her, and she winced.

“Everything okay?”

Matilda leaned back just enough to look into Brom’s eyes. They had so much to talk about, but in the rare—and brief—moments they’d had alone over the last few days, it had never felt like the right time, and Matilda had just wanted to enjoy whatever peace she could find.

Or, she was just being a coward.

“I was just… thinking about that night,” she admitted, her voice low in the small space between them.

Brom gave her a squeeze but said nothing. 

Matilda realized they’d stopped swaying, but she didn’t mind. She realized it was nice just to be held—and just to be.

“What are you thinking?” she finally asked. 

“Just that”—Brom paused for a beat and licked his lips—”that there are a lot of emotions that night.”

“Oh?” She absentmindedly stroked his neck with her thumb, and Brom pursed his lips and closed his eyes. Please, tell me.

After a moment, he opened his eyes. “Kat died, and you lost your best friend, and yet there was a big part of me that was gutted that I’d somehow lost you, too.” He gave her a small smile that was probably meant to be reassuring but instead tugged at Matilda’s heart. “I was confused and hurt and sad and angry but it also didn’t compare to whatever you were going through.”

Matilda swallowed and nodded. “I know, I’m so sorry—”

Brom shook his head. “No, I know. It’s fine. You don’t need to apologize again, Matty.” He gave her another squeeze and Matilda bit her lip. “I needed some time to process it all, but in a strange way, I’m glad for everything that happened. I’m glad that we found ourselves here. Well, not here, here, ‘cause there are probably nicer places than The Drugstore to be having this conversation, and I hate that Kat…” He trailed off with a wince.

Matilda nodded. “I know,” she said as tears welled up. She knew Brom had been through a lot, too, and partly because of her.

“Hey, come here,” Brom murmured as he wrapped his arms around her. Matilda awkwardly shifted her arms before sliding them through Brom’s and returning his embrace, her hands clasped around his back. He kissed her hair and she took a deep breath as she let her eyes close, her head laying on his shoulder, her face tucked against his neck. He was warm and solid and everything she needed in this moment. 

“So what now?” she asked against his skin, and her pulse quickened at the intimacy.

“Now?” he echoed. “Uh, we could try to shuffle to the door but I don’t know how far we’d get like this.” Matilda chuckled as his voice rumbled through her. “Oh, you mean, like, what now . Are you asking me to D.T.R., Matty?”

Matilda groaned but she couldn’t stop herself from smiling. “We’ve been wearing wedding rings for a month.”

“True.” She felt him take a deep breath before he continued. “I was thinking, I’d like to take you on dates. Or, uh, I’d like to go on dates. Together. Do something fun. Maybe even alone.”

Matilda nodded. “I’d like that.” Her lips brushed his neck with every word, and it sent a little thrill through her.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Matilda realized the music had stopped long ago, but she didn’t mind. Part of her wanted to just freeze time—metaphorically—but there was also something about moving forward with Brom, about seeing what this might be, that was downright tantalizing.

After all the time she’d spent ignoring it, and then worrying that it was one-sided when she’d suspected the first inkling, she knew that Brom wanted to see what this was, too—because she’d forced him into some strange confession with her parents.

“Have you told your dad about us?” she asked. Us.

She felt him swallow before he replied quietly, “No.”

His arms flexed around her, his shoulders tight, and she lifted her head. She knew Mr. Van Brunt wasn’t around much, but she realized she didn’t know much else. She tried to ask the question when his eyes met hers, though she didn’t want to press.

Brom shrugged with a sigh and looked away before returning her gaze. “I’m not sure when he’ll be back, exactly, and it’s not the kind of news you just text.” Matilda nodded, and he continued. “He, uh—he always wanted me to marry Kat.” Brom quickly hugged Matilda tighter to him. “But he’s wrong.”

Matilda bit her lip, grateful for Brom’s certainty despite the corner of her heart that fell. Once again, she could feel Kat’s shadow hovering over her, and she could recognize the way that Brom’s dad shadowed him. There was still so much she didn’t know about the man with whom she shared matching rings.

She leaned back slightly and quirked a smile that she hoped would cover any sadness—there would be enough of that in a couple of days. “That song—it was Kat who liked Taylor Swift.” Matilda ignored the way that talking about her best friend in the past tense still stabbed at her chest.

Brom narrowed his eyes at her before recognition began to dawn. “Oh, yeah?”

“I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

Brom chuckled as his arms loosened around her, his hands settling at her waist. “I’ve got classes of preteens who are still terrified of the local witch whether she listens to pop songs or not.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Brom’s hands slid lower to her hips, and Matilda trailed her hands around his sides to his chest. “It would probably be great motivation, to have that witch join in on a practice or two and supervise drills.”

“Your strategy is intimidation, then?”

“Something like that.”

“Okay.”

Brom’s expression turned more serious, and he arched a brow. “Yeah?”

“I’d like that,” Matilda agreed with a shy smile. She was more curious than she wanted to admit, to see Brom in his element—a role in which she knew he thrived.

Brom beamed. “I’d like that, too.”

Matilda smiled as she wondered if she could feel Brom’s heart beat a little bit faster through his shirt. Instead of wanting to freeze time, or make it rewind, she could see herself maybe, just maybe, finally moving forward.

Chapter Text

Matilda took a deep breath as she opened the door to The Drugstore a couple of days later. The weight of the day pressed on her, but the bouquet on the edge of the counter—close enough to soak in the sunlight through the front windows and door—made her smile.

Still, the cheerful daisies did little to dissipate the cloud that hung over her. A month ago she was spending the last morning she would ever share with Kat.

Or, uh, technically she was waking up in a jail cell with Ichabod and Brom.

Matilda sighed as she tucked her bag behind the counter, not bothering to take it to the back room, her mind elsewhere. She could have taken the day off—Mr. Taylor and Brom and even her parents had suggested it—but she knew that a day full of customers would be a welcome distraction. The night would be quiet enough without adding a heavy day of loneliness as well.

As she measured a scoop of coffee grounds into the paper filter, her phone began to ring. She half expected it to be Brom, but she didn’t recognize the number. Much as she’d rather let the call go to voicemail, she took a deep breath and let her responsible side win out.

“Hello?” she asked slowly.

“Mrs. Van Brunt?”

Matilda paused. It took a second for the name to register, since her first thought was Brom’s mom, even though she was pretty sure she had remarried.

Oh.

“Um, do you mean Matilda?” she replied as her mind raced, her pulse only a few paces behind.

“This is Mrs. Abraham Van Brunt, née Bishop?” The calm and business-like tone on the other end of the line did little to calm Matilda’s rising anxieties. However she felt about her married status, this stranger seemed anything but benevolent.

Is this about our fake marriage? Was Judy wrong about it not being a big deal? What if they think we’re trying to pull a scam?

Matilda squeezed her eyes shut. She was not ready to handle this sort of legal trouble, and today of all days. She took a deep breath and tried to keep her voice steady, if not cheerful. “Yes, I am she.”

“I’m glad to hear it. I represent Baltus Van Tassel, and I would like to speak with you in regards to the charges laid against my client in the death of his daughter Katrina Van Ta—”

Matilda ripped the phone from her ear and smashed the “end” button. She tossed it on the counter in front of her, where it teetered on the edge before falling into the empty sink with a clunk. Her heart pounded in her chest as the rest of her body froze, her mind blank to her surroundings.

Truth be told, she’d very purposefully avoided all thought of Kat’s dad in the last month. The mayor of Sleepy Hollow had been like a second father to her, but he had also been the reason she’d lost her best friend. The person who meant the most in the world to the person who meant the most to her had been sitting in a jail cell for the last month, and that knowledge sat in Matilda’s stomach like a stone. Whether it was because she felt responsible, or because she felt guilty at being relieved that her best friend’s father was behind bars, or some sadistic mix of both, she didn’t want to analyze.

As the familiar interior of The Drugstore came back into her consciousness, Matilda gingerly picked up her phone, grateful that the sink was dry. She made a mental note to avoid any unknown callers in the future.

“What’s a bard gotta do to get a cup of coffee around here?” a voice chirped from the front of the bar, and Matilda whipped around to see Verla and Diedrich.

“Haven’t you heard, it’s not polite to enter closed establishments,” she snapped with more venom than she meant. Guilt pricked at her when she saw the mix of surprise and hurt in Diedrich’s expression, and she noticed Ichabod outside the door. 

She tried to take steady breaths as she crossed the tiled floor. She flipped the sign so the “Open” letters faced outwards, and she turned the lock. “Hey,” she mumbled as she pushed the door open for Ichabod, not waiting for him to grab the door before she pivoted back to safety behind the counter.

“Is everything alright?” Ichabod asked as he sat on a stool across from her. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

He chuckled hesitantly with a nod towards Diedrich and Verla, but his expression turned serious when Matilda glared at him. “Sorry.” He glanced down. 

Matilda sighed. The last thing she needed was more reasons to feel guilty. “It’s not you,” she said after a moment. She searched for an explanation, but none came, and she made due with a lackluster shrug.

Ichabod nodded, and she could see understanding in his eyes. So much had changed since he’d come into the bar clutching his advertisement for a roommate. 

“Did something happen?” Ichabod asked as he adjusted his glasses. Matilda started as the Ichabod of her daydream became the man of the present: more confident, slightly battle-weary, and familiar.

Matilda pursed her lips, tempted to brush off the question, but the truth spilled out before she could stop herself. “I think I just got a call from Baltus’s lawyer.”

Ichabod’s eyes widened. “What did they want? What did you say?”

Matilda shook her head. “I, uh—I don’t know. I hung up on him.”

Ichabod remained speechless, and Matilda wondered how badly she’d messed up. “Don’t tell Brom, okay?” she said quickly. “I don’t want him to worry.” And I want to pretend that Baltus doesn’t exist.  

“Matilda, you should probably tell him…”

“It’s fine,” she quipped. “Now, did you want anything?”

Ichabod sighed, and Matilda knew she’d won the battle—for now. Still, if it looked like a secret and talked like a secret… Her thoughts drifted to the divorce papers she’d shoved under the counter, unsure of what to do with them.

She shook her head at herself as she glanced towards the counter in question, as if the presence of the papers she hated more with each passing day would reveal themselves through the wood. She realized Ichabod had followed her gaze to the back of the bar, and she breathed a sigh of relief when Diedrich and Verla appeared through the closed staff door, the newer ghost’s face beaming at the accomplishment.

“He’s learning, huh?” Matilda said to Ichabod, eager to change the subject.

Ichabod grinned. “Yeah, I think he’s getting used to everything. Although I don’t know what makes for a weirder roommate situation—a headless horsewoman, or a ghost.”

“Boundaries are important,” she offered as a word of advice from someone who had to navigate that specific experience of living with someone without a corporeal form. Remembering herself, she asked, “Can I get you anything?”

“Yes, please. You, uh, wouldn’t happen to have any hot apple cider?” 

Matilda frowned. “We’ve got plain black coffee, plain black tea, and possibly some cold apple juice.” She shrugged. “I could microwave the apple juice for you if you want.”

Ichabod shook his head with a hint of his nervousness. “Apple juice is fine,” he assured her. “Oh, and Brom wondered if you had a peppermint mocha?”

 Matilda rolled her eyes. “This is The Drugstore. If Brom wants his fancy latte, he can go to the Caffeinated Pumpkin like everyone else.” For most of the year, Sleepy Hollow was obsessed with autumn and Halloween, but as soon as December was almost in view, the town became obsessed with Christmas.

Matilda was not ready for that kind of cheer, especially this year, though the thought of Brom made her smile. She found herself actually looking forward to trivia night that night.

“Are you going to the school?” she asked as she grabbed a Snapple from the fridge and placed it on the counter. She then ducked down and searched the back of a shelf under the coffee maker for some candy canes she knew had to be hiding from last year.

“Yeah—I’m just going to finalize some things with the principal. I’ll start back next week.”

“Right,” Matilda mumbled from below. She popped up with her treasure of the striped red and white stick, and she enjoyed the look of confusion on Ichabod’s face.

She crumbled the candy cane in its wrapping before dumping the crumbs into the cup. She opened the canister of hot chocolate mix and scooped a healthy spoonful in before topping the concoction with freshly-brewed coffee and some cream. As an afterthought, she checked the mini fridge for whipped cream that she tried to keep in stock.

Darn. No whipped cream.

She sighed and snapped a plastic lid on the to-go cup. “Here you go. Matilda’s not-so-fancy candy cane chocolate coffee for Mr. Van Brunt.”

“Thanks,” Ichabod said with just enough hesitancy to satisfy Matilda. Things couldn’t be too bad if she could still make him nervous—and enjoy the power.

The day passed as any other day. The Drugstore was busy enough with its thrum of customers and the usual answers Matilda was forced to regurgitate this time of year. In the past, Matilda liked to think of new ways to refuse people’s requests for the fancy drinks—no, we don’t have white mocha peppermint lattes, but I can put some mouthwash in the coffee if you’d like—much to Kat’s amusement. She didn’t have the heart for it this year.

Judy came by for a quick lunch and a sympathetic smile, which Matilda appreciated. “How are you doing?” she asked quietly across the counter after a rush of customers. 

Matilda summoned up a smile as best she could. “I’m fine,” she replied.

“Well, if you ever need anything, let me know.”

Matilda nodded, genuinely touched at the sentiment, and grateful that Judy didn’t say more about Kat. She did, however, have a nagging question of her own. “Uh, Judy, do you ever hear from Bal—Mr. Van Tassel—anymore?”

Judy frowned. “No. Trudy’s got me in touch with a lawyer, though. She wants to make sure I don’t do anything stupid, but I’m more worried about her lashing out,” she replied with a faint smirk. “Why?”

Matilda shook her head. Of course Judy wouldn’t be in touch with the man who’d attempted to murder her. “Nevermind.”

Matilda decided she was not going to worry about Baltus Van Tassel. At least not today.

Soon, the trivia team members began to trickle in as the only light that poured in through the front windows came from the streetlights. The Babes and Lucretia set themselves up at their table near the front of the bar. There was a group of moms who made up the second team, though Matilda didn’t understand why they chose the trivia night and Colonial Drugs ‘N’ Stuff as their night out. It only proved to Matilda that, like Kat said, Sleepy Hollow really was one of the most boring places on the east coast.

Well, aside from ghosts and homicidal mayors and headless horsewomen.

The bell chimed above the door and Matilda looked up from the wine glasses in front of her to see Ichabod, Rip, and Brom enter. The ache in her chest lifted slightly when Brom instantly met her eyes and smiled, though his expression was laced with sadness.

He broke away from Rip and Ichabod and made his way straight to her behind the counter. “Hey, Hon’,” he said as he wrapped his arms around her, and Matilda returned his embrace, squeezing her eyes shut as tears threatened to well up. She’d been holding it together all day, and all it took was a couple of words to bring her to the brink.

“You doing okay?” he asked as he pulled back and studied her face.

Matilda nodded. “Fine,” she assured him with as best a smile as she could muster. This was definitely not the fun kind of “month-iversary.”

She could see him contemplating his next move, and she appreciated the care she could read in his expression. “Thanks for the mocha, Babe,” he finally said with a smile. “I’m sorry I couldn't drop by, but Icky brought me my drink.”

“Glad you got it.”

“It was yummy. I especially liked the chewy bits at the bottom. Is that, like, a boba tea thing?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“Cool.”

His arm was around her waist, and Matilda willed the rest of the bar to disappear for a few moments, to hold on to this moment with Brom and avoid what the rest of the night would bring. Still, she knew she needed to do it for herself—and Kat.

“Do you want me to come with you tonight?” he asked, his brows raised.

Matilda shook her head. “I’ll be fine. I think I need to do this on my own.”

He let his hand fall from her waist and took her hand in his, giving it a squeeze. “Okay. But let me know if you change your mind?”

“I will. Thanks.” She squeezed his hand in return.

All too soon, the rest of the world called for their attention, and Brom reluctantly let go of her hand and joined Ichabod and Rip. Matilda served the “Vine Sisters” their cheap sauvignon blanc and waited until Mr. Taylor began the trivia before she slipped to the back of the bar. She could hear the radio playing in the kitchen, and she caught a snippet of Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody.”

     —Too late, my time has come,

     Sends shivers down my spine, body's aching all the time

     Goodbye, everybody, I've got to go,

     Gotta leave you all behind and face the truth…

Matilda opened the back door and welcomed the burst of cold air as she shook off the tingle at her neck and the sting in her nose, her offerings in hand and her coat hugged tightly around her against the late November chill.

Matilda underestimated the cloud cover of the night, and she fumbled with her phone’s light to see her way through the cemetery to her destination. She wound around the grave markers until she came to the ornate stone that bore her best friend’s name. 

KATRINA ELIZABETH VAN TASSEL.

Matilda didn’t fight the tears that instantly welled up and ran down her cheeks. 

“Now, if I die first, bury me with flowers and promise you’ll visit my grave every day. You’ll have to light a candle and pour libations as an offering to appease my spirit,” Kat had informed her once when they were kids. At first, the offering was to be root beer, but in high school, it changed to beer—or possibly fancy whisky. “Oh, and make sure I’ve got my friendship bracelet. Or better yet, your friendship bracelet. You can have mine.” To the ten-year-old with sunshine hair and a smile that could charm anyone, death was just a game. After Kat’s poisoning, however, the instructions stopped when the game became terrifyingly real—at least to Matilda—and their silence made them believe they could change the laws of nature and fight the claws of death that had wrapped around them both.

And for a little while, it worked.

Now, Matilda found herself at her best friend’s grave. She’d fought the truth for so long, but now she’d had a month to process, at least a little bit, the effed up year that had passed. 

“I miss you, Kat,” Matilda whispered for the countless time. She stood in front of the stone and lowered the bottles of beer she’d brought with her, the glass clinking. She took a fresh candle from her pocket and balanced it on the ledge of the gravestone. With a deep breath, she flicked her finger and the wax-covered wick burst to life, instantly blackening as the small flame consumed it.

She stepped back and reached for a bottle of the amber liquid, grabbing the opener from her pocket. With a pop, she pried the lid off and poured the beer over the ground, where Kat’s body lay six feet under her. The faint fizz of carbonation mixed with the rustle of leaves overhead.

Matilda held her breath, a small part of her waiting for a ghostly figure to appear as it had over the last weeks. Though this was no magical ritual, there was still a sacredness in the act, an honour in remembering.

“It’s weird without you here,” Matilda murmured. “I keep thinking I see you in The Drugstore, or like I’ve just missed you around the corner.” She shifted her weight in the exposed dirt, an ugly reminder of how recent the events had been. 

It had only been a month since Kat had died, and yet, Matilda couldn’t ignore the feeling that she’d lost Kat long before that. Her best friend’s snark had grown into callousness over the last year, until Matilda no longer recognized her, and she couldn’t help but wonder how much was due to the curse that artificially prolonged her life, or how much came from Kat’s own decisions. 

Would Kat still be here if she’d been nicer? Would Ichabod be stuck in a death-like sleep in the Van Tassel’s guest bedroom?

Or was it because Matilda had become Ichabod’s friend? It was easy enough to take a year of someone’s life she didn’t know very well—and really, what was a year, anyway?—but it was another thing entirely when you’d become close with the victim.

And your friend had become some sort of shell of her former self.

Or was that Matilda?

The mix of grief and confusion and hurt swirled within Matilda once more, with an ache that grew in her chest until it threatened to squeeze the air out of her lungs. But then, in the midst of it all, she could feel a small flame of peace, no bigger than the candle that flickered in the cold on the gravestone, casting its small glow into the cold November night. 

Kat was her best friend in the world, but they couldn’t have a future together. Deep down, she’d known that as soon as she’d entered Kat’s bedroom and seen her lifeless body on the bed, but she’d stubbornly refused to let go. It had taken a year, and a couple of crazy weeks with the new middle school science teacher and an insane marriage to Kat’s ex, for her to finally see the truth. She couldn’t mold the future to her will no matter how much she wanted to, but that didn’t mean she was giving up on her friend.

Matilda found herself fiddling with her wedding ring. 

“Ichabod’s not so bad,” she heard herself say, and she wondered if Kat was around in some form to hear. “You might have liked him, if…” Matilda trailed off. There were a lot of “ifs” she knew would easily drown her if she let them in.

“Brom and I are together,” she said, and she winced. Brom was only barely a safer subject than Ichabod, but not by much. “I know you thought the whole thing was a joke, but it’s kind of… nice,” she finished lamely. She wasn’t sure if there was anything she could say that would make Kat understand, but then again, she realized she didn’t have to. Perhaps Kat never would have understood, and Matilda was tired of trying to justify herself.

Ichabod understood.

Brom understood.

She took another bottle from the cardboard sleeve, popped the lid off, and took a swig. She grimaced, not particularly fond of the taste of beer. The cold liquid amplified the chill in the night and she shivered.

She dug her phone out of her pocket and started typing.

I changed my mind.

Brom grabbed two flashlights from his trunk and slammed the door closed. He tossed one to Ichabod before he flicked his on, the beam of light cutting through the mist.

The night was cold and dark, despite the moon being only a night or so past its full phase. The clouds hung thick overhead as Brom stepped off the path and wound through the gravestones, eager to find his wife.

It was easy to become disoriented in the darkness, but soon he could make out a flame from a few rows over. His steps quickened into a jog as Matilda’s form came into view, barely lit by the candle in front of her, dwarfed by the elegant Van Tassel family headstones as she sat in the dirt.

She shot up when she saw him, and she fell into his arms that he instinctively wrapped around her in a motion that was becoming more and more familiar. 

They stood like that for a few moments, and Brom was torn between holding her close and wanting to search her face. 

He decided to let her pull away first, which happened after a longer pause than he anticipated. When their eyes finally met, he gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “I heard you needed some company.”

Matilda nodded. He could see the wet streaks glimmer on her cheeks with smudges of makeup. His chest tightened at the sight, but he knew there was nothing he could do.

Well, almost nothing. In all honesty, it meant the world that she wanted him here. 

Ichabod joined them, and he shone his flashlight beside them. The lenses of his glasses caught the light.

“Hey, Ichabod,” Matilda said. “Thanks for coming.” She let out a sniffle as she turned in Brom’s arms, and he shifted his arm to her shoulder as they stood side by side.

Brom eyed the candle on the gravestone and the six bottles, one of which had been emptied and another that was wedged into the soft dirt, barely touched. “What have you been up to?”

Matilda shrugged. “Just… thinking.”

SIlence fell among them, and Brom tried to ignore the letters on Kat’s headstone that were eerily lit by Ichabod’s flashlight. True, not so long ago he’d been digging up heads for Henrietta in this very place, but the last time he’d been here was for Kat’s funeral, and… things were different. 

“Did you guys win?” Matilda asked them. Brom had already forgotten about their trivia night.

Ichabod shook his head. “We left before it was over, but Diedrich and Verla took our spots to help Rip.”

Matilda snorted. “There’s an image,” she said, and Ichabod chuckled.

Brom waited for a beat before asking, “Did you want to get going or did you want to stay here…?” She’d mentioned her vague plans for the night, but Brom couldn’t help but wonder if she’d met another spectre—or if she’d been trying to raise one herself.

“There’s no ghosts,” she assured him. “At least not that kind.” Brom and Ichabod watched Matilda as she thought over her words, and he gave her an encouraging squeeze. He knew how rare it was for her to let others in. “Do you think we could just sit for a bit?” she finally said.

“Sure, Hon’.”

They set themselves up across from Kat’s headstone. Ichabod had thought to bring some blankets, though where he’d found them Brom had no idea, and they laid one out to sit on. It didn’t quite protect them from the chill of the ground, but it helped. They sat together leaning back on the wide headstone behind them, with Matilda in the middle. She passed out the beers, which Brom gladly accepted, though not for the taste. When her fingers brushed his, however, they felt like ice, and he jumped.

“Babe, you’re freezing!” he exclaimed. “Here.” He put their drinks down and grabbed her hands, alternatively rubbing them between his and cupping them as he blew onto them. The intimacy of the gesture was lost on him as he focused on warming her appendages. “What if you get frostbite?” He glanced up to see her watching him with the hint of amusement that told him she enjoyed the attention. 

“I’m fine,” she said with a shrug as she huddled in between Brom and Ichabod and leaned back. Brom let out a huff but released her hands and passed her her beer that felt like it had just come from the fridge. 

“It’s got to be below freezing,” Brom insisted. He breathed out a puff of visible air as proof.

Ichabod threw the second blanket around their knees. “It’s not quite freezing,” he replied in his here-is-another-fact-that-I-pretend-is-highly-interesting voice. “With the cloud cover, it’s actually warmer than it would be if the night was clear.” Brom rolled his eyes as he tucked the blanket around Matilda as best he could. He barely noticed that the blanket only covered one of his legs, his other leg sprawled out before him with only his jeans for warmth.

The candle a few feet in front of them burned low as it danced in the breeze. Brom took a sip of his beer. “Do you remember years ago when we hung out and I would get a cocktail and Kat would get a beer, and the waiter would always get our orders mixed up?”

“Oh?” Ichabod asked.

Matilda nodded and took a sip of her own drink. “Yeah, back when they were dating. Kat gave up and finally started ordering your pina coladas or wherever they were and then you guys would just switch.”

Brom chuckled. “Hey, I stand by that choice. They’re delicious.” He took another swig of beer and winced. He’d acquired a taste for it since his high school years, especially when a colleague presumed to get him something on a night out, but it was never his first choice. 

“What else did you guys do?”

Brom stuck his free hand under the blanket and found Matilda’s hand. He laced his fingers with hers, still surprised at how cold they were.

“Oh, we used to sneak out here with drinks,” Matilda replied. Her attention was focused on Ichabod but she squeezed Brom’s hand. “Teenage shenanigans out in the cemetery. Seances and ouija boards, and drinking games. The usual stuff.”

Brom bit his lip at the memory of sneaking off with Kat and getting handsy while Matilda was left with the ouija board. He brushed the memory away as quickly as it had come, and he focused on Matilda’s voice.

“Meinhof would come by, and we’d have to hide or run away. Sometimes Katrina would sweet-talk her way out of trouble, and in the worst-case scenarios, her dad would…” Matilda trailed off. Brom sensed the moment of nostalgia had turned bitter, and he rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand.

“It sounds like you guys had a lot of fun.” Brom could hear the sadness in his bestie’s voice, too, and he squirmed against the heaviness in his chest as he scrambled to think of a lighter anecdote.

“Hey, Matty, remember when we lit the fireworks over there?” He jerked his beer behind him.

Matilda groaned. “We? That was all you and the Babes. You were lucky you just lost your eyebrows. And didn’t Blair have to shave his head?”

Brom grinned. “Kat wouldn’t speak to me for a month.”

“You were just lucky that that happened after prom,” Matilda said with more than a hint of mirth, and Brom’s heart lightened. 

“I think we knocked over that headstone, too.” Brom frowned as he realized that that grave with the blackened lettering—some doctor or lawyer or criminal from 17-something—was one of the many that he’d relieved of its head not too long ago. Come to think of it, he wasn’t entirely sure what had happened to that bag of skulls after they’d “resurrected” Paulie Tahoe…

“We also had some good talks,” Matilda added more seriously. “There’s nothing like a cemetery at night to bring your deepest thoughts to the surface.”

Brom turned his attention from the candle in front of them to Matilda. He could make out her profile with her head tilted back, studying the cloudy sky. “Kat would talk about how she wanted to leave Sleepy Hollow… but she was also scared that she never would.” Brom noticed the tear that trickled down her jaw as it caught the light of the flashlight beside him. “But I think she was even more terrified to leave.”

Brom swallowed the lump in his throat and he squeezed Matilda’s hand. She turned to him and gave a sad smile as she returned the squeeze. “And you talked about how you didn’t really want to get into sports,” she added.

Brom started. “I did?” he asked. “You remember that?”

Matilda nodded. “Yeah. I mean, I don’t think you'd decided to be a teacher, but you hated all the pressures of your football scholarship.” She looked up again and sighed. “I always got the feeling you did the professional sports thing because of your dad, but you always wanted to do something more meaningful with people. With kids.”

Brom felt his own tears well up and he blinked as he took a drink. The cool liquid chilled as it slid down his throat, and yet his chest was warm at the realization that Matilda saw that all those years ago. She saw him. 

He wished he’d seen it so clearly himself at the time.

He smiled at Matilda, unsure if she could see his expression in the darkness. “Well, you’ve always known what you wanted,” he replied, and his forefinger brushed across her wedding ring. “You’ve always been proud to be a Bishop, to use your skills to help people here in Sleepy Hollow.” 

“That’s really cool,” Ichabod said, and Brom sat up to try to see his friend over Matilda’s head. Matilda squeezed Brom’s hand, her grip firm for a long moment before she relaxed. 

For awhile, they sat in silence, sipping on their beers. Brom found his gaze resting on Kat’s headstone, though his mind didn’t register her name. Matilda reached for the last two bottles and offered them to Brom and Ichabod. They both refused, until it was finally decided that Brom and Matilda would share the second beer. They used her bottle opener to pry the lids open, and after pouring an offering on Kat’s grave—the idea still made Brom queasy—they settled back against the headstone behind them.

Ichabod finally broke the silence, his voice small. “Matilda, can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“Do you—do you know, is there ever… Is it a thing for, you know, true love’s kiss to break a curse?”

Brom heard Matilda take a sharp breath and she gripped his hand. Brom’s heart went out to his friend who he knew grappled with his own version of Kat. 

“Ichabod…” Matilda started. “I don’t know.” She sat up straighter and she took a deep breath. “It’s possible. I’m sure there were rumours in my family’s books, but how often it really happens…” She turned her gaze from Ichabod and stared straight ahead. “It wouldn’t have saved Kat. I’m sorry.” Brom wondered if he saw a flicker of steel in Matilda’s eyes and the clench of her jaw, and he sensed there was more she didn't say. 

“No, of course. It was silly. Especially after everything…”

“Bro, it’s not silly,” Brom said firmly. He of all people knew what it was like to chase after something you thought you wanted that you almost missed what was right in front of you. He revelled in the presence of the witch beside him, her small hand in his. It didn’t seem fair that  he had this when Ichabod had been strung along and betrayed. 

Matilda took a swig of beer and handed the bottle to Brom. She adjusted the blanket around her and sunk down into him, resting her head on his shoulder as she hugged his arm under the blanket.

“Do you ever wish you could start over?” she mumbled after a moment. Brom replied with a non-committal grunt, his mind fuzzy more from tiredness and cold than from the small amount of alcohol he’d consumed.

He wondered if the same could be said for his wife.

The candle fizzled out, and the night felt colder. Then, Matilda began to hum, and she reached out her hand. Brom obliged and placed the beer in her grip. She took a long swig and gave the bottle back to him, and he and Ichabod shared amused looks over her head. 

Brom couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Matilda tipsy—if ever. If this was all it took, then he suspected she was a bit of a lightweight.

Brom listened carefully as she began to sing words, and he recognized the tune.

“Is this real life? Is this just fantasy? Caught up in a landslide, no e- scape from reality…. ”

Brom smiled and joined in, though he couldn’t hold much of a tune even with the help of the radio, much less without it. “Open your eyes, look up to the skies and see-e-e-e-e-e-e. ”

Before they knew it, Ichabod sang with them, and their a cappella take on the iconic Queen hit had grown in volume, if not in quality. 

“So you think you can stop me and spit in my eye! So you think you can love me and leave me to die-e-e-e-e! ” They serenaded Sleepy Hollow’s souls with the six minute song, and Matilda raised her almost-empty beer bottle high. 

“Hey!” 

Brom’s eye’s widened as he noticed the glare of a flashlight come towards them. 

“What you are guys doing? You’re not supposed to be here! It’s two A.M.!”

Matilda slunk down and threw the blanket over her head as Meinhof continued to approach. Brom couldn’t help but chuckle, though a glance to Ichabod whose features were raised in concern told him that his friend didn’t see the humour in the situation.

Brom shrugged. It wasn’t the worst way to end an evening.

Chapter Text

“Verla, where are my stockings?!” Matilda cried down the hall from the bathroom door. She knew she’d left them to dry over the shower curtain rod, but now they were mysteriously—or not mysteriously—gone.

Verla popped up beside her with her arm outstretched and a pair of hosiery dangling from her fingers. Matilda frowned as she took them, the fabric too rich under her fingers.

These were not the same cheap pantyhose she’d left to dry, but she didn’t have time to worry about where—or when—they were from. They were black, and as long as they fit and were clean, that was all she cared about.

She leaned against the doorjamb and shimmied into the stockings, grateful that they were just the right amount of snug.

The doorbell rang, and Matilda rushed to the buzzer to answer it, her bathrobe open and flapping behind her, exposing her bra. “Come in!” she called as she pressed the button to unlock the door. 

Matilda tied her robe around her and opened the door as Judy began to climb the stairs with her offering of garments on hangers thrown over her shoulder. Matilda grimaced as she was forced to stand in the doorway to keep the door open, unable to help her friend. “Thanks so much,” she said.

Judy beamed at her. “When you said you wanted my help, I didn’t expect this. This is gonna be so fun!” she exclaimed. “I’m like, your fairy godmother or something.”

Matilda nodded with a hesitant smile. It looked like Judy had brought a whole costume department with her, and she couldn’t help but wonder if she would regret asking for help.

She felt herself relax as she waved Judy in and closed the door, her friend’s enthusiasm melting away her doubts. It would be nice to have someone else’s opinion, especially since it felt like she couldn’t make her damn mind up about anything.

“Here.” Matilda waved towards the couch and shoved the two pillows aside. Judy dropped the clothes on the back and shrugged off her purse before she slipped her shoes off and placed them by the door.

Judy turned to Matilda with a grin. “So, what were you thinking?” she asked as she eyed Matilda up and down. Matilda hunched her shoulders, half dressed, her hair awkwardly wrapped in curlers that she was pretty sure she hadn’t used since her grandmother was alive. This was probably the kind of thing that Kat would have helped her with, but she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been on a date. If anything, Matilda was usually the one to assist from the sidelines and send the princess out to her prince charming, but even that hadn’t happened for a few years. 

“I’m not sure,” Matilda admitted. She usually had no trouble coordinating a look, but that was easy enough when she was only getting through a shift at The Drugstore or running errands around town.The butterflies in her stomach reminded her of how she’d given up on the idea of going on a date in Sleepy Hollow—until now.

Judy placed her hands on her hips. “What are you guys doing tonight?”

Matilda shook her head. “Brom didn’t say. All he said was to meet him at the restaurant at Storms Inn at six o’clock. And to wear something nice, if I wanted.”

“Sounds like a nice restaurant dinner date to me,” Judy replied.

“Hopefully it’s as tame as that,” Matilda said, though part of her was worried how far Brom’s ambitions might take him. They’d only just agreed to start dating as they took things slow, with slow being the operative word.

Because while Matilda’s stomach fluttered partly in anticipation, another part of her could not forget that this was Kat’s ex—her ex who people assumed for years she would marry.

Matilda shook her head at herself. Leave it to her to find something to feel guilty about. She would not think about that tonight.

“I was thinking I’d wear a dress, but I want something different.” It was hard to think of something that Brom hadn’t seen when they had crossed paths every day for most of their lives. “I’ve got a couple of options hanging up, but I’d love your opinion.”

“I brought some things that might work,” Judy said as she reached for a couple of hangers. She held two dresses up—one in a soft pink with an A-line cut, and another with a floral print and flowing fabric 

Matilda grimaced.

“Okay, point taken!” Judy laughed. She placed them on one side of the couch and continued to the next garments. “There’s this one-piece suit that is Trudy’s.” She held it up to Matilda and tilted her head. Matilda glanced down to see the light fabric pool on the floor.

“I think I might be too short,” she said, though the muted plum colour wasn’t awful.

Judy nodded and placed the jumpsuit on top of the “reject” pile. She glanced at the clothes that were left and sighed. “Maybe we should see what you have first?” she asked with a hint of forced optimism.

“Right.”

Matilda led Judy down the hallway to her bedroom where it looked like a stereotypical scene of a teenage girl freaking out about her first date—except instead of frills and shades of pink, the room was strewn with all textures of black, with a bit of white or dark purple thrown in. It had been awhile since she’d bought anything with much colour.

She watched Judy’s expression as she surveyed what she was working with, including the two dresses that hung on the curtain rod. 

“Aren’t these the same?” she asked.

Matilda shifted her weight as she tried to defend the two dresses with plunging necklines and angular cuts. “One’s navy, I think,” she said. “And the other has ties across the front, and on the sleeves.”

Judy nodded, though she was unconvinced. She turned to Matilda’s closet, which looked like an even bigger nightmare than her bed. She disappeared halfway into the small closet and emerged with another black dress. “How about this?”

Matilda tilted her head. In truth, she’d forgotten about the vintage dress with its 1930s-inspired silhouette. The sweetheart neckline was covered in a sheer lace material that tied at the neck with flutter sleeves, with a form-fitting waist and a loose skirt. The black lace continued down to the hem, creating texture with the silkier black fabric underneath.

“Hmm,” Matilda murmured as she took in the garment. It had been awhile since she’d worn it, and she couldn’t decide if it was a little too sweet. Still, it would be nice to indulge in something a little more romantic…

Strangely, that idea appealed to her more than she would have expected.

“It’s nice,” Matilda admitted. “But it’s probably too cold to wear on its own, and I don’t know what I’d wear with it.”

Judy’s eyes lit up. “I might have something.”

She rushed out the door and Matilda hurried behind. She watched as Judy grabbed a black jacket and held it up, and Matilda realized it was leather.

“I convinced Trudy it was for a good cause,” she teased. “This would look great with the lace, don’t you think?”

Matilda smiled, drawn to the combination of girly and badass that was maybe just what she was looking for.

Matilda shifted her weight in the stool as she studied the rich wood of the Storms Inn bar. She tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear as she considered getting a drink, her sparkly skull earring swaying as she brushed it. She was only a few minutes early, but the hostess had asked her to wait while the table was prepared. She wasn’t sure if she saw a knowing glint in the young woman’s eyes, but she was probably being paranoid.

Get a grip, Matilda .

She took a deep breath to steady her nerves, an embarrassing reminder of how long it had been since she’d done anything like this. Or maybe it had to do with the man she was about to meet.

It’s just Brom. You see him so much it’s annoying .

Except of course it wasn't annoying. She couldn’t deny how she had to bite back a smile any time he came into The Drugstore, or how she had looked forward to tonight. Although right now, all she could think about was how she felt like she was going to have to jump out of her seat and walk around the foyer if he didn’t show up soon.

She glanced at the ornate grandfather clock beside her that was already trimmed with Christmas garland. It was only 6:05.

“Miss? This is for you.”

Matilda turned around to see the bartender slide her a martini.

“Huh? Oh, no thanks, I didn’t order—”

“It’s from the gentleman over there,” he explained with a nod to the end of the bar.

Matilda followed his gaze where she saw Brom in a black suit, leaning against the counter. He raised a martini of his own with a look that could only be called a “smolder.” It should have been ridiculous.

Matilda felt her cheeks flush in spite of herself.

Brom sidled up to her, and Matilda brought up drink to her lips, her eyes fixed on his. He looked frustratingly good in his suit, with his white shirt and maroon tie, his hair slicked back a little more than normal. Sleepy Hollow Middle School’s gym teacher cleaned up well.

Your move, Bones.

“I hope you don’t mind my boldness, but I couldn’t resist introducing myself to such a stunning woman.” Matilda saw him take in her appearance, and she thought she saw a flicker of something darker than simple approval or appreciation.

She didn’t dislike it. “Hi, Brom.” 

Brom finished his sip and shook his head as he placed the angular glass on the counter. “Oh, I don’t think we’ve met. I would have definitely remembered you.”

Matilda arched her brow, her black nails wrapped around her glass that she held in front of her. “Really?” She narrowed her eyes, studying the man in front of her to calculate her next move. “Can’t say I’ve seen you around.”

Brom slid his hand along the counter to Matilda’s side and leaned, hovering over her. Matilda swallowed as her pulse quickened, the faint scent of his musk and leather cologne filling the small space between them. 

She thought she saw a struggle in Brom’s eyes as well. Could she be having the same affect on him? 

“Weren’t you, uh”—Brom licked his lips—”part of the ‘Friedberg Caper’ a few weeks back?” 

Matilda did her best to feign disinterest. “I was, but I don’t remember you there.”

Brom narrowed his eyes before he raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure you don’t remember me?”

“Hm-m-m,” Matilda murmured. She took another sip to draw out the pause, as if to mull over the question. “There was a man brought on for his muscle, but he couldn’t even do the job entrusted to him.”

Brom chuckled, and the façade slipped. “I knew I shouldn’t have skipped the toilets!” His smile crinkled the corners of his eyes for a moment before he turned serious again.

Matilda tightened her grasp on her martini, grateful for the moment of levity that kept her from doing something stupid. “Don’t worry—Tahoe was a quack, anyway.” She took a deep breath to suppress the anger at being thrown in jail because of his “plan”. “I do remember a man disguised as a cute priest,” she offered as a consolation.

“Oh? Cute? The disguise with the moustache?” Brom looked surprised. “Interesting. I’ll have to remember that.”

Matilda tried to backtrack. “The disguise was mildly cute. I didn’t say anything about the man.”

Brom took the smallest step back and reached for his martini on the counter. “You can’t take it back,” he said with his easy smile. “You said I was cute.”

Matilda shrugged. “I said mildly .”

Brom drained his glass and returned it to the counter with a nod to the bartender. When he turned to Matilda, his smolder was back in place, with its strange mix of silly and serious that was somehow endearing.

And possibly (definitely?—somewhat) attractive.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I was wondering if I may be so bold as to ask you to dine with me tonight?” Brom asked as he leaned against the bar with his elbow. He slipped slightly but caught himself. He readjusted his position and flashed her a wink.

Matilda bit back a laugh and pretended to chew on her lip in contemplation. She still wasn’t entirely sure what Brom was up to, but she had her suspicions, and she wasn’t going to fight the lightness in her chest that somehow only he could bring. “I don’t see why not,” she finally replied. She finished her martini slowly and placed it on the bar before focusing on him. “As long as you’re not married, that is.” She glanced at his ring finger, delighted to see his role-playing hadn’t extended so far as for him to remove his wedding ring. 

“Uh, I’m not, that is—”

“It’s fine,” she cut in. “Why don’t we just see how the night goes and figure things out from there?” Despite the role-playing, she tried to give him her most genuine smile, and her heart lifted when he beamed back at her in return.

“Mr. Van Brunt? We have your table ready for you now.” 

Brom jumped and turned to Lucretia. He was almost disappointed to be interrupted, since things had been going so well with Matilda. It felt like their banter had begun to hold a charge that grew in intensity, and though the night was young, he wondered if the lightest spark could set off fireworks.

The gleam in Matilda’s eyes told him that perhaps he wasn’t the only one who felt it. 

“Thank you very much, Ms. Lazenby,” Brom said in his most Tahoe-esque voice. He noticed Matilda wince out of the corner of his eye and he thought better of the affectation. “Please, uh, lead the way.”

Matilda hopped off her stool and followed Lucretia to their table, with Brom right behind. The owner of Storms Inn led them to a table nestled in a bay window, currently lit up with Christmas garland white lights.The table itself was adorned with a fancy white table cloth and more silverware than Brom knew what to do with. A small candle in a glass holder stood in the middle, surrounded by more greenery and berries. 

Brom pulled Matilda’s chair out for her, and she tucked the skirt of her dress under her before she sat down while Brom pushed the seat in. He rounded the table and took his seat before accepting the menu from Lucretia. 

“We are delighted to have you for dinner, Mr. and Mrs. Van Brunt,” Lucretia said with a cheerful expression that was downright unnerving. Brom had been grateful, if not a little surprised, that she had been so accommodating to his requests, but he hadn’t expected her to serve them herself.

“Oh, it’s not quite—I mean, I don’t go by…” Matilda trailed off, and she dropped her gaze.

Brom jumped in, eager to smooth away any tension, or at least provide a distraction. “This lovely young lady and I just met at the bar,” he explained with a serious tone.

Lucretia frowned before quickly relaxing her expression into one of cheerful service, though she couldn’t quite hide her confusion. “Of course. Shall I get you started with some drinks?”

“Sure. Matty—er, I mean, Miss—do you want anything?” Brom asked her.

“Maybe just some red wine?”

Brom nodded and opened the drinks menu. He scanned the list of reds. “How about the Mara Valpolicella Ripasso ?”

Matilda looked impressed. “You know about this stuff?”

Brom shrugged. “Not really, but I’ve picked up some things from my dad.” He handed her the menu. “Does that look good to you?”

Matilda gawked as she read the print. She leaned forward and hissed, “Brom, it’s too much!”

“It’s fine,” he insisted. What was the point of being a Van Brunt if you couldn’t enjoy it every once in awhile? He tried to think of an explanation that didn’t sound smarmy, but finally settled on, “It’s a special night.”

Matilda held his gaze for a moment until she sat back. “Okay. Thank you.”

“Excellent choice,” Lucretia replied. “Our special tonight is the Herb Crush Salmon with truffle beurre blanc, preserved tomatoes, wild rice, and seasonal root vegetables. And of course, we have our regular offerings. I’ll leave you with the menu and we’ll be back with your drinks.”

Brom pasted on a grin as Lucretia pivoted on her heel and made her way through the small dining room to the kitchen. He turned to Matilda. “I’ve never seen her so happy before. Well, except for that time we won trivia night on that question about Japanese immigration.” 

Matilda scrunched her nose. “I know, right? I kind of prefer her when she’s grumpy.”

Brom chuckled. He couldn’t decide if he was more scared of the con-woman-turned-inn-owner when she was threatening him or when she was offering to take his order. 

He settled into his seat and picked up the menu, his gaze fixed on the beautiful woman in front of him. She’d done her hair a bit differently, with it curled and half pinned up at the back of her head with one of her signature clips, a few loose strands falling around her face. Her makeup was immaculate, but it looked a bit softer. Brom liked the idea that she’d dressed up for their night out together—that she had anticipated it as much as he had. Of course, she always looked great.

And when he was standing so close to her at the bar and she smelled like something dark and spicy and floral all at once, he had to fight the urge to take her away somewhere they could be alone.

Remember, nice and slow.

Matilda glanced up from the menu, and he started, nervous that she could read his thoughts.

She couldn’t, though. Could she?

“What is it?” she asked, her dark eyes studying his.

Brom swallowed. “Nothing. You just—look really nice.”

She smiled in reply, and Brom’s heart beat faster. He cleared his throat, remembering himself. “I don’t believe we’ve introduced ourselves. I’m Abraham Van Brunt.”

Matilda paused before she replied, “I’m Matilda Bishop.”

Brom bowed over his menu. “It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Bishop.”

“Charmed.”

“Do you know what you’d like?” Brom asked.

Matilda looked down at the menu. “The salmon special sounded good,” she replied. “I think I’m going to go with that.”

“Do you want any appetizers?”

“Honestly, I think I’m good. But if you want something, please go ahead.”

Brom frowned as he returned his attention to the menu, realizing he hadn’t actually read it yet. The font was tiny and spaced out, with the prices listed as simple numbers rather than with any dollar signs or decimal points. He also had to chuckle at the strange mix of traditional German food that Sleepy Hollow was known for paired next to the more healthy and trendy dishes that Lucretia was trying to work into the menu, despite resistance from the locals. 

The schnitzel and sauerkraut made an odd pairing next to the tuna poke bowl.

“I’m going to stick with the steak and fries,” Brom announced as he closed his menu. “And maybe some calamari.”

“Do you know what calamari is?” Matilda asked, her voice a pitch higher in surprise.

“Sure. It’s like, deep fried meat. Some sort of chicken—chewy chicken.”

“Okay. Yes, that’s it.” 

Brom thought he saw the tell-tale twinkle in Matilda’s eye when she was secretly teasing him, but before he had time to ask, Lucretia appeared with some water and their bottle of wine. 

“Here is your Mara Valpolicella Ripasso, ” she said as she held the bottle out to Brom. He nodded as he glanced at the label that read “2015”. She opened the bottle with a corkscrew and reached for Brom’s glass.

“Actually, why don’t you let M—Miss Bishop taste,” he offered. He gave her a sheepish smile. “I don’t really like wine enough to know what’s good,” he admitted.

Matilda accepted the glass from Lucretia. She swirled the deep red liquid and sniffed before she took a sip. “It’s nice.”

Brom grinned. “My date is a true so-mall-yer.”

Matilda and Lucretia frowned in unison. “A sommelier?” Lucretia repeated.

“Yeah. That.”

Soon, they were alone as they ate their house salads, the small plate of calamari between them. Brom helped himself to a few pieces but Matilda shook her head.

“So, Ms. Bishop,” Brom started, pitching his voice slightly lower than normal. “Have you lived in Sleepy Hollow for very long?”

Matilda narrowed her eyes with a smile before she answered. “I’ve lived here all my life. My mother’s family has been here since the town was settled.”

“And your father?”

“My dad is from Illinois. He came to Connecticut for school and became a dentist. That’s how he met my mom, when she was trying to find a new dentist, and he had just started a job in the county and, well—he moved to Sleepy Hollow and they had me.”

Brom nodded as he took a sip of wine, wishing he liked it more than he did. He tried not to grimace as the liquid slid down his throat, though this was less sour than the everyday stuff his dad kept on hand.

He thought over Matty’s words, and a realization hit him.

“Wait—isn’t your dad's name Paul Bishop? But your mom and your grandma and you are all the Bishop witches of Sleepy Hollow…”

Matilda smirked and traced the rim of her wine glass with her finger absentmindedly, the motion slow and hypnotic. “I thought you didn’t know anything about me, Mr. Van Brunt.”

Brom swallowed, though whether it was from the heat of the fireplace behind them, the points he was finally connecting, or the look she gave him, he wasn’t sure. “So does that mean your dad took your mom’s name?”

Matilda bit her lip and nodded. “It’s the Bishop family tradition, yes. The husband takes the wife’s name, and it’s passed down matrilineally.” She looked down at her plate and pushed her salad around before meeting his gaze. “Through the women,” she added when Brom didn’t say anything. “Is that—is that a problem?”

Brom couldn’t tell if she was keeping up their game or if they had entered new territory. “No!” he said quickly, and he tried to flash his most charming smile. “That’s V.V. cool. I mean, I think any guy would be lucky to be given the Bishop name.” Well, I hope not just any guy. Brom ignored the fact that it would infuriate his dad.

Abraham Bishop. Brom Bishop. Mr. and Mrs. Bishop.

Matilda broke out into a warm smile. “Really?” For a moment, they locked eyes, and it felt like they had jumped ahead much farther than a first date. Then, Matilda’s expression returned to her signature smirk, and the game continued. “We don’t need to discuss all that right now. Why don’t you tell me about yourself, Mr. Van Brunt? You haven’t told me about your family.”

After a pause to receive their entrees, Brom answered her question. “I’ve lived here my whole life,” he began, as if Matilda didn't know that. “My parents divorced when I was in high school and then my mom remarried and moved to Arizona. They had a kid around the time of graduation.”

“Oh goddess, that’s right, I always forget about your half-brother. I'm sorry.”

Brom shrugged. “It’s okay. We keep in touch, but I don’t see them much. I know my mom’s a lot happier there.” He smiled at the memory of the last photo his half-brother had sent of their latest camping trip. “Josh is a good kid.”

“And how old is he now?”

“He just turned ten. It, uh—it sucks that they live so far away, but I’m glad I wasn’t around him when I… when I wasn’t at my best, you know?”

Matilda gave him a sympathetic smile. “I’m sure you’re a great big brother.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I mean, you’re great with the Babes.”

Brom chuckled. “That’s not quite the same.”

“It’s similar.”

Brom’s chest warmed at the encouragement in Matilda’s eyes as she smiled at him, and as usual, he knew he couldn’t argue with her. 

Honestly, he hadn’t wanted to argue with her for awhile.

In between bites of their meals—Brom with his steak and Matilda with her salmon—Matilda finally brought up the one family member he hadn’t mentioned. “And what about your dad?”

Brom held his fork mid-air as he struggled to answer the mundane question. “We technically live in the family home here,” he said slowly. “But he’s, uh—not around much.”

Matilda tilted her head, and her skull earrings sparkled in the candlelight. “Wait, have you even seen him since…” she trailed off, and Brom wasn’t sure if she couldn’t name their wedding, or Kat’s death, or any of the other strange events that had happened over a month ago.

“Nope,” he said, his false cheer causing him to spit out the word. “I’m not sure if he’s travelling over land or sea at this point. The last time he texted, he was in Fiji. Or New Zealand. I don’t know,” he finished with a shrug.

He must have looked more sad than he meant to, because Matilda reached out and grabbed his hand across the table. It took him by surprise, but he was glad for her touch. 

“And does he know…?” she asked softly.

“About the big change in my relationship status?” he asked, taking on his Tahoe voice once again, though more to distance himself from the tough subject rather than for fun. He sighed. “No. It seems too important to text, but with different time zones and poor connections, it’s hard to FaceTime. And then when we do, he usually does all the talking.” He shrugged again, as if to brush off the disappointment. “It’s no big deal.”

Matilda squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry, Brom.”

He returned the squeeze and held her gaze where he found more understanding than he’d felt in ages. “Thanks.”

He cleared his throat and sat back, realizing that they’d both been leaning over the table towards each other. “Well, I did tell Mom and Mark and Josh about us,” he admitted. He rubbed her hand as he said the word, “us.” “I wanted to wait until things were a little bit more certain. They were all really happy.”

Brom held his breath, unsure if his admission would spook Matilda. Instead, she relaxed and gave him a soft smile. “That’s really sweet.”

“Yeah, well, don’t be surprised if you get an enthusiastic phone call or a long Christmas letter from Arizona this year.”

She flashed him one of her rare smiles that was becoming more familiar and never failed to warm him through. “That would be nice.”

Perhaps it was the white lights around them, or the flicker from the candle, or perhaps it was the crackle of the fireplace that heightened the cozy atmosphere, but Brom couldn’t help but catch a glimpse of what he’d been looking for—and he wondered if Matty didn’t see it, too. All of a sudden, he wanted to ask her what she was doing for Christmas, though it was still weeks away. 

Instead, he willed himself to focus on what was right in front of him—Matilda, looking stunning and holding his hand as they enjoyed a simple date night with no ghosts or headless horsewomen or zombies. 

“So… do you like dessert?”

Chapter Text

“Ew, Brom, that sounds so gross!” Matilda exclaimed with a snort. She clapped her hand over her mouth and glanced around the dining room. Thankfully, there was only one other couple from which to draw any ire, and a glare of her own made them return their attention to their meals.

“No, no, it’s really good!” Brom replied. “You’ve got the acidity of the pickles, and the sweet-saltiness of the peanut butter, all between two pieces of bread. It’s just, chef’s kiss!” Brom said the words while he made the motion with his hands, bringing his fingers to his lips in an exaggerated kiss.

Matilda rolled her eyes over the rim of her wine glass. “You don’t have to actually say the words.”

“It adds to the effect,” Brom insisted before he ate a forkful of apple pie, his face alight in his signature grin.

Matilda took a sip of her red wine and savoured the rich flavour. Though she “should” have had something lighter with salmon, she preferred red, and it did go well with her chocolate lava cake. Besides, white wine held a certain bitterness to her now that she couldn’t stomach.

“What about you?” Brom asked, pulling Matilda from her thoughts. “What’s your favourite late-night snack?”

“Hmmm,” she murmured as she pondered her answer. She sat back from the table with a pleasant fullness. She’d enjoyed most of the cake in front of her, but she couldn’t bring herself to finish the last few bites. “Dark chocolate,” she admitted. 

Brom grimaced. “Ew.”

“Ew? It’s delicious.”

“Chocolate is great. Dark chocolate is not chocolate.”

“Only for those with unrefined palates like yourself, ” Matilda teased. She placed her glass on the table and absent-mindedly ran her finger along its rim as she held his gaze. She glanced at Brom’s plate where he worked on his slice of apple pie with a side of ice cream and she smiled when she glanced up to see his gaze fixed on her. 

“Did you like it?” he asked with a nod to her plate.

“Mmhmm,” she replied. A warmth washed over her, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so relaxed—a fact she could not blame on the wine. Truth be told, she felt herself opening up to Brom, and she loved that he seemed to do the same for her—though it pained her to glimpse at his relationship with his father. She thought of asking him about more, but he had already moved on to stories about the Babes, like he was a proud family member boasting of their accomplishments—or shenanigans. 

“Are you going to finish that?” he continued with a look at her plate that lingered for a beat too long. 

“You can have it, Mr. Van Brunt,” Matilda offered, and she slid the plate across the table around the candle.

“Only if you’re sure,” he said as he tucked his fork into the dark cake and swirled it around to catch the liquid chocolate. “And please, call me Brom. We’ve known each other for a couple of hours now,” he finished with a wink. 

Matilda nodded. “If you insist… Brom .” Their game had been fun, but it was hard to think of him as anything other than the town jock she’d grown up with and now couldn’t imagine not having in her life. She fingered her wedding ring, the gold band solid and warm.

“And what do you go by, Ms. Bishop?”

“My friends call me Matilda.”

Brom licked his lips and sat back, the dessert plate clean. Matilda wondered if he had to resist the urge to lick up the last bit of chocolate. She kind of wanted him too, but she suspected Lucretia would not appreciate such uncouth behaviour in her dining room.

“No nicknames? What about Tilly?”

Matilda grimaced. “Ew. Definitely not. I don’t have any nicknames.” 

“Hmm. Maybe Tilda?”

“That’s even worse.”

Brom narrowed his eyes and sat back in his chair as he crossed his arms, supposedly deep in thought. “I think you look like a ‘Matty’.”

Matilda warmed at the familiar nickname and smiled. “Only one person can call me that.”

Brom sat up. “Really? Who is the lucky guy?”

“And how do you know it’s a guy?” 

Brom gave her a sheepish smile. “Lucky guess.”

Matilda only nodded in reply.

“Am I really the only one to call you Matty?” Brom asked in earnest. 

“Yeah.” Matilda thought of saying more, but it didn’t seem necessary.

Brom nodded. “Alright.” He reached for her hand across the table and rubbed her wedding ring. They locked eyes for the countless time that night, and while the silence could have been uncomfortable, Matilda found she enjoyed these quiet moments with Brom.

Goddess knew they could be rare with him. 

“Are we ready to get going?” he asked after a moment. She nodded, eager to be rid of the table in between them.

Soon, they were walking down main street—after Brom had insisted on paying for dinner, though Matilda tried to cover her share—and she loved the way that his hand found hers, and how it felt so natural to entwine her fingers with his. 

The night was quiet and clear, and their breaths fogged before them as they strolled down the sidewalk. The street lights were adorned with Christmas greenery, ribbons, and lights, along with the trees, to match the Christmas cheer of the inn. For one month, Sleepy Hollow shook off its drowsy atmosphere of dread to embrace the magical holiday, and while it usually felt a little much to Matilda, she didn’t notice tonight. She was glad she’d chosen to wear her winter coat over Trudy’s leather jacket, however, as the nip in the air hinted at snow. 

Brom led them to the door of the Caffeinated Pumpkin, and he held it open for her. “You’re not stuffed?” Matilda asked as she entered the coffee shop with a glance over her shoulder.

“It’s only hot chocolate,” Brom replied, as if the sweet liquid had no volume of its own. 

“Oh, so we’re on dessert stomach logic now?”

“Yeah, but it’s another compartment for hot chocolate.”

“Of course. How silly of me.”

Matilda ordered a small hot chocolate while Brom ordered a medium candy cane hot chocolate with extra whipped cream. She had to roll her eyes at the mountain of whipped cream that topped his drink so that he had to forego a lid, but she secretly enjoyed how delighted he was, his eyes wide and full of mirth.

She was also highly aware of the raised eyebrows they got from the woman at the counter. Matilda wondered what it would be like to be on a date where everyone hadn’t known you since you were in diapers.

She soon relaxed once they were outside, lazily walking down the street with no goal in particular, their free hands clasped. “So, Mr. Van Brunt—I mean, Brom,” Matilda added quickly when he frowned at her, and he nodded in approval, “Is this where you take all the girls?”

“Nope!” he said quickly with a grin. “There’s another place up the street I usually go to which makes the best drinks, but they’re closed now.” He leaned closer and murmured in her ear, “There’s a girl who works behind the counter who’s pretty cute, but don’t tell her I said that.”

Matilda felt her cheeks flush, and she was glad for the cover of darkness. “Oh my goddess, you have a crush on Verla!” She tried to keep her tone sarcastic, and Brom simply squeezed her hand in reply. She glanced at Brom, who was already sipping his hot chocolate like it was the most natural thing in the world to flirt with her.

Maybe it was the glow of the Christmas lights surrounding them, or maybe it was the carpet of stars above them, or maybe it was because she wore a dress, and he wore a suit, but….

She kind of liked it. 

As they walked, they approached a yellow building with a “Clearance” sign in the window. Matilda thought nothing of it, but Brom stopped and turned to face the store. 

“This place will probably be up for rent soon,” he said as he studied the storefront. Matilda followed his lead as she read the “Kitchen and Bath” sign and “All items must go!” in bright, bold lettering. 

“Mmm,” Matilda agreed as she sipped her drink. 

“Weren’t you saying you wanted to open up your own shop, Ms. Bishop?”

Brom had resumed his Tahoe-esque voice, and Matilda wasn’t sure how seriously to answer his question.

She looked at the storefront again, illuminated only by the streetlights behind them, its own lights dark. She took a step forward, wishing she could see in the window to judge the interior, but from the outside it seemed to be a medium-sized store—not too big, not too small.

A taste of a future that Matilda had dreamed about floated before her—a future where she ran her own shop instead of being beholden to someone else, where she could sell her own products and talk to people about things she really cared about instead of feigning interest as she poured a third pint, some of which she would likely have to mop up off the tiled floor. 

“Yeah,” she finally said when she remembered herself, and she threw a faint smile towards Brom. “But that won’t be for awhile yet.” It always seemed like there were more bills to pay, and her savings never seemed to grow as fast as she’d like. Every time she tried to crunch the numbers, she ended up with a headache and a desire to throw something across the room.

Besides, there wasn’t much time for making budgets or applying for loans when you were trying to keep your best friend alive and keep up with your shifts at Colonial Drugs ‘N’ Stuff.

Brom squeezed her hand. “You know, uh, my dad knows a lot about that stuff,” he said quietly. “About how to start a business.”

“He does?”

Brom nodded, though Matilda could sense he was hesitant. “He’s always on about business start-ups and finding the next big thing. I’m sure he can connect you with someone that can help.”

Matilda swallowed the lump in her throat, her head swimming with everything unsaid. “Brom, I know things aren’t great with your dad, so are you sure you’d want to…?”

Brom released her hand and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “I know how important this is to you Matty,” he said. “I don’t know anything about this stuff—God knows my dad wishes I did—but I want to help if I can.” He shrugged awkwardly. 

Matilda slipped her arm around Brom’s waist. “Thank you,” she said. 

“I know you’ll have your shop name up there one of these days. ‘Matilda’s Magical Miracles.’” He waved his cup in front of them, as if manifesting an imaginary sign.

Matilda sighed. “That’s a mouthful. What about something more simple? ‘Matilda’s Potions & Tinctures’? Although I don’t know if I want my name in it. Doesn’t it sound tacky?”

“No, it’s cool! After all that hard work, you deserve to have your name up there. Ooh, what about ‘Matilda’s Spooktacular Store’?”

Matilda shook her head, though Brom’s enthusiasm made her heart lift in her chest. “It should be more special than a store.”

“‘Matilda’s Spooktacular Shop’?”

“I’m not calling it ‘Spooktacular’ anything.”

“Fair. We’ll workshop it.”

Matilda bit her lip as tears pricked her eyes, and she blinked them back. Brom didn’t seem to notice as he drank his hot chocolate, and she chuckled as he gave her a whipped-cream-edged smile.

“Here, you’ve got something right…” She took a step back so he was facing the light behind them. She shifted her cup to her other hand and brought her right hand to his lip and brushed the smear of white away with her finger. Her breath hitched in her throat at the intimacy, though she didn’t regret it for a moment. Her gaze lingered on his mouth for a beat before she willed herself to look up. As their eyes met, she realized Brom had frozen in place as well, and his scarf couldn’t hide the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed.

Despite the warmth in her chest, Matilda shivered in the December evening. Brom started. “God, I’m sorry, Babe, let’s get to the car. Besides, we’ve got to get to the next part.”

Matilda raised her eyebrows. “The next part?” They’d already had a full evening, but Matilda was more than relieved to hear that she wouldn’t have to say good-night too soon.  

The walk to Brom’s car was short, and Matilda was glad at the thought of some warmth and a break from walking in her heels. 

“Here’s old Diablo,” Brom said with a pat on the hood of his deep-red hybrid.

“You still name your cars?” Matilda scoffed. 

“How do you know I name my cars? We only just met tonight,” Brom replied with a twinkle in his eye as he opened the passenger door. 

“My apologies,” Matilda said as she took Brom’s hand and lowered herself into her seat. She jumped when something hard jabbed her in the back.

“I’m sorry,” Brom reached behind her and pulled out the offending object. “That’s probably one of the Babe’s.” He threw it in the back seat behind her.

Before she could ask anything more, Brom closed the door and jogged around to the driver’s side. “What was that?” she asked when as he opened his door.

“A marshmallow gun.”

Matilda thought better of pursuing the subject and instead returned to the former topic of conversation. “Should I have said, ‘You name your car ?’” 

Brom slid into the driver’s seat and closed the door. “This is the second. My first was Daredevil.” He said the name with reverence and paused.

“Wasn’t that your old sports car in high school? It was bright red, wasn’t it?”

“She was a beaut! Still have her in the garage, but she’s not very practical, or fuel efficient. Diablo here is much better for the environment—at least, as far as cars go. Until we all live in walkable cities.”

“Brom, Sleepy Hollow is so small it’s got to be a walkable city.”

Brom flashed her a grin as he started the ignition and pulled out onto the street. “Not where we’re going, Babe.”

Matilda tried to extract an explanation from Brom as he drove them out of town and into the country roads that wound through the woods that surrounded Sleepy Hollow. Soon, a clearing came into view, and Matilda saw the base of a tall building before them. 

“The lighthouse?” she asked as he rolled to a stop and shifted the gear stick to park. “It’s open?”

“Nope!” Brom shot out of his seat, and before Matilda knew it, he had whisked her out of the car and led her to the door of the old structure. “It’s time to put that old Van Brunt magic to work.”

Matilda stood back and crossed her arms as Brom pulled out a credit card from his pocket. “Hon’, there should be a flashlight in that basket there,” he said with his focus on the ancient doorknob. “Can you grab it and shine it over here?”

Matilda complied, and she dug through the wicker basket to find the flashlight in question tucked under a blanket. She flicked it on and shone it on Brom, only to flash it in his eyes.

“Yikes!”

“Sorry!”

“No worries, Babe.”

Brom continued to fiddle, and Matilda hugged her arms around herself and bounced slightly. Still, the cold couldn’t dampen the way her pulse thrummed in her veins, and besides, Brom looked kinda cute when he was focused so intently…

She held her breath as if to minimize any distraction, and the only sounds were the clicking of the plastic against metal along with the chirps of the crickets. The Hudson river was calm on the other side of the lighthouse.

Then, a telltale click. “Got it!” He looked over at Matilda only to be blinded by the beam of light, and he squeezed his eyes shut. 

“Sorry!”

“I’m fine.” 

He stood up, one hand over his eyes, and wobbled slightly. Matilda rushed over to him and grabbed his arm. “You okay?”

Brom blinked a few times before he focused on her. “Never better.”

He grabbed the basket and waved Matilda inside before closing the door behind them.

“Now if anyone comes, we run and blame Ichabod, got it?” Brom said.

“Obviously.”

Matilda followed Brom through the small room to the stairs. “Brom, you’re sure no one’s home?” She could only make out vague silhouettes of furniture in the dim light.

Brom shook his head. “No one lives here anymore. They’ve got a house just down the road.” He waved towards the stairs. “Do you want to go first?”

Matilda directed the flashlight up the staircase that circled the building. “Sure. Just keep your eyes up, Bones.”

“I wouldn’t dream of doing anything else.”

By the time they reached the top of the lighthouse five storeys up, Matilda fought to catch her breath, and her legs ached. Still, the view was worth it as they stood beside the giant light bulb and looked out across the river. The exertion had also helped her forget about how cold it was.

She turned to Brom, who huffed beside her. “Are you okay?”

Brom took a deep breath and planted his hand against the glass. “I’m fine,” he wheezed,

Matilda reached for the basket in his other hand. “What’s in here?” 

He set it on the ground and Matilda pulled out a thick wool blanket. Underneath, she found some hand warmers and a small telescope.

“Ichabod"—wheeze—"helped me"—wheeze—"pack that.” 

“Oh?” The telescope was a pretty big clue. And the hand warmers were also a thoughtful touch. She opened a couple and slipped them into the pockets of her leather jacket close to her body. ‘You want some?”

Brom struggled to stand upright and nodded as he took them from her, placing them in his interior pockets. “Icky was right. But don’t tell him, okay?”

“Obviously.” 

The thought of Ichabod helping Brom prepare for tonight made her smile. She was also glad that Brom wasn’t entirely left to his own devices.

She leaned against the railing and looked out across the river. The light from the lighthouse sparkled along the surface, and she was almost certain she could see the stars’ reflection twinkling in the water. Or maybe that was just the wine. “It’s pretty.” She clicked off the flashlight and tucked it into the basket, the large bulb before them providing more than enough light. She saw a note stuck on the lid of the basket and opened it up. 

Have a fun night! And don’t let Brom in front of the lightbulb.

Matilda turned around to see Brom had already poised himself in front of the light, his hands on his hips and his elbows pointed. He was thankfully facing outwards towards the river and not into the light, but Matilda froze all the same.

“Babe, look! I’m sending out the Bat signal. Or more like, the Brom signal. Get it?”

Matilda would have chuckled if she wasn’t worried about her husband blinding himself. “Brom, close your eyes.”

“Why?” Brom began to turn around.

“Don’t! Just close your eyes and come this way.”

“Okay, Hon’, but if you wanted to play Marco Polo you could have just said.”

Matilda grabbed his hand and led him back to safety behind the giant beam of light. “I’m not guiding you down five flights of stairs when you can’t see anything, okay?”

Brom nodded. “Good point.” He leaned forward and kissed Matilda’s forehead, and she froze. With a simple gesture, the lighthouse faded away, along with the worries about their physical safety or comfort. In the dark, sleepy town, above the trees and the river, it was just the two of them, and the brush of his lips on her forehead sent a thrill through her. 

Brom gave her hand a squeeze before he reached for the blanket that she’d thrown over the railing. “Here,” he said as he draped it across their shoulders. “I’d thought we’d maybe be able to sit, but we won’t be able to see anything. We could just lean against the railing, though.”

“Mmhmm.” Matilda couldn’t help but nestle into him as he wrapped his arm around her under the blanket, and even with their winter coats, she could feel some of his body heat. Brom crossed his other arm over his middle and found Matilda’s hand. 

Matilda took a deep breath, her chest filled with a pleasant ache, a weird mix of comfort and longing that she couldn’t name. And yet, for once, her head wasn’t swimming with a myriad of questions. 

“This is nice,” she murmured. 

“Oh?” Brom said softly. 

“I mean, I lo—I appreciate what you did tonight, pretending to start over.”

“You caught that, huh?”

Matilda smiled as he played with her fingers while she clasped the blanket together around them with her free hand. “Yeah, I picked up on some things,” she continued. “But I also like—I like that we know each other. And I like getting to know each other.” She licked her lips as she considered her words, unsure of how much she wanted to say—or how much she needed to say. “I’m glad that we’re not really starting over.”

Brom squeezed her shoulders. “Me too,” he whispered in her ear, and Matilda closed her eyes as a pleasant shiver ran through her. Not long ago, the thought of going on a date with Brom Bones would have terrified her, but now…

This was nice. 

Matilda thought she heard faint ukulele music coming from below. She frowned at Brom. 

“It’s Diedrich,” he explained with a sheepish smile. “I asked if he could provide some background music.”

Matilda listened. “Is that the song from ‘Lady and the Tramp’?”

“Maybe.”

Matilda rested her head on Brom’s shoulder as the sweet notes from the ukulele drifted up towards them. She had no idea what time it was, but she didn’t want to know. Part of her wished they could stay up here forever—even if she knew they’d eventually freeze, and she’d rather not be stuck wearing tights and heels for all eternity.

But for all that they’d been playing pretend, and for all that they’d been learning about each other, Matilda knew she had something else she needed to tell him.

“Brom, I need to tell you something.”

“Hmm?”

His voice was drowsy, and Matilda straightened to see his face. Concern creased his brow as his eyes flitted back and forth between hers. “Is everything okay?”

Matilda bit her lip. “I’ve—I’ve been getting calls from Baltus’s lawyer.”

“What?” He shifted so he stood facing her, and his hand fell to her arm. “When? What did he want?”

Matilda sighed and closed her eyes for a moment. “I didn’t answer,” she admitted before opening her eyes again. “I mean, I answered the first time, but I hung up on him. And then I’ve just been ignoring his calls.” And messages.

“Do you have a lawyer?”

Matilda winced. Just the word sounded expensive. And exhausting. “No. But I—I thought I should tell you. Plus, he seemed to know we’re married, so I wasn’t sure if he’d start calling you, or if someone else will start calling about all of this…” Matilda felt her breathing become shallow as panic threatened to overwhelm her.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Brom said. The blanket slipped to the ground as he placed both hands on her arms and gripped tightly. “Breathe in and out, okay?”

Matilda nodded as she followed his lead and focused on her breathing, grateful for his presence, the sound of his voice keeping her grounded.

“You’re not alone, Matty, okay? I’m here. And I’m glad you told me.” He pulled her to him and wrapped her in a big hug, and she buried her face in his shoulder. 

After a few moments, they pulled back. “We’ll get a lawyer, okay? And we’ll be prepared for whatever bullshit Baltus might be planning.” Matilda nodded and blinked away the lone tear that threatened to spill. 

In truth, she felt lighter now that she’d told Brom.

They stood in silence and Matilda noticed the ukulele music still playing. Diedrich had switched to another song, and Matilda thought she recognized the song “Kiss the Girl.”

In unison, Matilda and Brom leaned towards the stairs and yelled, “Not now, Diedrich!”

“Message received!” Diedrich yelled back before complete silence fell. 

Matilda let out a sad chuckle as she and Brom turned back towards each other, his hands still on her arms. “It’s getting late,” he admitted, and Matilda hated to agree. “Why don’t I take you home?”

Matilda nodded slowly, reluctant to see the night end, but eager to see a warm bed. Her head felt full and a little fuzzy, and she couldn’t resist Brom’s offer of a piggyback down the stairs, however misguided the idea. 

Brom walked behind Matilda as she slowly made her way up her stairs to her apartment door. She dug through her purse for her keys, and a small—silly—part of him was disappointed when she found them, as if he wanted to prolong their night together, even if just by a few seconds. 

She held them up but didn’t move to place them in the door. “I had a really good time tonight,” she said.

Brom relaxed his shoulders and his smile widened. “I’m glad,” he replied. “I wasn’t sure if Storms Inn would be weird, but I thought it was nice. I mean, Trevor Trinkets suggested Denny’s, and then when I said it needed to be more special, he said The Rainforest Cafe.” Brom realized he was rambling, and Matilda chuckled as she shifted her weight, her eyes fixed on his. “And, uh, Ramona suggested some gluten-free, dairy-free, vegan, keto place outside of town…”

“Ew,” Matilda said with her nose scrunched up.

“Yeah,” Brom agreed. God, she was cute when she did that. 

His heart rose to his throat and he stood frozen in place. Normally, this was the time where you’d kiss the girl good night, but Matilda was anything but normal, and he didn’t want to push too far.

And yet, part of him was dying to kiss her when she looked at him like that.

Before he could argue with himself even further, Matilda leaned forward and pressed her lips against his cheek. “Thank you, Brom."

She turned to unlock her door and before he knew it, she was in her apartment, hiding halfway behind the door frame, leaning her cheek on the door. “Good night.”

“G’night,” Brom mumbled with an awkward wave as she disappeared behind the door with a click.

Brom had a feeling he was well on his way to failing Paulie Tahoe’s directive from the “Friedberg Caper,” if he wasn’t there already.

But Paulie Tahoe was a quack, anyway.

Matilda took a deep breath as she closed the door on Brom. For being a first date, it felt like they’d already been on dozens before. And yet, her heart beat in excitement at the newness of it all, and how he’d clearly put so much thought into everything. 

She wasn’t used to having someone look at her like that.

Maybe the trick was to marry the guy first. Or admit that you maybe needed a lawyer, and that he might need one, too.

“Oh, look who’s finally home.”

Matilda looked up as she slipped her shoes off, and she moaned in pleasure from being released from her heels. “Hi, Verla.”

“I was worried you’d be out all night, especially at the inn. I thought I’d have to come and defend your virtue.”

Matilda couldn’t decide if she wanted to giggle or throw her shoe at her ghost-ward. “Why, I did have a nice night, thank you for asking.” 

Verla turned around and glided down the hallway, but not before Matilda caught a hint of a smile on her usually-serious features.

Matilda fell into the couch, not bothering to take her coat off. Her phone buzzed, and she dug it out to see a text from Ichabod. 

How did tonight go? And why is Brom asking me what calamari is?

Matilda bit back a smile and texted back, It was nice. Thank you for your help. I only semi-blinded Brom.

And don’t tell him.

As soon as she hit, “send,” another message popped up—this time from Brom.

YOU LET ME EAT SQUID?!???!?!

Matilda sunk into the couch cushions and giggled.

Chapter Text

Matilda stood on the front stoop of the little bungalow and clutched her offerings—a bottle of cheap merlot and a black leather jacket on a hanger in a dry cleaning bag. She rang the doorbell and took a breath as the door swung open to reveal a grinning Judy.

“You made it! Come on in!”

Before Matilda knew it, Judy had swept her inside, closed the door behind her, and grabbed the jacket and the wine from her. She saw Lucretia and Ramona settled on the couch, drinks already in hand, and Trudy was in the kitchen pulling something out of the oven. 

Matilda followed Judy to the kitchen counter. “I’m sorry I’m late,” she said as she glanced between Judy and Trudy. “There was a bit of a rush as I was closing up The Drugstore.”

Trudy placed a tray of hors d'oeuvres on a hot pad and waved off her concern with an oven-mitted hand. “No worries,” she said with a smile, her large eyes bright, her round face flushed from the heat of the oven. She noticed Judy pass by with the leather jacket and nodded to Matilda. “How was the date?”

“It was fine,” Matilda said quickly. It was more than fine, of course, but she’d need a drink or two before she’d volunteer more details. Plus, Judy would want to pry more than the short summary she’d been given at the bar over the course of the evening. Matilda would have to pace herself and deflect as much as possible. “Thanks for the jacket,” she added, praying she didn’t sound rude. “How are you? I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.”

Trudy flashed a grin, her ponytail bobbing as she looked down to plate the sausage rolls and cheese puffs. “I know, right? There’s always some new case that’s got my attention, and I hate the commute, but I could never pull this one away from Sleepy Hollow.” She nodded at Judy as Judy brushed behind her wife with a hand on her back, 

“What was that, Babe?” Judy asked as she gave an absentminded peck to her wife’s cheek before grabbing a couple of wine glasses. 

“Only that I can’t convince you to move to a less cursed town with me,” she said with a chuckle. 

“And give up all the excitement? Where else do you get to help ghosts and witches and headless horse-people with their mundane paperwork? Or work for the town and the morgue?” Judy winked at Matilda. “Wine?” 

Matilda shook her head. “Maybe later. Can I start with some water?”

“Sure thing.”

“You’re still working at the morgue?” Matilda asked as she relaxed against the counter, her arms crossed.

“Yeah. The town council wants to cut my hours even more since I’m technically demoted from being the mayor’s assistant, although somehow I’ve got double the work to do. They don’t seem to realize they don’t actually have a mayor anymore.” Judy and Matilda both shuddered, sharing the memory of that awful night. “Strangely enough, the morgue is much more cheerful.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Matilda agreed in earnest as she took the glass of water from Judy. “I’ll take a quiet room with a silent partner over town hall any day.”

“I know, right?” Judy chirped. “Besides, the bodies don’t passively-aggressively tell me to shut up and mind my business when I’m the only one trying to get things done.” She finished with a huff. “And, I’m getting pretty good with makeup.” Judy tilted her head and Matilda nodded in appreciation. 

Trudy rolled her eyes at the macabre subject. “Only in Sleepy Hollow,” she teased. “And they really don’t deserve you,” she said as she finished placing the last cheese puff on the platter and moved the greasy tray to the sink. Matilda watched as the two women maneuvered around each other as if they’d been married for years, though the sparks in their eyes made them look like newlyweds.

A strange ache hit Matilda’s chest and she thought of Brom, but she shook the image away as soon as it had come. Now was not the time. 

“As if you don’t have to deal with stuffy old white men in suits who are only half as competent as you but make way too much money,” Judy retorted after she poured herself a glass of white wine and returned the bottle to the fridge. 

“Or the fact that they’ll just call me ‘Moana’ even though I’ve told them I’m Persian-Chinese,” Trudy added with a sigh. “I don’t think most of my ancestors even saw the sea.”

“They’re the worst. But just you wait, my baby will be partner before you know it, and then she’ll be running the place.”

Trudy shook her head. “You know it’s not that glamorous, Sweetie,” she replied. “In the meantime, why don’t we stop with the shop talk and head over to our guests?” She slid around her wife and gently pushed her out of the kitchen. She followed close behind with the plate of hors d'oeuvres in one hand and her glass of whiskey and Coke in the other. Matilda took up the rear, but stopped suddenly when Trudy turned around and placed her fist with her drink by Matilda’s arm in lieu of a grasp. 

“Judy told me that Baltus’ lawyer has been calling you,” she said softly, and Matilda warmed at the understanding in her eyes. “The jerk,” she spat quickly, and Matilda almost chuckled at the venom in her voice reserved for very specific types of scumbags. “If you’re still looking for representation, I’d be happy to help.” Her eyes flitted back and forth. “I’m not really supposed to represent my wife, but it would be my pleasure to help you.” 

Matilda nodded slowly. “And Brom?” she asked. “Will he—are they going to come after him, too?”

“You’ll probably both be dragged into things, but you’re more directly involved. I’m guessing Baltus wants you to help his case—the benevolent father figure, etc.—but he’ll turn nasty quickly. Plus, the town might have charges.” Trudy tapped Matilda’s arm, and the cold glass and the clink of the ice brought her back to reality. “It’ll take a long time for anything to happen, anyway, mmkay? So don’t worry about it tonight. I just wanted to let you know you have allies.”

Matilda let out a breath. “Thanks, Trudy. I really appreciate it.” She forced herself to ignore the images of the Sleepy Hollow jail cells that swam before her.

“Babe, get your ass over here with the food! We’re starving!”

Trudy twirled around. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” she said as she crossed the few feet to the living room and sank down into a cushion on the floor beside the coffee table. “Here are your gourmet freezer sausage rolls and cheese puffs, m’lady.”

“My princess charming,” Judy said with her hands clasped together in a mock swoon. “Thanks.” She popped a cheese puff into her mouth. 

Matilda lowered herself onto a cushion beside Trudy, carefully tucking her legs to her side in her skirt. A soft mreow sounded beside her and she turned to find a long-haired orange pawing at her lap. 

“Oh, that’s just Prudy. You can just gently push her away if she’s bothering you.”

“No, it’s fine,” Matilda said as she scratched the cat’s soft head. Quickly, the pet padded onto Matilda’s lap and settled in, and Matilda stroked her back. Prudy began to purr, and the vibrations seemed to soothe Matilda’s own anxieties ever so slightly.

Ramona let out a sneeze. “Excuse me,” she said with a sniffle as she brought her hand up to her nose. Matilda narrowed her eyes, suspicious of someone whose allergies would only surface at the sight of a cat, as if its presence wasn’t already obvious. 

“Oh, are you allergic?” Judy asked. “I should have warned you, or maybe we can put Prudy in the bedroom—”

“It’s fine,” Ramona insisted with a wave of her hand, her bangles clinking together. “I’m used to putting up with such inconveniences, with my delicate constitution.”

“I might have something that can help,” Matilda said. She rummaged through her purse and pulled out a glass vial. “Antihistamines. It’s a family recipe.”

Ramona tilted her head. “Really?”

Matilda nodded. “Just a couple of drops on the tongue. It should work for the rest of the evening.” She held out the vial to Ramona, who slowly took the tincture. “Or you can put it in water if you like.” 

“Drops are fine,” she said. She glanced at the pet and at her hosts, as if weighing her options. Then, her mind made up, she tilted her head back and opened her mouth, letting a couple of drops fall on her tongue. She squeezed her eyes shut and took a gulp of her rosé before she screwed on the lid and handed the vial back to Matilda. “Thank you,” she said with a cough. 

Matilda shrugged and placed the vial in her purse.

“Do you always carry around a pharmacy with you in there?” Lucretia asked before taking a sip of her vodka cranberry.

“I, uh, just what I think might be useful,” Matilda said slowly. “I knew that Judy and Trudy have a cat, so I thought I’d bring that just in case…”

“I can feel my eyes and nose clearing already!” Ramona exclaimed. “That’s remarkable.”

Matilda replied, “It’s just some stinging nettle, and some horseradish to clear the sinuses.” Plus some other ingredients that the F.D.A. wouldn’t recognize.

Lucretia leaned forward. “What else do you have in there?” she asked. 

Matilda reached for her water on the coffee table, careful not to disturb the cat in her lap. “Um, not much—just something for headaches, and an ointment for muscle aches. And some moisturizer.”

“Well, if tonight goes well, we might need some of your headache cure!” Judy said with a laugh as she raised her glass. 

“Cheers to that, Babe,” Trudy said, and she leaned over to clink glasses with her wife. Everyone chuckled, and Matilda soon found herself beginning to relax. Truth be told, Matilda wasn’t used to hanging out with a group of women. 

It was almost… nice. 

The evening continued, and soon Matilda had welcomed a glass of wine that Judy offered. She heard a knock coming from the hallway, but she realized it came from the bathroom and not the front door.

Trudy frowned and Matilda hopped up, her lap long free of its feline companion. “I’ll get it,” she said. Trudy shrugged, either too tipsy to notice or unconcerned with the oddities of Sleepy Hollow.

Matilda slowly opened the bathroom door to reveal her ghost-ward, clad in sunglasses and a cigar resting between her lips.

Matilda rolled her eyes and plucked the cigar from Verla’s mouth. “What are you doing?”

“You said I shouldn’t just pop out of nowhere.”

“This isn’t exactly what I meant.”

Verla glided past her and made her way to the living room while Matilda ran the cigar under cold water before throwing it in the garbage pail. She hurried to join the others.

“Verla, welcome!” Judy exclaimed. “Do you want anything to drink?”

Verla maintained her deadpan expression, sunglasses and all. “What about the blood of your mortal enemies?”

“We’re fresh out of that, but how about some hard liquor?”

“That will do.”

“Much as I’d like to drain Baltus Van Tassel dry,” Trudy muttered to Matilda.

Matilda took a gulp of wine as Trudy whipped Verla something up at the bar cart, and she glanced at Lucretia and Ramona who barely noticed Verla’s entrance. Ramona looked like she was one flamboyant hand gesture away from spilling a few drops of rosé on Judy’s and Trudy’s couch, and Matilda felt pleasantly warm when Judy suggested margaritas. She was also secretly amused when Verla apparated across the room to pop up in between Lucretia and Ramona, making the two women jump. 

She should chastise Verla later.

The conversation hummed along, and Matilda was glad to be talking of ordinary things with ordinary women—like Lucretia and her week-long reservation at the inn of a pair of writers who insisted on having everything delivered to their rooms, or Ramona’s lament on the Trouser’s attempt to cast their next production. 

“Thank goodness for Eugene,” Ramona exclaimed as she waved her margarita glass around, and Matilda was grateful that the cocktail was slightly more viscous. “He’s been my rock through this trial, the Desi to my Lucy, the Laurence Olivier to my Vivien Leigh, the Kenneth Branagh to my Emma Thompson—”

“I’m no expert in Western pop culture, but didn’t all those couples break up?” Lucretia interrupted, her speech impeccably pronounced compared to Ramona’s slightly slurred words.

“How did you and Eugene meet, again?” Trudy jumped in when Ramona glared at Lucretia. 

Ramona turned to Trudy and beamed. She placed a hand on her heart and Matilda braced for a dramatic retelling. 

Nice save, Trudy, Matilda thought. Even she didn’t want to see what would happen should Lucretia and Ramona get on each other’s bad sides.

“Oh, it was love at first sight,” Ramona said with a sigh as she looked past Trudy to an invisible audience. “It was the first day of freshman year at Sleepy Hollow High, and I was but a naive, young sapling stepping out into the world, lost in the big halls, when this Clark Gable-type found me and we locked eyes as he offered to point me in the direction of room 209….”

The story should have been silly, but Matilda couldn’t help but be taken in by Ramona’s tale of how she and Eugene had instantly become high school sweethearts. At the very least, no one could deny that the two wannabe thespians were made for each other. 

“And what about you two?” Lucretia asked, turning to Trudy and Judy. “How did you two meet?”

Trudy and Judy looked at each other, and Matilda melted a little at the love she could see in their eyes.

Hells below, was she really becoming that sappy?

She couldn’t help but smile as the two recalled their meeting. “I was fresh out of law school working as a notary and I was trying to get from Pleasantville to Irvington when my car broke down in the middle of nowhere. I managed to get a tow-truck to bring me to the nearest town, and wouldn’t you know, who was the cute receptionist working at the mechanic’s?”

Judy raised her hand, her eyes sparkling. “It was me! I was the cute receptionist.”

Trudy giggled, an odd sound coming from a woman in a black turtleneck and tight pants who was more often than not clad in leather jackets. “She looked so out of place with her vintage dresses and her heels and her cardigans but I knew she had every one of those guys wrapped around her finger.” She grinned at Judy before returning her focus to Lucretia. “And then, to learn that our names were almost identical! Before I knew it, I was on a date in the weirdest little town and knowing I was somehow stuck in the best way possible.”

Judy stirred her margarita with her straw. “You know you love it,” she said before she sipped her drink.

Trudy threw the question back at Lucretia. “Is there someone special in your life?”

Lucretia sighed and sat back on the couch, and Matilda sat up when she saw the woman’s expression fall, like she might catch a glimpse of the true Lucretia—that is, Oksana Bolshekov. 

“There’s no one,” Lucretia replied. “There was sort of someone, once, but you know how it is. You think you’re leading him on a chase through the Mediterranean and around the Swiss Alps and next thing you know, you’re waking up alone in a hotel room in Finland with a fake moustache and a nun’s habit with a note that says, ‘Sorry for all the trouble.’” Lucretia sighed. “And that’s when you decide you will never love again.”

In spite of herself, Matilda’s heart couldn’t help but go out to Lucretia. “Tahoe?”

Lucretia nodded, a bittersweet acceptance in her eyes. “Tahoe.”

“For me, it was a young pharaoh. He begged me to become his queen but could never truly understand me or give me what I needed, so I had to call it off. Besides, he only built me an awful statue with the body of a cat, as if I look anything like that.”

Matilda frowned, mirroring the expressions of confusion around her. “I thought your love was Henri? Why haven’t I heard about this pharaoh?”

Judy mock whispered to Trudy across the coffee table. “Are we just gonna ignore the part where she said she was the sphinx, or…?” Judy shook her head and addressed her next question to Matilda. “So, Missy, that leaves you.”

Matilda felt her pulse quicken, and the fuzziness she was beginning to feel threatened to make her blush prematurely. “What about me?”

“You and Brom were looking pretty cozy at my inn,” Lucretia said with an arched brow, and she crossed her legs and leaned towards Matilda.

“The inn? ” Ramona exclaimed. “Ooh, do tell!”

Matilda swallowed, surprised at the comfort she felt in being surrounded by women. “It was nothing like that, ” she insisted. “We just had dinner.”

“So, I’m confused—are you guys married or not?” Ramona asked. 

Matilda bit her lip. Things were still complicated enough for her to try to explain to herself, nevermind to someone like Ramona Trousers. “We are married.”

“But you’re not together?”

“We’re… taking things slow.”

“I want to hear all the details!” Judy squealed, earning her a playful slap from Trudy.

“Babe, she might not feel comfortable sharing…”

Matilda gave a hesitant smile. “It’s okay,” she replied. “It’s—it’s kind of nice to be asked.” Part of her wished she could tell Kat about everything, though she doubted Kat would have been so enthusiastic to hear about a date with Brom. “He had the whole night planned out, and we met at the inn, and had a nice dinner—”

“—and he looked good in a suit,” Lucretia added.

Matilda frowned, confused at Lucretia’s enthusiasm. She never could pin this woman down. “Um, yeah, he looked good.” Matilda pushed away the thought she’d had of tugging him closer by his tie. 

“He’s got the boyish good looks of a Matt Damon, if Matt Damon had long, dark hair,” Ramona mumbled, waving her finger in the air. “It’s a shame he’s getting older.”

“Matt Damon or Brom?” Trudy asked, and Judy giggled. 

“Both,” Ramona answered in a breathy tone. “Either. And if Brom’s lucky enough to keep his hair…”

A wave of something flooded Matilda, and her cheeks warmed as heat rose in her chest. Sure, she’d imagined running her fingers through Brom’s hair, but that was for her to imagine, not—

“Okay, back to this date,” Judy chimed in. She’d placed her drink on the coffee table and leaned with her elbows on her knees as if to encourage Matilda to continue. 

“It was nice,” Matilda continued. “We got hot chocolate, and then we…” she trailed off, not wanting to admit the minor misdemeanour of breaking into the Sleepy Hollow lighthouse. “And then we went home.”

“You went home?” Judy shrieked.

“No, no, no, not like that!” Matilda replied quickly. “I mean, he drove me home, and we said goodnight. It was very chaste.”

“Oh,” Judy said in a huff as she sank back in her chair.

Trudy patted Matilda’s knee. “Whatever you feel comfortable with,” she repeated.

“Yes, what Trudy said,” Judy added. 

Ramona’s brow was creased in confusion, and Matilda wondered if Ramona’s sober self would appreciate the expression that could contribute to wrinkles. “So you’re married, but you live separately, and you haven’t…”

Matilda cheeks flushed. “No.”

“And do you want to?”

“Ramona!” Judy hissed.

Matilda swallowed, mulling over the question. “It was nice,” she repeated. There was a part of her that hadn’t wanted Brom to leave that night—that wondered what it would have been like if she’d been brave enough to kiss more than just his cheek…

But she wouldn’t admit that out loud. Not yet. Certainly not to Ramona Trousers.

“Well, if your creams and potions are as good as they say, you and Brom won’t have any issues when it comes to all that.”

Lucretia’s comment earned her a pillow in the face, though from who, Matilda wasn’t sure, as her face was planted firmly in her hands, despite the smile that threatened to overtake her. 

“I think it’s time for tarot readings!” Judy said as she sprang up from her chair, and Matilda was relieved for the distraction. 

She grabbed her cards from her purse and began to shuffle them as Trudy and Judy cleared the coffee table and covered it with a scarf. Since they’d already enjoyed a long evening, Matilda simplified the readings, though nobody seemed to mind. It was kind of fun to do readings for people she wouldn’t normally read for.

Ramona was the first eager recipient, and of course she was thrilled when Matilda turned over the Star: purpose, renewal, and spirituality. Lucretia was a little less pleased with one of her cards as the Hermit, the old man who represented solitude and introspection. Judy appropriately received the Justice card, and Trudy was reluctant to have a reading at first, but Matilda thought it was fighting that she ended up with Strength.  

Later that night as Matilda lay in bed, she thought over the evening she’d had, twirling the card that she’d pulled for herself last. She’d been hesitant when Judy had suggested the “girls’ night,” but in truth, there was something to be said for joining a group of women, of having fun and sharing. Kat would have laughed, but Matilda felt like she’d tapped into the same secret that had joined thousands of women over the centuries, a coven gathered over the campfire, over their tea and knitting, over their margaritas. 

The card glinted in the lamplight as she spun it around. The Lovers.

Attraction, choices, trials overcome—and love.

Chapter Text

“Oh my god, your headache drops are a lifesaver,” Judy moaned from her perch at the counter of The Drugstore the next morning.

Matilda smirked as she wiped a glass dry. “Glad I could help.”

“Seriously, you should sell those here.”

“That seems like a conflict of interest. Or, I guess, the opposite—create a problem and then charge for the solution?” 

“Or is it just good business sense?” Judy replied as she took a sip of her coffee. Matilda frowned and Judy chuckled. “Okay, you’re right. Just let me finish my coffee before we start debating business ethics.”

“Judy, it’s almost noon.”

“I didn’t say this was my first coffee.”

Matilda said nothing, secretly enjoying her early-bird friend’s less-than-chipper demeanour, for once. She could never understand how Judy could be so energetic first thing in the morning.

As Judy continued with her drink, Matilda’s phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out to see another text from Brom. 

So, if you had to pick a song to save you from Vecna, what would it be?

Matilda smiled and bit her lip. She placed her phone on the counter as she continued wiping glasses and mugs and returning them to their shelves. She glanced as her phone kept buzzing, reading the messages that popped up.

It’s a stranger things reference. Do you watch that? Just like what song grabs you from the first notes that start playing?

Matilda rolled her eyes and picked up her phone. I got the reference , she typed back. She watched as the three little dots appeared and she waited for Brom’s response.

Oh right. I think mine might be “My songs know what you did in the dark” by Fall Out Boy.

After a pause, another message popped up. Scratch that. Really it would be Orinoco flow. That song always makes me feel better.

Really? Enya? Matilda typed back. She kept her eyes glued to the screen, unable to resist seeing Brom’s replies as soon as they came in. At least, it was more fun than dishes. 

Of course. Enya slaps. 

How can I argue with that logic, Matilda replied. 

Matilda glanced up to see Judy looking at her with a mischievous smile. “What?” Matilda asked.

“What’s going on there?” Judy nodded to Matilda’s phone. 

“Nothing,” Matilda replied a little too emphatically. She felt like she’d been caught, but she wasn’t sure how.

“You look like you’re going all gooey.”

“I am not. I do not. You take that back!” Matilda threw the dish towel at her friend.

“Hey!” Judy cried, her smile widening. “Methinks the lady doth protest too much.”

Matilda glared at Judy, trying to look as threatening as possible. “Whatever you’re implying—don’t.”

Judy lifted her hands up and fought to keep her expression serious. “Yes, ma’am.”

Matilda’s phone buzzed and she saw another message from Brom.

Or maybe now, it might be “You’ve really got a hold on me.”

Matilda’s lips curled into a smile before she could stop herself. 

“There! That’s it!”

Matilda returned her phone to the counter and crossed her arms. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure, Jan,” Judy replied before she held up her mug and took a long sip of what had to be lukewarm coffee.

Matilda sighed and leaned on the counter, unsure if she was grateful or annoyed that Judy was the only customer. Suddenly, honesty felt like the best method to dispel whatever notions Judy had dancing in her head. “Brom’s just… asking me what my favourite song is,” she explained. “It’s just something he—we—started the other night. Asking each other questions. Kind of having a fresh start, getting to know each other… thing.” 

Judy tilted her head. “That’s kind of sweet.”

Matilda shrugged, though she couldn’t stop a certain kind of flutter in her chest. It was far from romantic letters being passed back and forth, but she did enjoy Brom’s texts.

Maybe more than she wanted to admit.

“So what’s your answer?” Judy asked over her mug.

“Oh! I forget to tell him,” Matilda admitted. She grabbed her phone, pausing in thought before she finally typed out, This Feeling by the Alabama Shakes, and hit “send”. 

“So, am I allowed to know what your songs are? Anything romantic? ” Judy asked, and Matilda could have sworn she saw her eyebrows wiggle.

Matilda narrowed her eyes. “I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”

“And I know how to make it a painful death and hide the body so no one will ever know,” Verla added as she popped up on the stool beside Judy.

Judy jumped but did well to regain her composure. “Duly noted,” she said simply before returning her attention to Matilda. “So, change of subject before this one decides she really wants to murder me. When do you think we should have our next girls’ night?”

Matilda reached over and grabbed the towel that she’d accosted Judy with. “Aren’t you still recovering from last night? And you already want to plan the next one?"

“Of course! I was thinking we could have a spa night—pamper ourselves, paint each others’ nails, do face masks, put cucumbers on our eyes—the whole nine yards!”

A few months ago, Matilda would have rolled her eyes at the idea, but now Judy painted an appealing picture. Or maybe it was just her friend’s enthusiasm. 

“Do you think that would be fun?” Judy asked. “You had fun last night, right?”

Matilda nodded. “Yeah,” she assured her. 

Judy nodded with a grin. “Great! It’s a plan. Maybe you can bring your moisturizer, or whatever other things you’re making. Hey!” She slapped the counter as if she was about to announce a brilliant idea. “We could be your guinea pigs! And your first customers.” She leaned forward, and Matilda instinctively mirrored her. “Maybe you could even sell those here. Topical creams are probably less of a hassle to get approved than anything oral.” 

Matilda pursed her lips, sure that Brom or even Ichabod would make a joke. 

Judy caught herself and winced. “You know what I mean,” she said as she glanced between Verla and Matilda.

“Yeah, I get it.” Matilda offered a smile, grateful at Judy’s sentiment. In truth, this last year hadn’t left her time or energy to think about her own shop. It was nice to be reminded of her goal, and by her friends that wanted her to succeed. “That’s not a bad idea.”

“It’s a date! So start thinking of new products. And you,”—Judy turned to Verla—”you’re invited, too. I’m not sure how this works,”—she waved the palm of her hand around Verla’s almost transparent face—”but you can at least help apply the face masks and nail polish. If you want.”

Verla kept her expression deadpan, as always. “I have a strict regimen involving the tears of toxic man-babies and the blood of their forefathers.”

“I tried that,” Matilda jumped in. “Didn’t work out too well. Left me with hives for a week.”

“Well, I’m gonna have to pass, but if you,”—Judy pointed at Matilda—“ever have a new cream or potion that you want me to try that should hypothetically be passable by the F.D.A., let me know!”

“Mmhmm!” Matilda said with an overly cheerful smile, mentally running through her list of usual ingredients and magical additions. At least there was no “eye of newt”. 

The day passed by slowly, and Matilda took advantage of the times in between rushes—if they could be called as much—to pull boxes of decorations out from storage. Most of Sleepy Hollow was already alight with Christmas ornamentation, so Matilda knew she had put it off for long enough, even if Mr. Taylor hadn’t said anything yet. It wasn’t that she didn’t like the holiday, but it was usually a little too in-your-face-cheerful for her taste. Besides, her heart wasn’t entirely feeling the festive vibes this year. 

As Matilda rounded the corner with another box of decorations, she heard the bell ring at the entrance of The Drugstore.

“We’re closed,” she grumbled from behind her box, unable to see the door from behind the cardboard stuffed with ribbons and fake garland. Nevermind that that wasn’t entirely true.

“Even if you’re married to the manager?” a familiar voice asked, and Matilda smiled behind the safety of her load.

“I might be able to make an exception,” she replied, her tone serious. 

“Here, Babe, let me get that,” Brom said as he crossed the bar and took the box from her. He wobbled slightly under the weight. “Where do you want it?” his muffled voice asked into the cardboard. 

“Anywhere’s fine,” she answered as she leaned on her elbows on the back counter and watched Brom lift the heavy box onto the counter in between the diner-style stools. She couldn’t help but appreciate the way his muscles flexed even in his bulky winter layers, and she winced at herself.

This is Brom.

“Are there any more?” Brom asked as he unbuttoned his coat and unwrapped his scarf from around his neck.

“Yeah,” Matilda said distractedly. She waved to one of the stools. “You can leave your stuff there.”

She led him into the back and down the stairs to the unfinished basement where Colonial Drugs ‘N’ Stuff kept its surplus of toilet paper and beer and seasonal decorations, amongst other things. Matilda was also convinced there had to have been a body buried somewhere, though the floor had long since been covered in concrete. 

Matilda found the last box she’d slid to the front shelf, ready to join its brethren upstairs. “This is it.”

Perhaps it was a little cliché to get a guy to help with physical labour, but after the day she’d had manning The Drugstore by herself, she was not going to turn down Brom’s offer. Besides, it was nice to have someone with her. 

With a grunt, he lifted the last box. “What’s in here, vampires stakes and human skulls?”

“You of all people know what human skulls weigh.”

“True. This feels more like a box of headstones.”

“It’s probably Mr. Taylor’s ceramic Christmas houses.”

Brom simply grunted in reply, and Matilda stepped back as she waved him up the open wooden stairs. She stayed behind and held the pullstring of the exposed lightbulb. Once again, she appreciated a certain view, and she wasn’t sure if she cared enough to chastise herself. 

When Brom was more than halfway up the stairs, Matilda clicked the light off and hurried behind him. When Brom was almost at the doorway, the door mysteriously closed, throwing them into pitch dark.

“Uh, Matilda?”

“Yeah?”

“What just happened?”

“The door closed.”

Brom sighed. “Do you think you can, uh….” 

Matilda felt her way up a couple of steps until her hand brushed Brom’s sleeve, and she squeezed past him in the small space until she felt the doorknob. She twisted the round knob, anticipating the release of the latch, and her heart sank when the door remained closed. 

“You can open the door, right, Matty?” Matilda sensed a hint of panic in Brom’s voice.

She turned the knob back and forth, though despite her efforts, they remained in the dark. 

Matilda’s eyes began to adjust with the sliver of light that came from under the door. She could see Brom peeking over the cardboard box that was wedged between them, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about being trapped in an enclosed space with the man who was technically her husband.

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Matilda insisted. Then, she slammed her palm against the door, and Brom jumped. “Verla! Verla, you open this door this instant, young lady! Verla! ”

Matilda stopped and held her breath as she strained to detect any sign of her ghost-ward in the silence. All she could hear was her own pulse in her ears, along with Brom’s slightly heavy breathing. She licked her lips as her forearm touched Brom’s fingers that gripped the box in his hands.

“Uh, Matty? This is getting heavy,” Brom groaned, and he shifted his leg awkwardly to support his weight on the stairs. 

“ VERLA!” Matilda screamed with a few more bangs on the door. At her last whack, the door swung open to reveal a nonchalant Verla on the other side, a knife in her grip.

“Eeeeeek!” Brom yelled, and Matilda winced and covered her ears, praying that he didn’t drop the very fragile collection of decorations. The last thing she needed was for Mr. Taylor to take the cost of the porcelain out of her wages, though, of course, he was too nice for that.

“Oops,” Verla said before she held up an orange in her other hand and glided back towards the main bar.

Matilda took a deep breath and scrambled out of the doorway. “Sorry about that,” she mumbled.

“Yeah. No worries.”

They settled themselves in the middle of the bar, surrounded by half open boxes of lights and fake greenery and bells and ribbons. She’d started to pull the strands of garland out, relieved that the lights she’d left on the fake greenery hadn’t become tangled. “Were you just on your way home?” Matilda asked Brom as she pulled up a chair behind the counter to the mirrored cabinet.

“Yeah, I was just tidying up after practice, and then I thought I’d drop by to say, ‘hi,’” he said with a warm smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. He tried to take a step closer to Matilda and only narrowly avoided tripping over a box. He righted himself and jerked his head back to flip his hair out of his face. “Hi.”

Matilda’s chest warmed. “Hi.” 

Brom looked around as Matilda lined up a piece of garland across the large wooden piece of furniture. “Do you want some help?”

Matilda shrugged. “I don’t want to keep you if you need to get home. Verla and I can take care of things.” She glanced over at Verla who was cutting orange slices at the central counter. She waved at them with her knife that was far larger than required.

Brom swallowed as he pulled his gaze from Verla and met Matilda’s eyes. He relaxed into another smile. “I’d love to help… if you want me to.”

“That would be nice.”

“As long as you don’t try anything,” Verla added with another flourish of her knife.

Broma frowned. “Didn’t she just lock us in the basement?” he whispered as he tried to lean closer to Matilda. “I’m getting mixed signals.”

“She also insists that she was the real-life inspiration for Dickens’ ghost of Christmas future, so I never know what to believe.”

“I’d believe it,” Brom muttered, and he took a step back as if to put an extra foot of space between him and the possibly murderous ghost. 

“Do you want to grab a chair and take this end of the garland?” Matilda asked. Brom jumped into action and quickly grabbed another chair to mirror Matilda’s position on the other side of the furniture.

“So, did you guys have a fun girls’ night?” Brom asked as they both raised the garland over the furniture piece. “Did you drink margaritas and dance around to the ‘Lime in the Coconut’ song?”

Matilda narrowed her eyes over the garland. “Do you think girls getting together is just recreating the midnight margaritas scene from Practical Magic ?”

Brom shrugged. “Maybe.”

Matilda focused on her hands as she adjusted the garland before she admitted, “We did have margaritas.” 

“I knew it!” Brom grinned. “What else did you do? Or am I not allowed to ask?”

It was Matilda’s turn to shrug. “Oh, you know, the usual. We made pagan circles and voodoo dolls of exes and performed ritual torture.” She flashed a wicked smile. “The usual.”

“Glad to hear it,” Brom replied with a sparkle in his own eye. And then, more seriously, “Did you have fun?”

“Yeah.” Matilda let the word hang in the air as they held each other’s gaze for a moment before she continued. “Judy was a little worse for wear this morning, but she’s already planning the next one.”

“I’m surprised Judy even has time for that given everything she’s up to.”

“It’s true.”

With the first garland in place, Matilda hopped down from her chair and plugged the string of lights into the outlet. With a cheerful blink, they flickered on, and something in Matilda lifted in spite of herself. 

“One down, only dozens more to go.”

Brom jumped down from his chair and rolled up his sleeves, revealing the dark hair on his forearms. “What next, Boss?”

The evening passed quickly as the trio transformed Colonial Drugs ‘N’ Stuff into, if not a Winter Wonderland, a cozy Yuletide corner. After the garlands and lights were hung up around the old medicine cabinets—which involved Brom spending the better part of an hour untangling a ball of lights—they set up Mr. Taylor’s ceramic houses with electric tea-lights. Matilda suspected that they were too cutesy for his wife’s home decor, and so he had to make due with displaying them at the bar. When they were all set up around the tops of the cabinets, it almost looked like Sleepy Hollow in miniature. Matilda smiled when Verla added in a graveyard and a little hand-made gallows. She was also impressed that Brom barely raised an eyebrow,

Matilda and Brom found themselves sitting side by side at the stools as they threaded string through Verla’s supernaturally dried orange slices. 

“So how do you and your family celebrate Christmas?” Brom asked as he fiddled with his piece of twine. He sat angled in his seat so his knee touched Matilda’s, and she was very aware of the simple point of contact. “Or do you call it something else?”

“Well, the Bishops celebrate Yuletide, which isn’t that different from Christmas—since, you know, the Christians stole it from us and repackaged it for their own sanitized purpose.” Matilda deftly threaded her twine through her orange slices, tying them with neat bows. “But my Dad’s family celebrates Christmas, so we do both. Yuletide starts on December twenty-first, and then Christmas on the twenty-fifth. We have the yule log, and gifts, and baking. My mom and dad and I used to go out into the woods to gather fresh greenery to bring it into the house. The fresh kind is much better than this fake stuff. And it represents the life and hope that will come after the darkness of winter, and the passing of the longest night of the year.” Brom tapped his knee against hers and she looked up.

“That sounds nice.” 

Matilda smiled, reading something deeper in his eyes she couldn’t quite place. “It is.”

“And the oranges?” he asked as he held one up. 

“The sunlight,” Matilda added. “The hope of new life to come.”

Brom gave an emphatic nod. “I like that.” He then looked behind Matilda to see Verla almost floating on a shelf of the open cabinet, reaching above the staff room door with a hammer and nails. “Is, uh, is she okay?”

“Oh, yeah, she’s fine. She’s just adding the Yuletide pentagram.”

“Ah.”

Matilda continued with the orange slices, her pile growing larger than Brom’s. “What about you? What do you usually do for Christmas?”

Matilda watched as Brom kept his gaze on his hands. “Not much. The last few years, my dad has been away, so I’ll usually get together with the Babes when they’re finished with their families sometime in the afternoon. I usually just have a quiet morning—sleep in, make a big breakfast. I used to go to my mom’s but as nice as they were, I always felt like the odd one out, you know? Since they already have their own family routines. So we usually just Facetime each other.”

Matilda swallowed. “And your dad?"

Brom flashed her a sad smile. “Sometimes there’s a phone call. Or a text. It’s no big deal,” Brom added when Matilda felt her heart sink in her chest, and she tried to give him a reassuring smile.

“I’m sorry, Brom. That must be hard.” 

“Nah, it’s fine. I get to Kevin McCallister it in a huge house for Christmas, and then I spend the rest of the day with my boys. What more could a guy want? Who knows, maybe my dad will be even home this year.”

Not for the first time did Matilda feel a pang of guilt at how she’d distanced herself from her parents over the last year—but this pang was for an entirely new reason. “It sounds fun,” she replied, unsure of what to say, scared that she would offer too much or too little. She began to fiddle with her wedding ring before she turned her attention back to the last orange slice. 

The whack of the hammer against the nails in the wall sounded behind her, and she followed Brom’s gaze to Verla’s handiwork. “She’s just going to wrap the ribbon around them,” she explained. 

Brom wisely said nothing more and held up his last orange slice. “Whaddaya think?” he asked, beaming proudly.

Matilda glanced between the two piles. “Let’s just call it a draw,” she said with a pat on his knee. “And hopefully you’re more help with hanging these up than you are at tying them.”

“Touché.”

The two of them slid off their stools and gathered up their piles of orange slices. They could have easily divided and conquered, but Matilda’s chest warmed when they naturally fell into step beside each other, winding around the bar to hang up the orange slices along the garlands. The sweet smell reminded Matilda of the Yuletides of her childhood, and she loved the way the light almost shone through the thin pieces of dried fruit, highlighting the sunny colour, more beautiful than any stained glass.

She also enjoyed the way that Brom seemed a little too close, and how often their fingers or their shoulders or their arms touched, though they had a whole store’s worth of space in which to move around. The sense of intimacy was heightened when the room fell silent, relieved of Verla’s banging, and Matilda’s pulse quickened.

“I wanted to ask, do you have any plans on Saturday?”

“Hmm?” Matilda asked. “No. What were you thinking?”

“It’s nothing exciting,” Brom explained quickly as he reached up with one of their handmade orange ornaments and fastened it on a plastic branch. “I just thought you could come to our basketball practice. It’s not a full game, but it’s open to parents and anyone who wants to come.”

Matilda bit her lip and glanced at Brom, and he met her eyes. “I’d like that.”

Brom grinned. “Great!” He turned his attention to the task at hand with even more energy as they shuffled their way around the room. “I won’t be able to pick you up, but if you’re there around one forty-five, that should be good.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Awesome. So…” Brom’s features creased in mock seriousness. “If you could only pick one thing to bring to a desert island what would it be?”

“Oh, come on, you must have better questions than that.”

“Aw, Matty, have pity on me. It’s late. And I just got locked in a haunted basement by a ghost with a knife.” 

“I’m pretty sure you love that kind of stuff.”

“I will neither confirm nor deny your accusation. Now, hit me up with another orange slice, Babe!”

Though it took awhile, Matilda was disappointed when they’d finished decorating the bar. She wasn’t quite ready to call an end to their night, though she could see Brom’s energy wane and she had to bite back her own yawns. She was also glad that she didn’t have to take all of the boxes back down to the basement herself, though she promised to hold the door open for Brom.

“Thanks, Hon’,” he said as he emerged after his last trip, The Drugstore now cleared of its empty containers. What remained was the cozy glow of the lights and the faint scent of citrus, along with the striking red ribbon of Verla’s large star in the centre of the room surrounded by a large wreath—all with the greenery of fake pine, though Matilda thought it looked almost as pretty as the real thing. 

Brom stood beside her as they surveyed their handiwork. “It looks great!” he said as he rubbed his neck. “But, uh, would you happen to have more of that cream? My neck and shoulders have been getting sore this week.”

“Sure. It’s just in the back.” Matilda made her way to the staff room door, while Brom grabbed his things and followed closely behind. 

“I’ve got more jars for you,” he said as he handed her a bag. Matilda grabbed it carefully as she heard clinking glass. “I think the Babes took my suggestion to save their jars for you a little too seriously. They’ve been eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for weeks.”

Matilda’s eyes widened as she opened the bag, worried that the weight would strain the thin plastic. “You can tell them to slow down. These will last me awhile. But thank you.”

In turn, she rummaged through her purse and grabbed a medium-sized jar of ointment. “Here you go.” She froze when he started to remove his shirt. “I, uh, I’m—I’ll just leave you to it.”

Before she could wait for a response, she fled the room, cursing the flush in her cheeks and the race of her pulse.

It’s just Brom. It’s just Brom! It was just her childhood friend that had helped her decorate The Drugstore and was asking her silly questions. 

She busied herself with straightening out the mugs to be ready for the morning, but in truth, there was nothing that couldn’t wait until then. When she finally ran out of fake tasks, she finally made her way back to the staff room, praying that he would be fully clothed. 

She slowly opened the door and chuckled in relief to see Brom lying on the couch, his eyes closed and his side rising and falling in even breaths. He looked so peaceful, almost childlike, that Matilda didn’t have it in her heart to wake him. 

It’s Brom. This was her husband who had chosen her time and time again, who wanted to do menial tasks with her, who made her laugh—her husband who deserved to be part of a family that he so clearly craved. 

Her heart swelled, and she reached for a blanket and pulled it up over him. 

Now seemed as good a time as any to get some inventory done.

Chapter Text

Matilda passed through the doors of the middle school gymnasium. The drone of small talk—that telltale sign of convening adults—had already collected in the plastic folding stands and echoed off the walls along with the squeak of sneakers on the polished wood floor. Matilda’s muscles tensed with the thud of the basketballs against the floor dulled slightly by the crowd of spectators, most of which looked far older than she. She gripped her purse as she scanned the room, desperate for a friendly face. 

What did you expect, Matilda? An empty gym where Brom would sweep you away in a private tour of his little kingdom?

“Matilda! Over here!”

Matilda blinked, her attention caught by the lanky science teacher waving her over to his section of the stands. 

“Hey, Ichabod,” Matilda greeted as she slid in beside him, her shoulders relaxing slightly. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

A strum of a ukulele sounded on his other side, and Diedrich solidified in what had been an empty seat. 

“Hey, Diedrich.”

Ichabod moved his messenger bag from beside him and tucked it between his feet. “Brom invited us,” he explained. “I thought it would be good to come out and support the kids.” He threw a glance around the stands and shrugged. “I thought there’d be some more teachers here, though,” he admitted. 

Matilda scooted an inch closer to Ichabod, grateful for the company. “Do you know much about basketball?”

“Not really. Do you?”

“Nope.”

Matilda knew better than to ask Diedrich, who’s slim frame and tight grip on his ukulele was more than answer enough. 

She glanced around the gym, recognizing a majority of the attendees—the result of spending her whole life in a small town—but there was no one she knew well. Not that she needed confirmation that this wasn’t her usual circle. Well, aside from the Babes who had set themselves up in the front row with banners and… were those pom-poms? Tripp even wore an oversized pirate hat complete with a permed wig.

She quickly scanned the perimeter of the court, barely registering the giant, cartoonish pirate painted on the wall in front of her or the orange stripes that circled the room before she settled her attention on the doors that led to the locker rooms. Brom must be in there. Was he giving the kids a pep talk? Or were they revving up with some stupid cheer that she knew Brom probably loved even more than his students did?

Then, the door opened, and Matilda held her breath. The parents behind her cheered and the kids smiled and waved as they filed out and sat on the benches. Half of the kids wore red pinnies and half wore blue, and Matilda was surprised to see they were co-ed. And were middle-school students really that young ? Matilda remembered feeling much older when she was twelve or thirteen.

Before her thoughts could lead her farther down the not-so-nostalgic rabbit hole, Matilda spotted Brom emerge from the locker room, bringing up the rear in his confident stride. He wore a baseball tee with his whistle around his neck, and he gripped a large water bottle in his hand. He smiled at the crowd until he locked eyes with Matilda, and he flashed her a grin. For a couple of seconds, they held each other’s gaze, and Matilda beamed back at him.

“Good luck,” she mouthed to him as she lifted both thumbs up, and he nodded back before he made his way to the middle of the benches in between the two teams. 

Matilda noticed Ichabod studying her, and she glared at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” he insisted, though Matilda sensed he was fighting back a smile.

“Not you, too,” she said in a huff.

“I didn’t say anything!” 

Matilda ignored whatever cutesy love song Diedrich had begun to strum, grateful that the ghostly bard was the least likely subject of anyone’s attention at that moment. She jabbed a finger at Ichabod. “It’s bad enough I’m getting it from Judy, but you, too?”

“Matilda, I didn’t say anything!”

Matilda sat back in her seat. “Fine.”

“I just never thought I’d see you darken the doors of a school gym,” Ichabod added, though his bravado quickly dissipated when he winced at Matilda’s index finger pointed back at him with a little wiggle for show.

“Yeah, well, the same could be said for you.”

Ichabod shrugged with a smile, and Matilda relaxed slightly. She was probably being ridiculous. 

The truth was, there was a part of her that was pleased to be invited into Brom’s world—to see him in action, and to have him want her there. 

She just hoped he didn’t mind that she didn’t know the first thing about basketball.

“It can’t be that hard, right?” Matilda asked as she leaned closer to Ichabod. “They just have to get the ball in the hoops?”

“That’s the gist.”

Matilda fell quiet as the two teams arranged themselves on the court in a mix of blue and red pinnies, with a couple of students from either side left on the benches. Brom placed his water bottle on a bench and grabbed a basketball from the holder and walked to the centre of the court. He faced the stands and Matilda almost expected him to give a bow. Instead, he met the eyes of the two players—a boy and a girl—with him in the centre and gave a nod to each before he threw the ball up in the air. The tall girl jumped and flicked the ball behind her, where a boy in a matching red pinnie bounced the ball as he jogged towards the opposite end. The ball passed between players until the other team intercepted it, and then they were travelling—er, dribbling?—across the court. 

“Remember to pass, Ricky!” Brom called out. “Good job!” he added when the boy, who was almost blocked by his opponent, tossed the ball to his teammate. 

Matilda leaned closer to Ichabod. “So do you know all these kids?”

“Yeah,” Ichabod replied, his voice raised over the shouts and the thumps of the ball. “I see them all in my science classes. They’re split up into three classes altogether.”

“Right.” Matilda found her gaze drawn towards Brom, and she loved watching the expressions that crossed his features as he studied the action on the court. She forced herself to find the ball and to pay attention to the game—which was why she’d come, of course.

“What about you? Do you know anyone out there?”

Matilda nodded. “I recognize everyone. I think I could tell you most of their names, but maybe about half of them come through The Drugstore?” The crowd—if it could be called that—seemed to collectively hold their breath as a girl with blonde hair took a shot from alongside the net, followed by a sigh when the ball just grazed the rim. Soon, the players dribbled and passed the ball around the court, and another player got his turn to take a shot.

The brunette boy threw the ball from behind a line and the ball soared through the air and landed in the net. Even Matilda felt a rush of energy as she joined in the applause. She instinctively looked at Brom, who grinned and clapped. 

“Way to go, Caleb!” he yelled across the gym. “Three points!” Matilda could almost feel him beam with pride, and she clapped even louder. 

For the first time, she noticed an older student at the back by the scoreboard who added a large “3” card to the “visitor” side.

The game continued on as one of the kids dribbled the ball to the other side of the court, and soon the ball began its journey once more, bouncing around from player to player like a ping-pong ball. It was strange, how much she was invested in this game, while at the same time, she felt herself distracted by the coach.

“Did you go to a lot of school games?” Ichabod asked.

“Hmm?” Matilda replied as she registered his question. “Oh, yes—I mean, not really.” Memories of finding an empty spot at the end of a row of bleachers to watch Kat as a cheerleader sprung to mind. “More in high school. Kat was head cheerleader then, so she was always dragging me out to the different games.”

All of a sudden, she could see Kat’s high school self, complete in her cheer uniform and ponytail, leaping into Brom’s arms after he scored the winning touchdown, her legs wrapped around him as they celebrated his victory with a kiss. The perfect king and queen of Sleepy Hollow High.

“Careful, Sophie, stay in bounds,” Brom called, his voice firm but encouraging. “You got it.” It was hard to believe that this man was the same hot-headed teenager who used to boast that he single-handedly led the Sleepy Hollow team to win the regional championships—a feat that was promptly celebrated by a rager at his dad’s house.

Matilda realized she was half ignoring Ichabod. She looked over at him and wondered if he’d also thought of Kat—or if his memory had taken him farther back in time. “What about you? Did you go to your school’s games? Were you a big supporter of… ‘insert creepy mascot here.’”

“The mavericks,” Ichabod filled in with a chuckle, and he adjusted his glasses. “We even had a real horse, but she was just a poor mare who was ancient when I was a freshman.”

“Yikes.”

“Yeah. So, if Sleepy Hollow Middle School has the pirates, what’s the high school?”

Matilda sighed. “The Hessians.”

Ichabod’s eyebrows raised behind his glasses. “Really?”

“Yep.”

“Like… is the mascot headless?”

Matilda frowned as she tried to remember. She had purposely avoided attending any sports games as soon as her best friend was no longer head cheerleader. “I think it might have a pumpkin head?”

“You’re kidding.”

“We don’t kid about that kind of thing in Sleepy Hollow,” Matilda said with mock seriousness.

“I’ve noticed.”

Diedrich popped his head around Ichabod. “Is there going to be some sort of half-time show or something?

Matilda shook her head. “Don’t hold your breath.”

“Hmph.” 

The whistle blew and Matilda whipped around to see Brom point out a shorter boy with a slight build and raven-black hair. The whistle dropped from his lips as he jogged over. “Sorry, Ricky, that’s a foul.” 

“Did you see what happened?” Matilda asked Ichabod and Diedrich. 

“Not sure,” Ichabod replied. 

“Hey, Coach, that wasn’t a foul!” a man cried from a couple rows in front of them. Matilda recognized him as Mr. Van Housen, Ricky’s father.

“He was travelling,” Brom said firmly. He turned to Ricky and placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder. Matilda strained to hear what he said. “No worries, just try to remember you’ve got to keep bouncing the ball, and only one hand, right?” Brom said, his voice and expression full of warmth. The boy nodded and Brom smiled. “Good job.”

He then tossed the ball to a player on the opposing team. They had a few more minutes of play before Brom sounded his whistle and everyone shuffled off the court. 

“I think that was the first quarter,” Ichabod said. Matilda nodded, though he could have told her there were seven halves and she might have believed him. Clearly she’d retained nothing from her hours of following Kat to games.

The next quarter soon started, with a slight rearrangement of players, and Matilda noticed that Ricky was on the bench—and his dad seemed none too pleased. The older man shifted in his seat until he stepped over a couple of rows of the stands to sit as close to the players as he could. Brom frowned in his direction, and Matilda wondered if he’d caused issues before. 

When nothing more happened, Matilda’s attention fell back to the game. She noticed the scoreboard read “16” and “12”, though she had no idea how the points were added up. She just knew to cheer when the ball went through the net, and she clapped in sympathy when a shot didn’t quite make it. Much to her surprise, she found her interest was genuine, and the discovery brought a certain sense of relief. 

In truth, her only experience with sports had resulted in boredom at best and aggravation at worst—and more often than not, it was the latter. There was a part of her that was scared she’d feel the same today, much as she was desperate not to. 

Instead, she felt a little thrill when the ball passed from one side to another, when the kids pulled off a fancy move that she couldn’t name, or when they offered encouragement to each other, even when they were on opposing sides. She also loved seeing how much they took Brom’s instructions to heart, and how attentive he was to everyone’s skill level. 

She could also see how he tried to keep some distance between Ricky and his father as best he could.

“Do you think there’s a snack bar here? Diedrich whined as the third quarter was nearing its end.

Matilda sighed. “It’s a middle school, Diedrich. At most there’s a vending machine with candy bars that have probably been there since before we were in middle school.” She frowned. “What would you want with a snack bar, anyway?”

“I don’t know—I could have, like, got you guys your snacks and had something to do. ” 

“I told him he could have stayed at home, but he’s still nervous he’s going to pop up in some random place in town,” Ichabod explained. “Is that normal?”

Matilda shrugged as she rested her elbow on her knee and placed her chin in her hand. “I don’t want to be involved in whatever co-dependent relationship you two have.”

Ichabod reached into his bag and pulled out a Ziploc pouch. “I’ve got some almonds if you want, Diedrich.”

“He can’t really eat,” Matilda said as she watched the court. In truth, her gaze had settled on Brom, even though all she could see was the back of his head. 

“I know, but he does something with them where he presses them to his lips and transports them somewhere else to pretend he’s eating—if he can manage to pick anything up.”

“Right.” Matilda didn’t want to overthink Diedrich’s weird ghost habits, though she did sympathize with the new roommates who had to learn about his new form together. At least Verla had always been… Verla. Matilda still wasn’t sure what she actually did with her “food”.

The whistle blew, and the kids jogged off the court. Matilda noticed that Ricky was near his dad again, who seemed to whisper something in his ear. Though she couldn’t see much from her angle, she noticed the boy’s shoulders hunched over, and she sensed he wasn’t eager for his dad’s advice. 

She glanced up and caught Brom’s eye. They were only separated by a couple of rows of stands, though the distance felt larger, and she wished she could do more than give him a timid smile. He gave her a wink in return, and she couldn’t stop her stomach from fluttering. 

And then, the moment was over as he called the kids together and told them who would be on the court for the final quarter. 

“You’ve got to make sure Ricky’s on!” Mr. Van Housen called out. 

Matilda saw Brom wince before he turned to the man. “Everyone gets their turn,” he assured him. Brom must have already had it planned out as he continued his instructions, and Ricky was up on the court—though he shuffled his feet to his place closer to the net.

Once again, all eyes were on Brom—or more accurately, the ball in his hands, and he tossed it to a girl Matilda recognized as Christa. She dribbled the ball towards the net, crossing paths with Ricky, who struggled to block her. 

Matilda watched as he seemed to do more than hover over her—he looked like he was trying to wrap himself around her—and Brom blew his whistle in a piercing shrill.

“Contact!” Brom cried. “Christa, you get a free throw.”

“Come on, Coach, that was nothing!” Ricky’s father yelled across the court. Matilda’s heart went out to the boy, who didn’t seem to share the other kids’ enthusiasm for the game—and Matilda had a hunch as to why.

“Mr. Van Housen, with all due respect, need I remind you that we have a no-parental-interference policy?” The question was more of a statement, and behind his politeness, Matilda wondered if she’d ever seen Brom so stern. There was something brewing behind his dark eyes that could more than match whatever trouble the older man might potentially cause.

“Do you know him?” Matilda asked Ichabod. 

“No,” Ichabod replied. “He didn’t come to the parent-teacher night. I’m guessing he’s not too invested in Ricky pursuing a career in the sciences.”

“Yeah,” Matilda agreed with a huff.

The gym fell silent as Christa lined herself up with the net and took her shot. It landed cleanly in the basket, and the crowd clapped, which dissipated some of the tension. The older student added a point to the “home” side.

“That’s only one point?” Matilda asked no one in particular. 

The final quarter continued, and the next few minutes passed by without issue. Then, Mr. Van Housen began to pipe up with instructions for his son. 

“Get closer to the ball, Rick! You’ll never make a basket if you run away from it!”

Brom glared at Mr. Van Housen, though he was on the opposite side of the court. Matilda clenched her fist to fight the temptation to light something on fire—preferably Mr. Van Housen’s seat. Brom said something to the boy when he passed by, and Matilda wished she could hear what it was. The other parents around her started to grumble, and the tension in the gym began to rise. 

In a surprise move, Ricky ended up with the ball, and the poor guy looked as shocked as anyone. “You’ve got this, Rick-ster!” Brom called with a grin. “Throw it in the net!” Matilda could almost see every muscle in the boy’s frame strain as he leapt up and tossed the ball with all his might towards the hoop. 

The ball hit the back with a thud without coming anywhere near the rim, and the room deflated. 

“What was that, Richard?!” Mr. Van Housen cried as he shot up in his seat. “You’ve got to get the ball in the net! You’re better than this!”

Brom blew on his whistle and marched over to the man. 

“You need to leave,” he said firmly, and Matilda could hear the anger in his voice that he fought to keep controlled. 

“Come on, Brom, I’m just talking to my so—”

“ Now,” Brom replied. “I won’t tolerate that. I’ll send Ricky out when the game—the practice —is done, but for now, you need to leave my gym.”

Mr. Van Housen opened his mouth to protest but then thought better of it. Though he was a couple of inches shorter than the father, Brom cut a threatening figure when he needed to: his feet firmly planted, his thick muscles flexed, and fire in his eyes. Every fibre in his body looked like it was coiled tightly, and Matilda wondered if he was only daring the man in front of him to give him an excuse to release his anger.

As her own anger bubbled up hot in her chest, Matilda realized she wanted him to.

Mr. Van Housen seemed to sense it, too, especially when the Babes shot out of their seats, as if eager to become bouncers. He grabbed his coat from the plastic bleacher, muttering something about an “NFL reject” as he stormed across the floorboards. Matilda fumed and dared a quick spell, and with a flick of her finger, the man tripped as he made his way to the exit. He then threw his weight against the gym doors before disappearing behind them. Brom glanced at Matilda and swallowed before he turned to the kids who were all frozen in place across the court. A shiver ran up the back of her neck.

“Nice try, Ricky, my man!” Brom exclaimed, pitching his voice higher to try to bring some cheer back into the room. “I’m proud of you, Buddy. You’ll get it next time. Now, let’s play some basketball!” 

Slowly, the students nodded, and with a toss of the ball, they continued with the final quarter of the game. Matilda couldn’t hear what Brom said, but she saw him bring Ricky off the court and enlist him to hold the timer.

As the crowd began to relax, Matilda remembered seeing Brom’s dad at his games throughout school. While Brom basked in the adoration of his classmates and his teachers, he always seemed to look to his dad first, grasping at any signs of approval. And yet, Mr. Van Brunt’s praise was hard won, and she recalled similar outbursts of anger on more than one occasion. 

Matilda bounced her legs, eager for the clock to move forward and call an end to the game. She could feel her shoulders start to relax as she noticed Ricky began to smile, and Brom shifted into his exuberant self as the game came to an end. The incident had been quickly forgotten—or stubbornly ignored. 

Adrenaline began to build in the room as the game neared its final moments and Sophie neared the hoop to throw the final shot. She stopped and pivoted on one foot, searching for a teammate that would have a better opening. She passed the ball to another girl in a red pinnie who took a leap and tossed the ball towards the net, where it bounced off the rim. Matilda let out a breath, secretly hoping that the winning goal—er, basket?—would be thrown by one of the girls. 

The game ended without another attempt at a basket, and when the whistle declared the match over, the kids formed two lines and shook hands. Matilda smiled to see the students encourage each other and joke, everyone slick with sweat and panting slightly.

“Alright guys, gather ‘round!” Brom said with a twirl of his finger. They created a circle together and everyone lifted up one hand with a finger curled in a hook.

“Sleepy—Hollow—Pirates! Arrrrrrr! ” They all cheered together. Matilda realized many of the parents did the same as they beamed down at their progeny. 

“Now get your butts to the change rooms,” Brom said. He turned to the stands and waved to the parents. “They might be returning to you a bit smellier than when they came, but we’ll be back soon!” A chuckle rumbled through the stands. 

He made his way to one of the benches towards his water bottle, and Matilda took her opportunity to say hello. She scrambled over the bleachers—an awkward task she did not miss—and closed the distance between them. 

“Hey!” Brom said with a grin, and before she knew it, he had wrapped her in one of his big hugs.

“Hey,” she echoed with a smile of her own, and she squeezed him back. “Great game. Er, practice.”

He released her and stepped back, though he kept his hand on her arm. “I’m glad you came. Was it as painful as you thought it would be?”

“Excruciating,” she teased. 

“Great! I, uh, gotta get in there, but I shouldn’t be too long. Wait for me?”

“Sure.”

Almost absentmindedly, he pressed a kiss to her temple before he jogged towards the change room door. Matilda’s heart lifted in her chest before she froze, suddenly aware of the parents who had watched their beloved town hero with the woman of whom many were wary, if not suspicious. 

Sometimes she hated growing up in such a small town.

Chapter Text

“Bye, Coach,” Ricky said with a wave as he paused by the door. “Thanks for… thank you.”

Brom nodded from his perch, his arms crossed as he leaned against the window that joined his office and the main locker room. “Anytime, Rick-ster.” He tried to give the kid a reassuring smile, but his chest buzzed with a dozen emotions that he wasn’t quite sure what to do with. “Do you want me to walk you to your dad?”

Ricky quickly shook his head. “No, it’s fine. But thanks. I’ll see you on Monday.”

“See you Monday,” Brom echoed as he watched the boy disappear back into the gym. When the door closed, he let out a sigh and straightened, running a hand through his hair to collect his thoughts. 

Ricky had a bit of skill, and he had fun with his teammates. But as soon as his father showed up, Brom felt like he was watching a bizarre recreation of himself and his own dad, though the parallel wasn’t exact. He almost wished he hadn’t put Ricky on the team, but he knew that that wouldn’t have been fair to him. Besides, when he was just with his teammates, he seemed to genuinely enjoy himself.

The pang of empathy was quickly followed by relief at the exit of his last student, which was in turn chased down by a smattering of guilt—mixed in with the general energy of a good practice.  

Brom jumped when one of the change room doors opened, and a high school student wheeled in a laundry hamper. 

“That’s fine, Matt, I can get to that on Monday.”

“You sure, Coach? I don’t mind, and I know it’s better to do it now before they sit—”

Brom lightly slapped the teenager’s shoulder, biting back a remark he knew he’d regret. “It’s fine. Now, do you need me to sign your form before you go?” 

Matt nodded, and scrambled for his backpack where he pulled out some crumpled pieces of paper. Brom scanned the room for a pen and grabbed one from the clipboard on a bench. “Ah,” he murmured as he grabbed the paper. He bent down and scribbled his name and the date on the volunteer sheet before he all but shoved the forms back to him. “All done!” Time for you to go.

“Thanks, Coach! Have a good weekend.”

“You too, Matt.”

Brom had never been so happy to have an empty locker room as he was at that moment. He waited a couple of minutes—seconds, really—before he headed towards the gymnasium, praying that no one had decided to linger.

Well, except for one person.

He immediately spotted Matilda perched on the corner of the bleachers closest to the locker room doors, and she looked up as the door squeaked open. They locked eyes and she smiled, causing his heart to lift and his grin to widen. 

Not for the first time that day did he wonder at her presence, here. It was surreal, to see her so far removed from her usual surroundings, with her black outfit and her dark makeup and her perfectly styled hair in his gym. To see him.

And the kids, obviously. 

“This should happen more often,” he blurted out as she stood up and slung her purse over her shoulder. “I mean, it’s nice to see you here.” God, this is not coming out right.

“It was a good game,” she assured him. “I mean, I think it was. I don’t really have much to go by.”

Brom chuckled and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, it was pretty good. Except for…” Brom trailed off, unable to bring himself to name the situation.

Matilda nodded. “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry I took a little while—were you waiting long? I kind of wanted to bring you over to meet everyone, but it’s tricky with school policy and kids, and I also didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, and some of them were already asking questions…”

“Questions?”

“Yeah,” Brom said slowly. “I, uh, I think word has got out that we’re… whatever we are.” And some of them might have noticed that I kept looking over at you. He shrugged. “I guess they want to know about the coach’s wife.”

“And what did you tell them?” Brom couldn’t tell if there was a hint of amusement in her small smile or anxiety in her hesitation as she held her coat over her middle, studying his reaction. 

“I told them—well, uh, that—that I’m married to the coolest witch in Sleepy Hollow.” The words “bad-ass” might have slipped out, but he didn’t want to admit that. Honestly, he’d had to stop himself from glancing over to her every other second as he tried to focus on the game. He wasn’t successful, but he almost couldn’t care when he’d meet her eyes across the court and he could swear she was beaming at him. It almost took him back to his high school days, being the star of the football team…

But this was much, much better.

“Did you want to see my office?” he asked as he absentmindedly scratched his ear. “I could, uh, show you around—if you want.”

“Sure.” 

Brom instinctively reached for her hand. The growing familiarity of her touch never failed to warm him through, especially when she clasped his hand in return. 

He stopped before they passed through the door, and he turned around with a wave to the gym. “This is the gym,” he said in his best tour-guide voice. “It’s usually filled with students and balls.” 

Matilda narrowed her eyes and said nothing. 

“Uh, that didn’t come out right,” Brom admitted. “But you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I’ve become acquainted with this space in the last two hours.”

“Great! So this is the locker room,” he said as he let go of her hand reluctantly and held the door open for her. He followed her in with his hand on her back. 

The mid-sized room was lined with lockers on either side with matching doors that led to the girls’ and boy’s change rooms, respectively. Across from them was the window to Brom’s office, along with two doors: one to his office, the other to the hallway. 

“It’s, uh, a locker room,” he said.

“It has lockers,” Matilda added.

“Very astute observation, Matty,” he said with mock seriousness. He couldn’t resist taking her hand once more, and she smiled at him.

“I try.” 

The room was strangely quiet—a rare occurrence in Brom’s little corner of the middle school— and he could hear his pulse in his ears. 

“Um, those doors just lead to the change rooms and bathrooms,”—he lifted up their joined hands and gestured to either side—”but they’re not very exciting.”

“No, I don’t imagine so.”

“And this,”—he led her along one side of the benches to his office, which was opened—“is mine.”

Matilda poked her head in. “Impressive,” she said.

“You’re being generous.” It was a decent size, as far as teacher’s offices went, but he could barely fit more than his desk and a couple of extra chairs, plus some shelves and filing cabinets. There was the window that looked into the locker room along with another window perpendicular to it that let in a bit of natural light from the hall. There was a second door that also led out to the hallway, which made for limited options with furniture placement.

She stepped in and released Brom’s hand as she sunk into his chair. “So this is your throne?”

Brom leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms. His chest swelled, to see Matilda in his chair, turning herself back and forth and giving him a coy smile. He bit his lip as something else swirled within him, and he pushed the feeling down. 

“Is this how you imagined it?” she asked. “Introducing your wife to your job?” Her tone was half teasing, but there was a seriousness in her eyes that made Brom wonder if there were other doubts running through her mind. Then again, the way she said “wife” so matter-of-factly sent a spark through him. 

He stepped closer and perched himself on the corner of his desk. “Honestly? No. But when I was in middle school, I thought I’d be playing for the NFL and married to a supermodel.” He shrugged. “This is definitely better.”

“Yeah?” Matilda asked with an arched brow. 

Brom grinned. “Yeah.”

Matilda Bishop, you are worth more than a dozen supermodels.

With Matilda sitting in his chair and looking up at him with her dark eyes and an almost sweet smile on her lips, Brom felt the warmth in his veins threaten to simmer to a different kind of heat. He stood up and rounded his desk, as if to put a little space between them, to keep a clear head.

“And what about you?” he asked, throwing the question back at her. “Did you ever think you’d voluntarily spend an afternoon at a basketball practice at Sleepy Hollow Middle School?”

Matilda leaned forward and clasped her hands on the desk, her expression serious save for the twinkle in her eye. “Maybe once in a bad dream,” she admitted. “But no. This is a bit of a surprise.” 

Brom couldn’t help but lean closer to Matilda, and he planted his hands on the desk. “A good surprise, I hope?”

She flashed him her signature coy smile. “We’ll see.” 

Brom licked his lips, torn between wanting to stay here forever and enjoy this quiet moment with Matilda and not trusting himself to not do something stupid, even if he wasn’t exactly sure what that might be.

“Did you—did you need to get back now or did you have some time?” he asked carefully.

“I’m not in a rush,” Matilda replied. “Verla’s watching The Drugstore.”

Brom smirked. “By herself? For this long?”

Matilda waved off his concern. “As long as the place is still standing, I’m not worried.”

Brom wasn’t so sure, but he was not going to look a gift-horse in the mouth. Or whatever the expression was. “Did you want to hang out? We could just go back to my place and I could make dinner.” He tried his best to give her a nonchalant, chin-up gesture. “Just have, like, a chill evening.”

Matilda’s features creased, as if sceptical of his offer. “As long as it’s not, like, spaghetti with chocolate sauce and marshmallows.”

Brom clutched his chest in mock hurt. “Matty, you wound me. Do you not trust Chef Brom of Chez Van Brunt?”

“I’m hesitant, but I’ll bite.”

“That’s all I need to hear. M’lady,”—Brom rounded the desk and held out his hand with a bow—“your chariot awaits.”

Matilda’s heart felt light as Brom walked her to his car. They hadn’t made plans for after the practice, but she wondered if she was a little too eager to take him up on his offer of dinner. The truth was, she couldn’t resist the appeal of spending more time with him, and she ignored the possible danger of leaving Verla alone for so long—or of spending more time alone with Brom.

He’s your husband. There’s nothing wrong about that.

Exactly. He’s your husband . And you wouldn’t want to rush into anything else stupid, would you?

In his car, Brom reached for her hand as he drove them through town, and his touch pulled her from her thoughts. She glanced over at him and he smiled at her, and the restlessness in her veins quieted. 

This felt good. This was nice. And she didn’t need to overthink it.

“The kids seemed to have a good time,” she said to fill the silence.

“Yeah,” Brom agreed. “I like having them play together when they can. It’s mostly for fun, but I think it gives them a challenge before they have to start playing other schools as the girls’ team and the boys’ team.”

“They really seem to like you.”

Brom grinned. “Ya think?”

“I do.” She wasn’t surprised, really, but it was special, to see the connection he had with them. And part of her felt proud to be connected to him in some way. 

“Well, I’ve always hoped to be the cool teacher.”

“Oh, that might be going too far.”

“Hey!”

He released her hand to work the gear stick before reaching for her hand again. He rested it on her knee, and Matilda couldn’t resist rubbing her thumb over the back of his hand.

There was one cloud hanging over their afternoon, though. “Do you—is it common to have trouble with parents a lot?” She could already feel flames of anger lick at her chest at the memory of Mr. Van Housen’s outburst.

Brom sighed. “Not really, but sometimes certain parents forget that it’s just a game.” 

Matilda saw Brom clench his jaw, and his grip tightened around the steering wheel. 

“Is there—is there more you want to talk about?” she asked carefully.

Brom shook his head as he turned a corner, and she loosened her grip so he could use both hands. “Nah. I just get frustrated that someone can ruin the game for everyone like that—especially for his own son.”

Matilda wanted to pry, to confirm her suspicions that he might mean more than just Ricky, but he seemed anxious to let the subject go. Besides, they had just turned onto the Van Brunt drive.

The last time Matilda had arrived at Brom’s house was in the early morning when it was dark and she was mostly asleep after having been scared out of her mind and bringing Diedrich’s ghost back to the land of the living. She hadn’t really noticed the house itself. In the full light of the afternoon, it looked far more imposing. 

The large manor had a symmetrical facade in the Georgian style, complete with a portico with Grecian columns. The drive itself was gravel, and Matilda imagines the horse-drawn carriages that would have been used over a hundred years before. The lawn was perfectly manicured, along with the gardens and hedges, though Matilda remembered more flowers when Brom’s mom had been there. Now there were various types of grasses, as if someone wanted to make the place look more modern, or more masculine.

Matilda couldn’t help but think of Elizabeth Bennet visiting Pemberley. Pemberley was probably more welcoming.

Brom pressed a button on his visor, causing one of the three doors of the garage to the left of the house to open, and he guided the car in with ease. He shifted the car into park and turned off the ignition. Matilda climbed out of the passenger side, and she noticed a car at the far end of the garage with a tarp over it with a glimpse of bright red paint. 

“Is that Daredevil?” she asked with a nod towards the car as Brom placed his key in the lock of the door to the house.

He followed her gaze over his shoulder. “Yeah,” he said. “I should do something with her, but I can’t quite bring myself to let her go, you know?”

Matilda nodded, and Brom opened the door. He led them through a large mudroom and into the main house, where Matilda couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed by the grandness. There was also a strange contrast between the front of the house, with its original foyer and parlour and grand staircase in the 18th century style, and the back of the house that had clearly been added on and tailored to a modern taste.

Brom made a beeline for the kitchen, as if he didn’t want to bother with the more elegant—or stuffy—part of the house. 

“Make yourself at home,” he said with a wave to the kitchen. “ Mi casa su casa .” He dropped his keys on the counter and shrugged off his coat before opening the fridge. “Do you want something to drink?”

Matilda took her purse off of her shoulder and placed it on a stool before she removed her coat and hung it on the back of a nearby chair. Had she really been here with the Babes and Ichabod and Verla and Diedrich? It seemed like an entirely different place, now that it was almost empty. And very quiet. 

She also didn’t remember it being so white.

“Um, just water is good,” she replied as she studied the sleek cabinets that ran up to the twelve-foot high ceilings. 

Brom grabbed a glass and held it to the dispenser in the stainless steel fridge door. “Ice?”

“Sure.”

The clunkity clink of the icemaker filled the room, followed by the soft gush of the water. Matilda absentmindedly walked towards the floor-to-ceiling windows, admiring the ravine that cut through the property beyond the large patio, still just visible in remnants of sunset that glowed from the other side of the house. The backyard was cast in a deep purple shadow before the early winter night would soon fall. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the large pool off to the side of the yard with its companion hot tub, both hibernating under their tarps for the winter. Matilda swallowed at the memory of Kat’s stories from high school of her late-night rendezvous with Brom. The dull pain of grief ached in her chest, but with less of its vigour, and she was relieved that at most, the guilt was only a slight prick. 

“Matty—your water?”

Matilda felt a gentle hand on her back and she whirled around. “Sorry,” she mumbled as she took the cold glass from Brom’s hand. “Thanks.” She took a sip and winced as the ice cold liquid hit her teeth and slid down her throat. 

“You look like you went on a little trip, there,” Brom said. “Did you want to share at all?”

Matilda swallowed and gave Brom a small smile. “Not much,” she assured him. “I was just remembering… Kat.”

Brom nodded slowly. “Yeah,” he breathed, and she could see him thinking through his next words. “Is this—is it weird, being here?” 

Matilda tilted her head as she wondered exactly why he might think it was weird. Weird because this is where he used to bring Kat when they were dating? Weird because they would drag Matilda back here with them sometimes? Weird because the most time she’d spent in the Van Brunt house had been at Brom’s parties where she usually helped drunk teenagers find their way to the bathroom, or the closest bowl?

Or weird because they found themselves very much alone in this house, and over the last few days and weeks that position seemed to take on a whole new meaning?

“Maybe a bit,” she finally admitted. “But not necessarily in a bad way.” Wherever her memories had taken her, she was glad to be yanked to the present when she looked at Brom now: the responsible gym teacher who cared about his students and who had brought her back to his house to make her dinner.

The man she was married to who looked a little too good with a lock of his hair falling in front of his face as he earnestly studied her reaction.  

The man who usually was never so quiet, nor so hard to read. Matilda frowned, torn on whether to ask Brom for his thoughts. Much as she was tempted, she also wasn’t sure if she wanted to know the answer, and her nerves won out. “So, what’s on the menu for tonight, Chef?” she replied with a fake enthusiasm that might have veered towards sarcasm, and she cringed at herself. 

She relaxed slightly when he smiled and led her towards the kitchen. “It’s not much, but I can make a mean spaghetti and meatballs. Does that sound good?”

“With regular tomato sauce and regular meatballs?” Matilda asked, only half joking.

“As regular as apple pie.”

“No, wait—there are no apples in your recipe, are there?”

Brom’s features fell into a deadpan expression that unnerved her. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” Matilda frowned, and after a beat, Brom’s eyes lit up. “Had you scared, huh? How does it feel?”

Matilda rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t stop herself from smiling a little. “Just point me in the direction of your pantry and I’ll help get the right ingredients.”

Brom gave her a mock salute. “Yes, ma’am. It’s just behind you—those doors over there.”

Matilda placed her glass on the counter and followed the direction of his finger to two cupboard doors. She opened them to reveal a pantry that rivalled that of the Bishops in size, if not in homemade quality. She scanned the items on the shelves, impressed at the variety, though the space was only about half full at most. She wondered at the size of the pantry—and the kitchen itself—when it was only Brom who lived here.

Or sometimes his dad, Matilda reminded herself.

As she searched for the pasta and cans of tomato sauce, her eyes landed on the section of sweets—baking goods, she assumed. She also noticed the gold foil of a familiar brand of chocolate.

“I didn’t think you liked dark chocolate,” she said over her shoulder as she held one bar up.

Brom glanced over at her from the sink as he filled a pot with water. “I just figured I’d have some around in case you were here and, I dunno, wanted a snack.” He finished with a nonchalant shrug and returned his attention to lifting the heavy pot back to the stovetop behind him.

Matilda froze and looked at the chocolate in her hand. Brom bought chocolate. For her. To have at his house. 

A lump rose in her throat and she shoved the chocolate back into the pantry, almost dropping it in the process. Her hand brushed a fluffy package of bright marshmallows, and she impulsively held it up to him. “I see you still have the palate of a five-year-old, then?” she said with as much snark as she could muster.

“Oh yeah,” Brom agreed without missing a beat as he clicked on the gas to start the water boiling. He came over to join Matilda, but instead of taking the marshmallows, he pushed past her and opened another cupboard. “But mostly, I use them for these.”

He held up a couple of plastic guns, and Matilda remembered them from Brom’s car.

“I thought you said those were the Babes’?” She crossed her arms, the bag of marshmallows still clutched in one hand.

“They are, but we like to share,” he explained as he took a step closer. Matilda’s pulse quickened as he stood before her, their bodies only a few inches apart, and she could sense a challenge brewing. “Would you like me to demonstrate?”

“Only if I get one, too. I don’t trust you to be the only one armed.” 

“Fair enough.”

Before she knew it, Matilda found herself in race around the Van Brunt home armed with a marshmallow gun. Her heart pounded in her chest and she squealed as she ducked out of the way of a sugary pellet. 

She tried to steady her breaths as she reloaded, her ears strained for evidence of her opponent in the room around the corner. As her pulse began to quiet, she took a deep breath and whipped around the corner, her gun pointed into the family room. Brom stood on the couch and she seized her moment, pounding him with marshmallows as fast as she could.

“Ah, I’ve been hit!” he cried as he dropped his gun and clutched his chest. He fell into the cushions and disappeared behind the back of the off-white couch in a performance that would make the Trousers proud.

Matilda approached with steady steps and peeked over the edge. She relaxed slightly when she saw Brom reclined on the couch, picking the marshmallows off his chest and popping them into his mouth.

“Wha? I’m hungwy,” he explained with a mouthful of white goo.

Matilda leaned on the back of the couch. “You missed one,” she said with a nod.

“Hmm?”

She reached down and picked up a marshmallow that had almost fallen down between his leg and the couch cushions. “Here,” she said as she held it up.

She met Brom’s eyes and slowly brought the treat to his mouth. She let go, and it fell onto his tongue, though not before her fingers brushed his lips. Matilda’s pulse began to race once more.

“Fanks, Babe,” Brom replied. He grabbed her by the arms and pulled her down on top of him, rolling them both over in a smooth motion until Matilda found herself flat on her back on the couch while Brom scrambled away.

“Hey!” she cried, her heart hammering in her chest once more as she struggled to free herself from the soft cushions. By the time she’d managed to get up, Brom was nowhere in sight. 

Reevaluating her options, Matilda made her way back to the kitchen and stocked up on more ammo. She continued to the other side of the house, through the old-fashioned dining room towards the parlour-style living room at the front. She jerked at a noise from a few rooms over—the click of a door.

“Why the little…” Matilda mumbled to herself. She rushed back the way she’d come, barely aware of the antique furniture or the collection of Villeroy and Boch dishes in the elaborate cabinet. She wondered how many figurines had been casualties of the Babes’ shenanigans with the marshmallow guns.

She heard a click at the front door, and she rushed through the foyer to hide behind a corner that led to the kitchen. She held her breath as she waited for Brom to show himself. This time, she wouldn’t let her guard down. 

She could hear him fumble with the keys, and Matilda frowned. Did he go through the garage to the front of the house? Or was it the back door at the kitchen that she’d heard?

The door began to open, and Matilda raised her gun.

As soon as his full torso was visible, Matilda pelted Brom with marshmallows. For a split moment, she rejoiced in her victory, until she realized that this man was taller than Brom.

Matilda’s heart sank to her feet as she recognized the older man at the same time she felt a familiar hand on her shoulder.

“Dad?!”

Chapter Text

Matilda gripped the plastic toy in her hand, unable to move. Luckily, she didn’t have to. Brom squeezed her shoulder as he made his way around her and rushed towards his father, embracing him in a bear hug. 

“Dad!” Brom exclaimed. John Van Brunt clapped his son on his back and his eyes met Matilda’s over Brom’s shoulder. Matilda glanced down, not wanting to intrude on the reunion—but mostly, she wanted to avoid the suspicion she saw in the elder Van Brunt’s stare.

“When did you get in?” Brom asked as he pulled back. Matilda couldn’t see his face, but she could hear the joy in his voice. “I could’ve come and picked you up from the airport.” 

Mr. Van Brunt turned his focus to his son and gave him a smile, a ghost of Brom’s grins with none of the warmth. “I just took a cab. It was a quiet ride, after being stuck on a plane for sixteen hours.” 

If there was a jab in the comment, Brom didn’t seem to notice. He joined Matilda and placed his hand on her back, and his presence reminded her to take a breath. “Dad, you remember Matilda?”

Mr. Van Brunt offered another smile, though his dark eyes seemed to study her. Matilda tucked her hands behind her back, suddenly very aware of the golden ring on her fourth finger as it jabbed against the cheap plastic and rubber of the gun’s handle.

The older man was a bit taller than his son. His hair, once dark brown, was graying, though it was still thick, and his sharp jawline had softened in the past few years, along with his slightly rounded middle. Though he didn’t quite have the Hollywood looks, he was the closest thing Sleepy Hollow had had to a movie star, and he was still almost handsome in his older years. He had the Van Brunts’ dark eyes, along with the Van Brunt swagger, though Matilda felt his attempts at charm ran cold. Still, others must have disagreed, as the heir to the Van Brunt family business had doubled its fortune by the time Brom was in high school—or at least, that’s what Kat had said.

“Miss Bishop,” Mr. Van Brunt said as he held out his hand. “A pleasure, as always.” Matilda shook his hand, the toy gun clasped behind her and her left hand safely out of view, and she fought to smile through a grimace as she wondered how much he might know about her and Brom. 

“It’s, uh, nice to see you,” she said carefully as he released his tight grip, and she resisted the urge to flex her fingers. She glanced at Brom, who beamed at her and his dad, completely unconcerned about the marshmallows littered about the foyer. “Sorry about the…” she trailed off with a nod to his chest.

“No worries at all,” he replied. “The truth is, I’d be more concerned if I came back to a quiet house. This one gets into all sorts of trouble, and I’m most worried when it’s silent.” 

Matilda swallowed, but Brom simply chuckled beside her. She wanted to catch his gaze, but she also wanted to avoid drawing any attention to herself. 

Or maybe she was just disappointed that their quiet evening now looked very different. 

After an awkward pause, Brom jumped in. “Hey, Dad, let me get that.” He grabbed one of the large and—to Matilda’s mind—expensive-looking suitcases from the other side of the open doorway. 

“Thanks, Bud. At least there’s some benefit to having a gym-teacher son.”

Matilda frowned, though she tried to quickly relax her features as Brom chuckled along. Mr. Van Brunt dropped his keys on a tray on an antique side table, and the clink seemed to echo off of the marble tiles. 

The marble tiles scattered with marshmallows.

“I’ll, uh… just tidy up.” Matilda pivoted on her heel and grabbed the extra gun that Brom had left on the floor.  She hurried to the kitchen and threw the guns in the cupboard. She then noticed a burning smell that wafted through the room, and she glanced towards the stove.

“Shit,” she muttered as she raced to turn off the flame under the pot. The water had boiled away, leaving a charred spot on the bottom. She sighed and placed the pot in one of the large sinks, uncertain if water and soap would help, and ultimately decided that a delayed discovery would be best. She placed the lid on the pot, managed to find a large serving bowl—likely a salad bowl, with its wooden layers polished smooth—in which to collect the white puffballs, and made her way to the family room. 

She could hear Brom and his dad in the foyer, so she took the long way around, moving from the family room to the kitchen to the dining room. As she moved from room to room, she began to take in the absurdity of her situation, like she was on a bizarre Easter egg hunt through her best friend’s ex’s house. 

Did Brom have Easter egg hunts growing up? For a moment, the anxieties and the ghosts of the past that threatened to rise up disappeared as she pictured him as a young boy scrounging around every nook and cranny of the mansion for chocolate. There were certainly an infinite number of hiding places, though she couldn’t quite imagine that Mr. Van Brunt let Brom climb up on the antique furniture or risk his little hands on the priceless figurines or smeared chocolate fingerprints over the Persian rugs. 

She spotted a marshmallow perched on top of the china cabinet doors, nestled in the groove where the two arches met. She stood on her tiptoes, cursing both her height and the part of her that had agreed to such a ridiculous game in the first place. 

“Hey, let me help.”

Matilda brightened at the familiar voice, and her pulse quickened as Brom reached over her and plucked the treat from its wrongful spot. He placed it in the bowl on the dining room table with its brethren.

She turned around to face him, and his brows softened in concern. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to leave you to clean up by yourself.”

Matilda shook her head. “It’s fine. I thought I’d leave you some space to say hi to your dad.” And I kind of wanted to hide.

“Still, that was V.V. uncool of me, Hon’. I’m sorry.” He brought his hand up to rest on her upper arm, and he rubbed with his thumb as he searched her eyes. “Is everything okay?”

Without thinking, Matilda buried her face in his chest and groaned. “Brom, I shot your father with marshmallows. ”

Brom chuckled, and she could feel the soothing reverberation through her nose and forehead. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I think you won that battle. Against me, I mean.”

Matilda took a deep breath and nodded against his chest. His cologne filled her nostrils and she leaned into him, indulging in the sense of warmth his steady frame always seemed to bring. She forced herself to stand up after a moment, though she wasn’t quite ready to face the real-world consequences of what she knew she needed to ask. 

When she met Brom’s gaze, she caught a new look. He brought his hand up and brushed her mussed-up hair out of her face, tucking the stray pieces behind her ears. His smile was soft, and for a split second, Matilda felt herself at risk of melting at the affection she glimpsed in his dark brown eyes.

Damn it, why did Mr. Van Brunt have to come home tonight ?

Or perhaps, she was lucky that he came home that night.

“Brom, I…” Matilda licked her lips. Does your dad know about us? She sensed that things were about to change in a way that she couldn’t control. And yet, who was she to wish away Brom’s dad when Brom was so happy to see him?

“Hmm?” Brom asked, his eyebrows raised.

She shook her head. “Nothing,” she assured him.

Brom parted his lips, but before he could say anything, his dad called from the kitchen. “Have you kids eaten already? I’m starving over here.”

Brom rubbed Matilda’s arm and reached for the bowl of marshmallows. “Coming!” he called back, his eyes fixed on Matilda as he grabbed a marshmallow from the bowl and popped it in his mouth with a wink.

“Gross,” Matilda muttered, though a slight smile tugged at her lips.

She followed Brom back to the kitchen, where Brom’s dad had splayed out some menus on the counter. “What do you guys feel like? Italian? Sushi?”

Brom placed the bowl of marshmallows on the counter, and his dad frowned. He reached for Brom’s wrist and held up his hand, turning it so the kitchen lights glinted off the gold ring. 

Shit.

“Well look at that,” Mr. Van Brunt said slowly as he examined the ring. “I go on a cruise, and my only son gets married.” He looked at Brom. “Who’s the lucky lady?”

Matilda stepped back and her shoulders dropped. She clasped her hands behind her back, eager to hide her matching band, her breath hitched in her throat as she watched Brom’s response. 

She could only see part of his profile, his expression hidden, though she thought she saw a flicker of nerves, a tightness in his jaw. Then, he relaxed with a forced charm that she wondered if he saved for difficult parents or fellow teachers.

“Well, it’s kind of a funny story—you’re gonna laugh, really—but uh, Matilda and I are…” He wriggled out of his father’s grasp and reached for her hand, pulling him to her side. “We’re together.” He held up their joined hands, and Matilda’s face contorted into a forced smile.

Mr. Van Brunt studied them both, his eyes flitting back and forth as he pieced together what little information he had. “So… are you both living here?”

“No,” Brom replied.

“You’re at her place?”

“No.” Brom’s grasp tightened around her hand, and Matilda tried to give him a reassuring squeeze. It was unsettling, to see this man, who always had the adoration of any room he entered, so flustered. 

Mr. Van Brunt narrowed his eyes. “You must at least be sleeping together.”

Matilda’s eyes widened and her cheeks flushed. She barely heard Brom’s stuttered response. 

“—Dad, that’s none of your business—”

“Damn, are you guys pregnant?”

“God, Dad, no!”

Matilda had never wanted to disappear more, and for a moment she envied Verla. 

“Look, Runt, it’s just a lot to take in,” his dad said as he rubbed his face with one hand, and Matilda felt Brom bristle at the nickname. “I thought we had talked about how you need to be careful about who you marry”—he glanced at Matilda before he returned his attention to his son—“because there are significant consequences to that kind of legal contract.” Matilda stepped closer to Brom and hugged his arm as the tirade continued, and she could feel Brom’s muscles tighten as her own anger rose within her—once she got over the whiplash of her dad switching from their sex life to legal matters and financial implications in a nanosecond.

“I’m sure you guys are having fun, and God knows, I don’t hold that against you, but did you think about getting a prenup, Runt?” 

“Dad, I don’t need—”

Mr. Van Brunt held up his hand. “You need to protect yourself! I’m sure Matilda is a lovely lady, but how well do you really know her? Think , Brom! And at the worst possible time. It’s sad about Kat, of course, but—”

“Stop!” Brom bellowed and Matilda jumped. “What on earth are you talking about?”

Mr. Van Brunt leaned against the counter. “Sleepy Hollow’s inevitable election. You won’t be able to join the mayor’s family like we originally thought, but there is an opening now, with Baltus gone.” The way he said Baltus’ name made Matilda shiver, though she held little regard for the man, and she began to see red. “What would be more natural than a Van Brunt as mayor?”

Brom let go of Matilda’s hand and stepped up to the counter, gripping the marble edge as he leaned towards his dad with fire in his eyes. “I don’t want to be mayor. I already have a job—a good job that I like and I’m good at.” He took a deep breath. “And Matilda Bishop is my wife. I am her husband. And do you know what the husbands of the Bishop women do? They take the Bishop name. A name anyone would be honoured to share.”

He stepped back and grabbed Matilda’s hand. “And now I am going to take my wife home. I just hope the next time we see you, you can show her the respect she deserves.” 

Matilda registered his words and just managed to grab her coat and purse before Brom snatched his keys and led her to the garage. He opened the passenger door for her and she could see him strain to close it gently. He showed no such restraint for his own door, and he slammed it with a force that made the whole car shudder.

“Brom, are—”

“Matty, I’m so sorry,” Brom blurted out, his tone heavy with desperation. He turned to face her, and Matilda could just make out his eyes filling with tears in the dim light from the car’s console. “You should never have had to hear that—from my dad—it was awful…”

Matilda twisted in her seat and reached for Brom’s face, her heart breaking as she struggled to make sense of what had just happened. “Look at me.” She stroked his cheeks with her thumbs, brushing away a tear that had fallen. “Remember what you told me? Just match my breathing, in and out, in and out—yeah, just like that.”

He nodded, his eyes locked on hers, and he matched her rhythm. After a few cycles, she could see his chest rise and fall in a measured pace, and he covered one of her hands with his own. 

“Thank you,” he said softly.

Matilda nodded, and she swallowed the lump in her throat as she blinked back her own tears. “Do you want me to drive?”

His eyes widened in surprise. “You know how to drive?”

“Not really. But it can’t be that hard, right?”

Brom let out a sad chuckle and shifted in his seat. Matilda let her hands fall, and Brom grabbed one of them and gave it a squeeze. “I’ll be okay,” he assured her.

Matilda impulsively brought his hand to her lips and pressed a kiss to the back of his hand. She thought she caught a flicker of surprise in his features before he smiled at her. She reluctantly let his hand go so they could both fasten their seatbelts, and he reversed the car out of the large garage. Matilda had never felt such relief as when he drove them down the gravel drive and back towards the heart of Sleepy Hollow, with the Van Brunt manor a bad memory in the rearview mirror.

Chapter Text

Matilda barely noticed the route Brom took into town. He mentioned something about food, and she nodded at whatever he suggested. They ended up parked in front of the diner, and Matilda quickly offered to run in for them. In all honesty, she didn’t feel much like eating, and so she just ordered herself the same as Brom: a cheeseburger with fries and a Coke. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d had a cheeseburger, but at least it was food—and at least Brom felt like eating. 

Matilda had never been so grateful to live in a small town, since it meant her apartment was a very short drive from Main Street. Brom parked the car in front of her building, and soon they were settling into the cramped and cluttered space that felt a million miles away from the mansion they’d just left. 

“Just help yourself to whatever you want,” Matilda said with a nod towards the kitchen as she placed the red-and-white checkered bags on the coffee table. Brom closed the door behind him, took off his coat, and hung it up by the door. For the countless time, Matilda studied his expression, searching for signs of the turmoil that she knew must churn within him.

His expression was flat, showing neither his usual cheerful self, nor did he seem particularly sad. Instead, all she could read was a numbness that made her stomach cold. He offered her a small smile when he met her gaze, but it was fleeting and didn’t reach his eyes the way it normally did. 

She passed by him to hang up her own coat, and she reached for his hand to give it a squeeze as they brushed past each other. 

Without saying anything, they both settled on the couch, with their dinner still bagged up. 

Matilda swallowed, unsure of where to start. Had it really been a couple of hours ago that they’d chased each other with plastic guns and marshmallows? She tucked her legs up under her on the couch, a couple of inches separating her from Brom on the cushions. “Did you want to talk about it?”

Brom sat forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his eyes fixed on his hands clasped in front of him. “Not really.”

“Did you want to play some ‘Enya’? Or hit something? I don’t have a punching bag, but I’m sure between Verla and I, we can whip up a substitute…”

Brom chuckled, and Matilda’s heart lurched in her chest. “Thanks, Babe, but I’m good.” He threw a look over his shoulder, and Matilda inched closer to him. “Really.”

“Do you want to eat? Maybe watch a movie…?”

Brom turned towards her and leaned his hand on his far leg. “That sounds good.”

“Distraction it is!” Matilda agreed. “The remotes are there. I’m sure you can find something on streaming.”

She opened the paper bags, already spotted with grease, and laid the cardboard cartons and wrapped bundles out on the table. The aroma of fried salt and fat suddenly reminded Matilda of how long it had been since she’d last eaten, and her stomach gurgled. 

She grabbed one of the soft drinks, its red-and-white checkered design matching that of the cartons and the bag. She took a sip of Coke and instantly regretted the choice when the sweet liquid hit her tongue. She reached over and grabbed a fry, popping it in her mouth to cut the sweetness, before she held the cup up to Brom.

He leaned over and took a sip from the straw, his gaze fixed on the T.V. screen as he flipped through the myriad of movie posters.

“Looking for anything in particular?” Matilda asked as she leaned towards the coffee table. An idea took hold, and she grabbed a french fry from the carton. 

“Not sure,” Brom said as he continued searching. Suddenly, Matilda had lifted the fry to his lips, and he took a bite. “Thanks,” he said, and he flashed her a grin. Matilda felt her stomach flip-flop.

And yet, she was glad that Brom seemed to finally begin to relax.

“Oh, Hon’, look—they’ve got Gremlins! ”

“Hmm?” Matilda said, pulling her attention away from him towards the screen. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen it.”

“Shut the front door!” Brom exclaimed as he turned his whole body towards her. Shock lit up his features, and Matilda flashed an amused look back at him. “My wife has never seen one of the most iconic Christmas movies of all time?”

Matilda shook her head as her stomach fluttered at the way he said my wife . “How on earth is it a Christmas movie?”

“It only takes place at one of the most magical times of year and celebrates the love of a boy and his beloved Gizmo as they have to fight a battle against an ever-growing army of gremlins to save their small town. Plus, there’s a beautiful woman who has a tragic backstory and a heart of gold.” 

“What’s a ‘gizmo’?”

“Oh, we are definitely going to fix this gaping hole in your film knowledge,” Brom said as he selected the movie poster. Matilda was torn between relief that Brom seemed downright cheerful, and concern that he seemed downright cheerful. 

Still, she decided to err on the side of caution and let Brom take the lead on what he was ready to talk about.

The movie began, and Brom grabbed his cheeseburger from the coffee table. Matilda flicked her wrist, and the room went dark, save for the light of the T.V. 

“Cool trick, Hon’,” Brom said before he took a huge bite of his burger.

Matilda turned her attention to the movie, where an older man narrated his visit to Chinatown. “This is a Christmas movie?”

Brom nodded with his mouth full. “Just wait.”

Matilda reached for the second burger and carefully unwrapped it in her lap. She had to hold it with two hands, and she struggled to get her mouth around the bun, but she was glad for some sustenance.

“You like it?”

“Mmhmm,” she assured Brom.

She watched the scene unfold, where the very American man entered the basement of a very Hollywood version of a Chinese shop. Matilda frowned when a stereotypical older Chinese man appeared onscreen, complete with his long hair and beard. “When was this made, again?”

Brom swallowed and reached for the Coke, gulping down the drink before he answered. “1984. It, uh, has a bit of the Orientalism of its time, but it gets better.”

“Right.”

They continued to eat, Brom with his big bites and Matilda with her smaller ones, as they watched the middle-aged American man try to convince the owner to sell him his creature.

“Is that a gizmo?” Matilda asked as she leaned towards Brom.

“Yeah, just ‘Gizmo’.”

“Right.”

The boy’s voice narrated from the T.V.: “There's three rules you've gotta follow. Keep him out of the light. He hates bright light, especially sunlight. It'll kill him. And keep him away from water. Don't get him wet. But the most important rule, the rule you can never forget, no matter how much he cries or how much he begs: never, never feed him after midnight. Got it?”

Matilda hummed. “So, they’re gonna expose him to light, he’s gonna get wet, and someone’s gonna feed him after midnight?”

Brom elbowed her gently. “You’ll see.”

The scene transitioned to a stereotypical American town in the heart of winter and decked out in Christmas decor. Matilda realized she hadn’t seen any decorations up at Brom’s house.

Brom quickly finished his burger, and Matilda grabbed one of the Cokes to help her mouthful of food go down. She realized they’d been drinking from the same cup, but there was something strangely cozy about it.

As the characters made their entrances, she kept a watchful eye on Brom. He relaxed into the couch and gave her a smile when he caught her eye, in between his commentary.

“I always wanted a dog like Barney,” Brom said. “And I kind of wanted to be Billy, with his parents and his dog, and his cool room.”

“You must have a cool room,” Matilda added. If the size of the rest of your house is anything to go by .

Brom shrugged. “Yeah, but it wasn’t the loft. And, I dunno, Billy’s parents got along so well. It seemed like a house you’d want to go home to, y’know?”

Matilda felt a pang in her chest and she wanted to ask him more. And what was your home like? What were things like with your dad?

What are you feeling right now?

Instead, she placed her half-eaten burger on the table and grabbed the carton of fries before she settled back against the couch. She picked at the fries and offered some to Brom.

“That’s Kate,” Brom said as a young woman with her hair pinned up in a very ‘80s-retro-meets-Little-House-on-the-Prairie style. “I kind of had a crush on her.”

“Huh. Very wholesome. And brunette.” 

Matilda caught Brom throw her a grin in the dim light, though she wasn’t entirely sure how to interpret it. 

The movie continued, and Matilda and Brom finished the fries between them. She placed the carton on the coffee table and sat back on the couch as a young Corey Feldman met Gizmo.

“Watch this,” Brom said. He’d sunk a little on the cushions so his head was at her shoulder.

The cute creature had some water spilled on it, and it began to writhe in pain. 

“Well that can’t be good,” Matilda said. 

Brom nodded as he slipped his arm behind her and rested his head on her shoulder, his eyes glued to the screen. It was kind of sweet that he was so engrossed in a movie he’d seen so many times. She almost missed the appearance of the new creatures that grew in a strange method of reproduction.

She was also not prepared for how much she liked having Brom so close, though perhaps she should have been used to it by now. She held her breath as if to still her heartbeat as she brought her arm out from under him and draped it over him, and he let out a contented hum.

Matilda bit her lip as the events of the day washed over her, despite her efforts to focus on the movie. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that awful dads could just ruin things for their sons. She thought of Ricky at the basketball practice and she hoped he didn’t have to deal with any repercussions at home. She thought of Brom, who had always adored his dad, even when he rarely deserved it.

She played the conversation from earlier that evening over in her mind, and tears pricked her eyes. How dare John Van Brunt accuse Brom of being irresponsible?! It was her stupid idea that got them into this mess in the first place, and Brom had thrown himself into the role of husband wholeheartedly. And then, when there was no need to keep up the pretense, he stayed by her side to make sure she was okay. Besides all that, he worked hard for his students and stood up for them when they needed an ally.

It wasn’t fair.

“This part gets creepy,” Brom said, and Matilda realized she hadn’t been paying much attention. 

“Hmm?” she murmured.

The classroom on the T.V. was dark as the teacher searched for the gremlin while an educational video with some gruesome anatomy flickered on the screen behind him. Brom held his breath as the music grew in suspense, and he brought his other hand around Matilda’s front, hugging her around her middle. A pleasant warmth washed over her, and she shifted on the couch to bring her feet out from under her to rest her knees on Brom’s legs. 

Brom flinched as the poor man met his end. Matilda couldn’t help but tease him. “Haven’t you seen this a million times?”

“Yeah, but it’s still scary. Did you know, this is one of the movies that started the PG-13 rating?”

“I can see why.”

The stakes began to rise for Billy and Gizmo, though Matilda was distracted by the scent of Brom’s cologne and the heat that rose between them. Her head also swam with the memories of high school that had been yanked up earlier that day, along with Mr. Van Brunt’s accusations and plans. How could Brom possibly focus on a movie about mischievous puppets right now?

Matilda took a deep breath, willing herself to forget about the day. 

“You okay, Honey?”

“Aren’t I supposed to be asking you that?” 

“I told you, I’m fine.”

Matilda nodded, and his hair brushed her cheek. It wasn’t a bad thing, really, to be alone with Brom and share one of his favourite things, though she still struggled to make sense of the day that seemed determined to crash the past together with the present—whatever the present was. It felt pointless to try and make sense of it now.

They fell into a comfortable silence as she sank a little lower with a heaviness that spread through her. She watched as Billy’s mother fought off the monsters in her home, and she watched as Kate finally escaped from the bar, and she had to appreciate that these were not damsels in distress.

Soon, the battle was at its climax and the leader of the gremlins melted into a pile of gruesome goo.

“Nice effects,” Matilda commented.

“Yeah,” Brom replied from his perch on her chest, a bit lower than when they’d started the movie. “You can’t beat practical effects.”

Is that really what you’re thinking about now? Matilda almost wanted to scream. And yet, Brom seemed distracted, as well—perhaps he was also mulling over the tumultuous day. 

The movie ended with the almost-happy family saying goodbye to Gizmo, and Matilda wondered what time it was. She glanced over Brom’s head towards the kitchen, but she couldn’t make out the small numbers on the oven.

She also didn’t want to move. Neither, it would seem, did Brom, and they remained fixed in their positions on the couch as the credits rolled.

“That was a good movie,” Matilda offered lamely.

Brom nodded against her chest. “There are sequels, too,” he said. 

Matilda waited for him to say more, but his enthusiasm had waned since Billy’s dad had first coerced the boy to sell him Gizmo. 

They sat in silence for a few moments, the darkness pierced only by the streetlight from the front window, and the rise and fall of their breathing caused a hypnotic and cozy rhythm. Matilda’s eyelids fluttered and she debated letting them close.

“I’m sorry about what my dad said,” Brom said quietly. 

Matilda sat up as much as she could without disturbing him. “What? Brom, you don’t have to apologize for your dad. You didn’t say those things.”

Brom looked up at her before laying his head down again. “I know. I just hate that he did that. And I hate that I was right about… to be worried about what he would say about our—about us.” He slid his arm from her waist and took her left hand, resting it on her stomach. He played with her fingers before he found her wedding ring and fiddled with it. “I’d really hoped he’d be happy.”

Matilda brought her free hand up to his hair and ran her fingers through his thick waves, rubbing at the base of his neck before starting over. She was afraid to say anything as she willed him to continue. 

“It’s always been hard, to please my dad,” he finally said as he considered his words. “I learned pretty quickly that he wanted me to be the sports star, so that’s what I did. And it was mostly fun—or at least, I thought it was.”

“Mmm,” Matilda murmured in encouragement as she played with his hair while she pieced together her memories of their school years with Brom’s new information.

“Everything went according to plan when I got the scholarship, and then I was at college and playing varsity.” He absentmindedly twirled her ring while she stroked his hair, and she both enjoyed the intimacy that surrounded them and braced for the hurt that Brom was about to share.

“Things were pretty great, and my dad seemed happy, but then it all kind of unravelled. Kat dumped me, and then I tore my tendon, which put me out for a couple of months.” Matilda nodded as she recalled events from Kat’s perspective, when she was struggling in her classes and didn’t have time for Brom, and Matilda was left behind in Sleepy Hollow. She struggled to remember the details of Brom’s accident, but now didn’t seem the time to ask questions.

“They weren’t sure how bad the tear was, but my dad was convinced I’d be back on the field. But in the meantime, I really had some time to think about what I wanted, you know?” He lifted their joined hands up and hovered them over her stomach before letting them fall. “And I realized I didn’t want to be that guy. I realized I would be relieved if I couldn’t play football as a career—and to be fair, I don’t know that I would’ve made it anyway.”

“For what it’s worth, I thought you were pretty good. And you weren’t my favourite person back then.”

Brom chuckled. “Thanks, Hon’. But I think I knew something wasn’t clicking. And then my coach showed me some other options, and… the next thing I knew, I was a gym teacher. And things finally felt like they were headed in the right direction.”

“Mmhmm. You’re a great teacher.”

“But my dad was pissed. He wanted me to be in a league—probably since he didn’t trust me to take over the family business. But he, uh, he thought I should want all the things he wanted. I think he preferred it when I was at my worst. And trust me, I did some things I wasn’t proud of.” 

“Brom, that must have hurt.” 

“...Yeah.” He stilled his hand, and Matilda squeezed his fingers gently. “It’s just, I’ve worked hard to distance myself from that. I know I’m not perfect—you’ll be the first to remind me—but I try to be a good person. And I like the life I have here.  And I like what we…” He trailed off, and Matilda swallowed the lump in her throat. “And it sucks that he can’t see that.”

He’s a dick and I want to fill his shower with scorpions and put hot sauce in his shampoo.

Anger rose up in her chest as her heart broke to catch this glimpse of his life that contrasted so drastically from her own. Not trusting herself to speak, she wrapped her arms around Brom and gave him a hug that she hoped was almost as comforting as the ones he’d given to her, and she felt tears dampen her shirt.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Matilda awoke to an unfamiliar scent wafting through her apartment. She rolled over and squinted at her alarm clock. The old-fashioned arms pointed at the nine and the twelve. Nine A.M. 

She groaned at the thought of getting up so early on her day off and debated leaving Brom to his own devices. Though, judging by the smell of frying bacon, that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Hell, it could be nice, waking up to Brom in her apartment. 

It might be nice waking up to Brom in my bed.

She rolled out of bed as if to chase away the unbidden image—not ready to dwell on how welcome the reality might be—and the memories of the evening before hit her along with the cool air outside of her blankets. She considered changing into a proper outfit, but instead she simply threw on a sweatshirt over her t-shirt, still clad in her pajama pants.

She poked her head out of the bedroom, and, once satisfied that the coast was clear, she rushed to the bathroom to brush her teeth quickly and run a brush through her hair. 

When she made her way to the kitchen, she realized that Brom had some music playing. She strained to pick up the notes as Brom sang along off key, and she paused for a moment before she rounded the corner.

Brom stood at the stove, his back to her, and Verla sat on the counter beside him—though “hovered” was a more accurate description.

“And what are you two up to?” Matilda asked as she crossed her arms and leaned against the fridge.

Brom whirled around. “Hey! Morning, Sleeping Beauty,” he said with a grin. He held a spatula in one hand and had a towel draped over his shoulder. His hair was a little mussed up with the remnants of bedhead, as if he’d only been able to run his fingers through it without his usual product. A few tendrils fell in front of his face, and Matilda’s heart swelled in her chest.

“We were just making some pancakes and bacon,” Brom explained as Matilda closed the distance between them, and he held his arm out for a side hug. “And guess what? Verla likes Enya, too!”

“The elegiac chanting and ancient melodies remind me of the haunting years of my youth,” Verla said. 

“Uh, yeah,” Brom said with a puzzled look at Verla before he threw Matilda a smile. “Plus, her music slaps.” 

“Umhmm,” Matilda agreed, pursing her lips as a pang of worry washed over her. She sensed that, despite Brom’s cheerful demeanour, the events of the previous evening still weighed on him—especially given his choice of music.

Or maybe she was just reading into things.

“It smells good,” she assured him, perhaps too cheerfully as she fought to overcompensate for her own gloom. They could at least enjoy a pleasant Sunday morning before they had to worry about the world outside. “Wait, do I even have bacon?”

“Oh, I went on a run this morning and dropped by the grocery store.”

“I didn’t think they opened on Sunday.” 

Brom gave her a sheepish smile. “And by ‘grocery store’ I might have meant ‘Ichabod’s place.’”

Matilda smirked, more than satisfied with that answer. She debated asking if the two friends had talked, but decided against it. “Do you want some coffee?” she asked as she placed a hand on his back.

“Sure, Babe.”

She brushed past him towards the coffee maker, and the three worked side by side in the small space as they continued in their morning preparations with an ease that surprised Matilda. The rich aroma of the coffee mixed with the smokiness of the bacon, and she marvelled at how cozy it felt, and how much had changed since the last time Brom had accidentally spent the night. 

A little part of her wondered what it would be like for him to spend the night intentionally, and without the emotional turmoil that seemed to follow them.

Or did their relationship, whatever it was, need drama? The idea gripped Matilda’s heart for a moment, but her doubt flew away when she handed Brom his cup of coffee and his smile lit up his face and creased the corners of his eyes.

“I’ve, uh—I’ve got cream,” she stuttered before she pulled her attention from his gaze and glanced towards the fridge. With a flick of her wrist, she opened the door from across the room, and a twitch of her finger sent the carton of cream on its path to the counter. “And there’s sugar in that dish.”

“Now that is pretty frickin’ cool!” Brom exclaimed and he glanced from Matilda to the cream and back to her.

Matilda shrugged as she closed the door with a gesture, an unfamiliar tingle under her skin. If her husband was going to make himself an outcast on her behalf and make her breakfast, she figured he should have some privileges. 

The look of awe in his eyes didn’t hurt, either.

She set the table while Verla and Brom finished with the pancakes, and soon, the three of them sat down to one of the first full breakfasts that the little table had seen in a very long time.

“Now, those are Verla’s pancakes,” Brom explained as he passed the loaded plate to Matilda, and he pointed out a few on the side. “I think she, uh, added some spiders in there or something. I didn’t ask any questions.” Brom managed to suppress a gag that threatened to come up. “And ours are blueberries.”

Matilda nodded and carefully served herself from the opposite side of the plate, as did Brom. He then served Verla her pancakes like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

“Did you sleep okay?” Matilda asked as she grabbed some bacon before pouring some syrup over her breakfast. She’d felt badly that she didn’t have a proper bed for him, but she wasn’t used to having visitors—frankly, she avoided it—so she did her best to make up the couch with some pillows and blankets. Besides, the alternative still made Matilda’s cheeks flush, though perhaps not as much as it used to.

Brom piled his plate high with pancakes and bacon, and he finished by covering it in a generous serving of syrup. Verla shook her head when he held the plastic bottle to her, and she picked up a pancake with both hands and started to eat as she watched Brom from under her thick, dark bangs.

“Hmm? Oh, yeah, Hon’, it was great. How about you?”

“I slept okay.” In truth, she’d had a restless night, unable to stop playing the conversation—the tirade—from Brom’s father over and over in her head, followed by Brom’s anger and disappointment. The man who was usually larger-than-life had felt strangely small in her arms, and she hated whoever had the power to make him feel like that. Her vision flashed red for a moment and she took a breath to collect herself.

“Did you—did you have anywhere you needed to be today?” Matilda asked after she swallowed a bite of pancake. She washed it down with a sip of coffee, and the slightly bitter liquid cut the sweetness of the syrup and the richness of the bacon. 

“Not particularly. Why? Are you trying to get rid of me?”

Matilda shook her head vehemently until she realized Brom was teasing. “No, I was just… wondering.” She ignored the part of her that was more relieved than she expected to be at his answer. Then, she threw caution to the wind and blurted out, “You can stay as long as you need to.”

Goddess, Matilda, and how exactly is that going to work out?

She noticed Verla throw her a grimace, and she bit her lip before she tried to backtrack. “I mean, have you thought about what you want to do next?”

Well, so much for not talking about it until later.

Brom shrugged. “I might stay with Ichabod and Diedrich. I think Rip might be in the same building but I don’t think he’s got an extra room. And the Babes are back with their families, so that wouldn’t work.”

Matilda nodded and she took another bite of her breakfast, surprised at the way her stomach dropped. Really, it was natural, to worry about Brom and this tension with his father—especially when he’d been so excited to see him again. 

Or maybe it was the niggling idea that Brom had chosen Ichabod’s dilapidated apartment over her own.

“What about you? Did you have plans for today?” 

Brom’s question pulled her from her thoughts, and she blinked to focus on him. “Me? Oh, not really.”

“Weren’t you going to gather the Yuletide greenery with your parents?” Verla piped up.

“Right! I mean, we’d talked about it, but I’m sure we can do that another day.”

“That sounds fun,” Brom said warmly. Matilda refrained from glaring at Verla and returned her attention to Brom. “I mean, not that I’m inviting myself. But like, if you don’t think your parents would mind, it would be fun to tag along.” 

Matilda licked her lips as everything seemed to whirl around her and freeze at the same time. “That would be nice.”

Brom grabbed her hand and grinned. “That settles it! A family afternoon of gathering… Yuletide greenery. Verla—you’re coming too?”

“I might be able to fit you into my busy schedule of mirror hauntings and poltergeist simulations.”

“Great!”

“Great,” Matilda murmured, wondering how a quiet Sunday with Brom turned into a bizarre family outing.

Then again, when she saw how enthusiastic he was about it, maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

Their lazy breakfast drew to an end, and soon Matilda and Brom found themselves alone in the kitchen to wash up, with Verla having conveniently disappeared. 

“She knows she’s supposed to help,” Matilda grumbled as she stacked the sticky plates on the table and carried them to the sink.

“It’s fine, Hon’, I’ve got it,” Brom assured her over his shoulder as he turned the hot water to run in the sink and squirted some dish soap. 

“Thanks.” She carefully placed the dishes in the sink to soak as her eyes skimmed the counters for anything else out of place.

“Hey, is that…?” Brom nodded towards the single creamy white flower on the windowsill. “From—from Henrietta?”

Matilda followed his gaze and studied the flower in question. She’d watered it a bit last night, but she was never sure how much it needed, with its other-worldly origin. “Yeah. It’s strange that it’s lasted this long. I think it’s gotten even healthier over the last few weeks.”

“Weird. Maybe it has to do with her magic? Or like, a final gift from the curse?” 

Matilda stared at the flower as she recalled the awful night of its creation. And yet, the flower seemed to spark something in her—a sense of promise rather than of loss. “Maybe.”

Silence hung thick in the air between them, heavy with all that had passed that October night—and everything that had happened since then. Finally, Brom spoke. “Have you seen her recently?”

Matilda blinked, still staring at the flower. “No,” she said softly. In truth, she couldn’t remember the last time she had sensed Kat’s ghost, though whether it was ever her friend’s spirit or just a manifestation of her own conscience, she was never sure. Perhaps she should have felt sad, to have lost the one shred of contact she might have had with Kat, but all she felt was relief.

And perhaps a glimpse of peace?

She still didn’t think she deserved it, but the man beside her helped it feel like a possibility within reach.

Brom nudged her shoulder with his as they stood side-by-side, and Matilda’s focus came back to her physical reality: Brom, in her kitchen beside her with his sleeves rolled up and almost elbow-deep in soapy water. A familiar warmth began to rise within her.

“You don’t have to do that,” she said as she met his eyes. “I can, uh, finish up if you want to get a shower or something. Since you made breakfast and all.” Suddenly, her knees felt a little wobbly, but she wasn’t sure if it was the idea of Brom using her shower or if it was the way he looked at her. 

“Nah, it’s fine, I can help here first. Unless you’re in a rush.”

“No rush.”

“Or if you want to start getting ready, I can finish cleaning up. I don’t mind.”

Matilda chewed her lip as she considered his offer. Much as she liked being near him, she also felt the wisdom in putting some space between them—and it wouldn’t hurt to start getting ready. “Okay. I might take you up on that.”

“No problem.”

Matilda wiped her hands on the dish towel that hung off the oven door before she made her way to the hallway. Before she disappeared around the corner, she turned back to Brom. 

“Just make sure you really get those dishes squeaky clean. I run a tight ship here, Bones.” With a glint in her eye, she waved her fingers, causing a small splash of water to hit Brom’s middle from across the room.

“Hey!” Brom cried as he came after her. Matilda squealed and pivoted on her heel, racing down the hall before she rushed into her bedroom and slammed the door within inches of Brom’s nose. 

Brom had slept surprisingly well the night before, all things considered, though he could usually crash anywhere—a habit from his younger years that had thankfully stayed with him. Even the storm of his father’s appearance, with all the subtlety of a crack of thunder, couldn’t hang over him for long. Or, at least—he could ignore it for a while. 

The itch to move hit him almost as soon as he’d opened his eyes on the couch in the early morning light that spilled into Matilda’s apartment. Before he knew it, he was off on a run through Sleepy Hollow, half to gather some ingredients for breakfast, half to get his muscles warmed up, and perhaps, if he was being totally honest with himself, half to chase away the pesky thoughts about his dad.

Math was never his strong suit.

It was easy to ignore the hurt that threatened to overwhelm him when he cranked up the music with Verla, or when he shared pancakes and coffee with her and Matilda at the small table, or when he scrubbed dishes at the sink, with Matilda a hair’s breadth away. What was harder to ignore was the memory of being held in her arms, the feeling of complete safety as he let down his guard, along with the warmth that thrummed in his veins whenever she was around. Perhaps that was why he was quick to invite himself to Matilda’s family outing.

As he stepped into the shower, he fought against the buzz of his thoughts. The evidence of the shower’s previous occupant surrounded him, with the wet tiles and steamy air, and he swallowed the lump in his throat as his pulse quickened. He quickly turned the shower on, guiding the handle to the cold water to drown out his thoughts that began to echo in the cramped space.

He could feel the pull between himself and Matilda, and he didn’t trust himself not to test the sparks that he felt building between them as each day passed. Besides, he wasn’t exactly in the best headspace to forge ahead on that front. Matilda deserved better. Heck, they both did.

He took a deep breath as the cool water thrummed against skin and steamed around him with the drop in temperature. He scanned the array of jars in the shower, and Brom’s stomach fluttered at the strange mix of normalcy and intimacy of being surrounded by Matilda’s things. He picked up a bar of soap and sniffed at the floral scent. Was this one of Matty’s recipes? He worked the bar into a lather and used his hands to massage the suds over his body. He couldn’t deny the thrill that coursed through him at the thought of smelling like the most bad-ass witch of Sleepy Hollow all day—though he also knew it would probably drive him crazy. 

He just hoped this wasn’t a bad idea.

The cozy bubble that seemed to surround them that morning began to dissolve as Brom drove back up the driveway of his house. Instead of heading towards the garage, however, he steered the car to the front door and parked perpendicular to the main entrance. 

“You sure you don’t want me to come in with you?” Matilda asked for what felt like the hundredth time.

Brom took her hand and gave her a small smile. “No, I’ll be fine. But thanks for offering.” He took a deep breath, and Matilda thought he gripped her hand a little too hard to let him enter the lions’ den alone. “I’ll be quick.”

“I’ll be here.”

With a nod, he let go of her hand and got out of the car, closing the door behind him. He’d left the car running and Matilda clasped her hands in her lap, grateful for the heat from the vents as she tried to quiet the nervous energy in her veins. She flipped through the radio and landed on an indie station that barely came through from whatever neighbouring town it was based in, a slight hum of static playing over the music. She drummed her mittened hands on her knees as she looked out the fogged-up window towards the expansive front yard of the Van Brunt property, now spotted with bushes covered with burlap sacks and dried brown grasses whose best days were long behind them. Though it was almost the middle of December, Sleepy Hollow had yet to have a lasting snow, and the world looked dull and muddy and brown.

After a few songs, the back door opened and a large suitcase and duffle bag landed with a thud on the back seat. Brom then opened the driver’s door and slid into the car, quickly closing his door behind him.

“Everything go okay?” Matilda asked as she searched his expression.

He stared at the steering wheel, unseeing, until he finally frowned. “My dad had no eyebrows.”

Matilda snorted and clapped a hand over her mouth. Whatever answer she had expected, this most certainly was not it.

Brom turned to her. “You didn’t…?”

“No! Goddess, why would I? I mean, I was tempted to set something on fire, but I would have done that while we were there.”

“Did you—did you tell Verla at all?”

Matilda wracked her brain for any trail that might lead to this conclusion. “I, uh—I think I might have said something last when I was getting ready for bed, but…” She trailed off, unable to voice her suspicions. She also didn’t trust herself not to cheer aloud.

“Well, either my dad had a freak accident with the stove or he was visited by an angry ghost-woman.” He cracked a small smile, and Matilda giggled.

“I’m sorry, it’s not funny,” she said as she failed to keep a straight face. She even bit down on her cheeks, but to no avail. 

“Nah, it’s a little funny,” Brom admitted as he turned on the ignition and shifted the car into “drive”. He circled around on the large driveway until they were heading back to town. 

“Do you think you’ll be gone for long?” Matilda asked carefully. The size of his suitcase had surprised her.

“I’m not sure,” Brom replied. He glanced at her before he fixed his attention on the road. “That might be up to my dad. He did seem genuinely surprised that I was packing up.”

“Right.”

And what do you want? Matilda couldn’t bring herself to voice the question. She wasn’t sure what she wanted Brom’s answer to be. Even though they were technically married, they’d barely begun dating, and she wasn’t exactly ready to start clearing out half of her closet and drawer space for a roommate.

Although, the idea was more and more appealing. In the very far-off future. 

They drove in comfortable silence through Sleepy Hollow’s main streets and off onto the old road that led to the Bishop’s house. It was strange, how it felt like they’d driven to her parents’ house together countless times before, and yet this was the first. Well, if she didn’t count the times in high school when Matilda was the third wheel to Brom and Kat.

He slowed the car to a stop and shifted it into “park”. Matilda noticed he took a deep breath before he looked at her. “You okay?” she asked as she reached for his hand.

He gave her a smile, and his features relaxed slightly. “Yeah,” he assured her as he held her hand in return, her mitten interlocked with his gloves.

“At least my parents already know about us,” she offered, only half teasing.

Brom chuckled. “You’re sure that’s everyone? No secret set of parents that are still waiting to discover our wedding rings by accident? No great aunt hidden in the attic?”

Matilda shook her head. “Yeah, we should’ve had a better plan for that. For, uh, both times.”

“Probably.”

Chapter Text

“Don’t worry, they know to expect you,” Matilda assured Brom as they paused on the wrap-around porch of the Bishops’ house. He held his suitcase in one hand and his duffle bag in the other.

“I wasn’t worried,” Brom replied with a toss of his head to flick his hair out of his face. He looked different—more casual?—with his hair a little wilder since he’d gotten ready at her place and had let his thick waves air dry, free from any mousse or gel. Matilda liked the rarity, as if it was a side of him that few got to see.

“Okay,” she said with her eyes narrowed. She held his gaze for a moment, offering him one last chance to back out. When he didn’t say more, she turned around and opened the door, grateful that it gave way and she didn’t have to dig for her keys.

“Hello?” she called out into the foyer and down the hall. She opened the door wide to let Brom in and closed it quickly behind him to minimize the freezing air’s assault on the snug house.

“Hello?” A female voice echoed back before Matilda’s mom rounded the corner. “Hello!” She hurried up to Matilda and wrapped her arms around her before doing the same to Brom. “So glad you could come, Brom.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Brom said as they pulled away from their hug. Matilda rolled her eyes, though part of her warmed at the sentiment. To her mother’s credit, Rosamund didn’t flinch at the endearment and simply beamed at him.

Matilda’s father, on the other hand…

Paul Bishop joined the welcome party and Matilda all but threw herself at him in a hug. 

“Be nice,” she whispered in his ear before she pulled back, and she caught a frown on her dad’s face before he relaxed into a polite smile. He must have noticed the sternness in her expression.

“Abraham,” he said with his hand outstretched. Brom ignored the formal gesture and wrapped his arms around her father. “Dad!” he exclaimed with a clap on his back. “Great to see you again.”

“Uh, likewise,” Paul Bishop replied as he squirmed out of the embrace. Matilda would have thought the scene funny if she didn’t feel a tug at her heart instead. Besides, if Brom sensed there was any awkwardness, he didn’t show it. In fact, he looked quite pleased with himself. 

“Oh! I have something for you,” he said as he bent down and unzipped a pocket of his suitcase. Matilda’s parents threw her puzzled looks and she shrugged, wide-eyed and equally baffled.

“To make up for coming empty-handed the last time we were here,” he said as he handed Mrs. Bishop two jars. “It’s not much since it was kind of short notice, but I hope you like it.”

Matilda’s mother held the jars up—one a golden amber colour and the other a rich, purple-y red. “Honey and raspberry jam,” she read from the handwritten labels.

“They’re artisan. Handmade from a little farm out in Connecticut.”

“Thank you, Brom, that’s a lovely thought. I’m sure we’ll enjoy these with breakfast, won’t we, Paul?” Matilda’s mother replied with a warm smile before holding the jars out to her husband.

“Mmhmm.”

After a small pause, Matilda’s dad gestured towards Brom’s bags. “So, are you, uh, staying for the month?” Matilda could read the dozens of questions in his eyes, and she appreciated the restraint he showed when he said no more.

Brom laughed. “No, no. I just had to grab some things from home to bring back to Matty’s and I didn’t want to leave them in the car to freeze.”

Matilda swallowed the lump in her throat as her parents’ confusion twisted into bewilderment. “It’s not like that!” she assured them. 

“Well, Sweetie, you’re an adult, so that’s fine if you guys are—”

“No!” Matilda said a little too loudly, her cheeks warm. “Brom’s not staying with me like that, he just—his dad is back, and there was—I mean, I guess he did stay over last night—but not like that—”

“Honey, why don’t we head inside and we can tell your parents what happened, okay?” Brom said, taking a step to join her, and he placed his hand on her back. 

“Yeah. Sure. Okay.”

“Well, before you guys take off your coats, did you want to get the greenery first?” Matilda’s mother offered. “If you’ve had a big breakfast, we can eat afterwards, or we can have a bite now if you guys want.”

Matilda looked at Brom before she looked back at her mom. “We might as well head out now,” she agreed, eager to snatch the distraction so conveniently dangled before her. “Especially while it’s still light out.”

“Perfect! Just give us a few minutes to bundle up and we’ll be ready to go.”

As her parents headed to the mudroom, Matilda turned to Brom. She tilted her head and considered how much he was aware of how things looked or how much he was completely oblivious to the implications.

“What?” he said with his boyish smile that made her heart flutter in spite of herself. 

Oblivion it was. 

“Nothing,” she assured him with a shake of her head. “Where’d you get those preserves, though?”

“Oh, I grabbed them from my dad’s house,” he explained as he reached for her hands absentmindedly. “I wish I’d been able to get flowers, but the stores are closed today. I thought those were still nice. And I promise they weren’t re-gifted or anything.”

“It was sweet,” Matilda assured him.

Brom grinned. “See? I’m good with parents.”

Matilda couldn’t help but return his smile. Besides, despite the awkwardness, and her dad’s scepticism, she enjoyed this tableau of them as a couple in a routine visit to her parents’ place. She also enjoyed the strange mix of excitement and calm that bloomed in her chest that hinted that this was the real thing. 

Don’t get ahead of yourself, Matilda.

She led Brom through the house to the mudroom where her parents gathered their supplies. 

“Brom, do you have a hat?” Matilda’s mom asked. “It’s colder than it looks out there.”

“Oh, uh, no, I don’t think I packed that.”

Matilda quirked a brow. “You packed that entire suitcase and you didn’t get a winter hat?”

“Hey, I was in a rush!”

“That’s no problem. We’ve got lots of extras,” Rosamund said as she grabbed a basket down from a shelf.

“Ooh, this one is perfect,” Matilda exclaimed, and she snatched a brightly coloured knitted hat that had to include every colour of the rainbow, complete with a bright red pom-pom on top.

“Uh, thanks, Hon’, but I’m sure there’s another one—”

“It’s perfect,” Matilda insisted, and before Brom couldn’t protest further, she shoved it on his head.

Paul passed by Brom and gave him a pat on the back. “Rule number one: no arguing with the Bishop women.”

Brom nodded as he tugged the hat backwards to pull the rim off his eyes. “I think I’ve learned that one the hard way.” He fixed his eyes on Matilda with a smirk, and Matilda gave him a playful swat.

“That’s a Granny Bishop creation,” she explained to him. 

“I think your grandmother really liked her bright colours.” 

Matilda simply nodded in return, a gleeful smile on her lips as she took in the sight of her husband in her grandmother’s hat. She couldn’t decide if the fact that the husband in question was a Van Brunt would have her grandmother donning a smirk or spinning in her grave.

She caught her mother’s eye and saw a knowing glint that she wasn’t prepared to answer. “Ready to go?” she asked her mom with a tilt of her head. 

Rosamund nodded, her single braid tucked under her navy knitted hat. “Let’s go!”

Brom kept by Matilda’s side as the party of four began their trek from the Bishop’s back yard towards the forest, with Matilda’s dad pulling a small wagon with a few pairs of shears. (“If there’s snow, we use a sled,” Matilda explained.) The overcast sky teased the promise of snow while the chill in the air made their breaths cloud before them, and he was glad for the hat from Matilda’s mom. Though it was almost halfway through December, Sleepy Hollow had yet to have more than a dusting of snow that disappeared almost as soon as it landed, and the brown landscape seemed eager to receive its proper winter blanket. Plus, Brom thought everything just looked prettier with snow, even if it did cause some inconveniences now that he was an adult. Besides, who didn’t like being able to make a snowball whenever they wanted?

Though even without any white stuff, he thought the day was going pretty well so far.

His hand found Matilda’s, and her mittened-fingers clasped his back. She offered him a smile, and his heart beat faster in his chest at how easy these affections passed between them—especially as they walked side by side with her parents.

“So you said something happened with your dad, Brom?” Matilda’s mom asked from the other side of Matilda. “I didn’t realize he’d returned.”

“Yeah,” Brom said with a nod, his muscles clenched at the memory. “I, uh, didn’t know he was coming back. He’d been on a cruise and then he’d extended his trip. I didn’t know if he’d be back before the holidays but he showed up last night when Matty and I were about to make dinner.”

God, was that only last night?

“Oh?” Mr. Bishop asked from the far side of their line of four.

“I’d been waiting to be able to tell him about our news face-to-face, but he and I had only managed to text each other over the last month, and then he kind of surprised me and… he didn’t take it well.”

“What happened?” Rosamund asked.

The question was soft and full of concern, free of any harsh accusations, and Brom warmed at the sentiment. He thought over his words before he answered. “He, uh—he made it clear he wasn’t happy about the reckless legal contract we entered into.”

Brom thought he heard Matilda’s dad huff. “Reckless, maybe, but leave it to John Van Brunt to make this about money,” he said just loudly enough for Brom to hear.

“Yeah, well, it went badly, and we left, and then we had cheeseburgers and watched a movie and Brom slept on the couch,” Matilda added. “Not that you needed to know that, but that’s what happened.”

Well, that’s not all that happened. Brom couldn’t resist tugging Matilda a little closer, and he saw her bite her lip. 

“Oh, Brom, Honey, I’m sorry to hear that. Just know that you’re welcome at our place anytime,” Mrs. Bishop said.

Brom’s heart swelled in his chest, and he swallowed the lump in his throat. “Thank—thank you.”

Matilda squeezed his hand, and he gripped her hand in return. 

They came to the edge of the forest, though it was thinner and more tamed than the wilderness of Sleepy Hollow legend. The Bishops’ land, while sizeable, had a small clearing around the house, as if they had left the trees and bushes and plants to grow freely around them and strove to disturb nature as little as possible. Brom could imagine the flowers that would take over the yard in the height of spring, almost mixing with the rows of herbs and vegetables that the family cultivated. Even in the middle of December, the winding fences that looked like they were held up by magic did not feel like a barrier from the outside world; rather, it was as if they wrapped the house in an embrace. The contrast to Brom’s family home was striking, with its manicured lawns and vast empty space, a monument to man’s triumph over nature.

“Have you done this before, Brom?” Mrs. Bishop asked as they gathered around the wagon. 

“Not really,” Brom admitted. “But it can’t be too hard, right?”

Mr. Bishop snorted, and his wife gently touched his arm.

“No, it’s not difficult,” Rosamund agreed. “But we do try to take only what we need, and we only take a few branches from any given tree.”

“No severe haircuts,” Matilda added as she released Brom’s hand and grabbed a couple of pairs of cutters, along with some work gloves.

Brom reached for a large pair of shears before Mr. Bishop snatched them away. “Slow down, there,” he said in a deep tone. “Can’t have you waving these things around.”

“You can do enough damage with these,” Matilda assured him. She handed him a pair of cutters that looked like they could barely prune roses, let alone branches.

“They’re more powerful than they look,” Rosamund added, her dark eyes large and warm, like her daughter’s.

“Yes, please be careful,” Matilda added. He was surprised at the serious warning he saw in her expression. “I am not taking you to the emergency room today because you lost a finger.”

Brom swallowed. “Right. Um, promise that won’t happen.”

She furrowed her brow at him and held up a finger. “It better not.” Brom relaxed only slightly when he noticed a faint shimmer of amusement behind her glare. While he most definitely did not want to lose a finger, in that moment he was more scared of earning the Bishops’ wrath than of any physical pain he might experience in the event of that unlikely scenario.

“So, we’ll leave the wagon here, and first to fill it up gets the Granny Bishop mug for their hot chocolate!” Rosamund said. Before Brom could ask what that meant, she whipped around and disappeared into the trees, her braid flying behind her.

Mr. Bishop turned to follow his wife, but not before looking over his shoulder at Matilda and Brom. “Be careful,” he warned, his blue eyes surprisingly threatening despite their fair colour.

Brom nodded. “Yes, Sir,” he said quickly, with a nod for emphasis. Though what exactly he was to be careful about, he wasn’t entirely sure. 

Matilda snorted. “It’s funny to see him like this,” she explained with a wave of the cutters in her hand.

“Oh? You mean he’s easy-going with all your other boyfriends?” Brom asked as he slowly pulled his gaze away from Matilda’s dad and rested it on her.

Matilda shook her head. “There haven’t really been a lot of guys,” she admitted softly. 

Brom started at the lack of teasing in her tone. He searched her eyes, unable to land on one of the dozen questions that flicked through mind. “Well, as long as there’s just been one husband,” he finally replied, though the amusement that bubbled in his chest couldn’t quite dissipate his curiosity. 

Matilda simply shrugged and moved deeper into the brush.

“Hey!” he said as he chased after her. He fought the urge to grab her hand and tug her close, unsure of what his next move would possibly be. Besides, he could hear her parents rustling through the trees a few feet away, though the branches muffled their conversation. 

“This way,” Matilda said, and Brom dutifully followed her steady paces as she kept her eyes forward. 

There’s no arguing with the Bishop women, Brom thought with a smile. Despite the chill in the air, he could feel his blood warm as he matched Matilda’s surprisingly quick steps, and they weaved and ducked among the trees.

Suddenly, she stopped in a small clearing, and Brom planted himself awkwardly and hovered over her to stop from crashing into her. 

“This is it!” she declared.

“Okay…” Brom looked around, unable to tell the difference between these trees and the several other perfectly good specimens they had passed.

Matilda looked over her shoulder at him and he could see her fight the urge to roll her eyes. “It has a bit of everything,” she explained. When Brom’s expression remained confused, she sighed and pointed with her cutters. “You’ve got cedar over here”—she emphasized her point with a jab towards the branches that looked lighter in colour and almost feathery—“while there’s douglas fir here”—she then jabbed her cutters towards branches that looked more like needles, though smaller—“and then pine over here.” Her last jab ended at some trees with large needles that Brom definitely recognized as typical Christmas-tree material.

“Right.” 

Matilda yanked off her mitts and exchanged them for the work gloves she had stuffed in her pocket while Brom studied the cutters in his hand. He squeezed the handles, but the short blades remained closed.

“Here,” Matilda said as she took them from him and shoved a pair of work gloves into his hand. “You’ve got to unlatch them here first.” With a press of a button, the blades sprung open, and they clasped together easily when she squeezed the handles.

“Got it,” he said, his cheeks flushed in embarrassment—an unfamiliar sensation.

He quickly exchanged his winter gloves for the pair that Matilda had given him, and the worn leather chilled his skin. He wondered how Matilda would fare with the lack of insulation and then he remembered her mother’s instructions. Perhaps speed was the key.

“So, is this a contest, then?” he asked with a quirk of his brow. 

“In a manner of speaking,” Matilda answered. “As long as you’re—”

“Careful, yes, I know.”

Brom stuck his tongue out at Matilda, and she scrunched her nose back at him. He turned towards the tree closest to him, eyeing up the branches for a good place to attack. “Do I just cut anywhere?” he asked.

Matilda came up beside him, and his pulse quicked at her sudden nearness, her shoulder touching his. “It’s best to take branches that are close to the ground,” she advised. “And just a few at most from any given tree. We don’t want to cut them back too much.”

Brom nodded. “I think I’ve got it.”

“And if the cutters seem too small, the branch is too big.”

“Right. Low branches, and small.”

Matilda grabbed a small branch that was attached to a larger branch. With a deft snip, she cut it away and held up the soft greenery that was about a foot in length with a decent stem. Brom followed suit with a branch close by, and the cutters easily snipped through the small stem.

“So you guys do this every year?” Brom asked as they worked side-by-side. His heart skipped a beat when he noticed that they followed each other around to the various branches when they could have easily separated in the small clearing to gather a larger variety.

“For the most part,” Matilda answered, her head bowed as she methodically clipped a few branches in a row before tossing them in the pile behind them. “Kat would usually help, but, uh—we didn’t do it last year.” She paused for a moment, and Brom held his breath against the familiar ache as he watched Matilda’s features cloud over. Would it ever get easier? After a beat, she shrugged and continued to cut. “We usually do it in the middle of the month so they’re still fresh for Yuletide.” 

“Nice.” Brom could already smell the faint astringent freshness of the cedar, and he could imagine the effect amplified indoors in large concentration. “Do you guys cut down your own tree, too?”

Snip, snip.

Matilda shook her head, which sent her hair fanning out from under her knitted hat. “No. There aren’t really enough trees out here anymore so we usually just get one from Jerry.” The tree farm owner’s appearance on Main Street was one of the many traditions of Sleepy Hollow, and Brom always felt a little giddy when he saw him set up in the parking lot of the grocery store every year in early December, with his offering of trees ready to be lit up and decorated. 

“What about you?” Matilda asked as she looked up at Brom. “Do you guys decorate at all?” He thought he saw a flicker of sympathy, as if she already knew the answer.

“Nah,” Brom said, and he quickly turned his attention to his hands. He made a quick snip at a branch and realized he’d cut it too short, with the nubbin of a stem less than ideal for garlands. He shrugged and tossed it on the pile. “Dad’s not usually around so I don’t bother setting it all up. I enjoy the rest of the town’s decorations, though, and I usually visit the Babes, anyway. Their families go all out.” He kept snipping at branches, each cut more vigorous than the last. “I usually decorate for New Year’s, at least.”

“Right,” Matilda said before she paused. “And—do you think you’ll be doing that this year?”

Do you think you’ll be throwing your annual New Year’s Eve party now that your jackass dad is back and my best friend has only been buried for a couple of months?

Brom shook his head at himself, unnerved at the bitterness that snuck up on him. “I... I hadn’t really thought that far ahead,” he admitted.

In all honesty, he hadn’t thought much beyond that afternoon. What he could picture, however, was Matilda and her family spending an idyllic Christmas—er, Yuletide—together with their perfectly decorated home filled with Christmas branches and the scent of pine and cedar wafting through the cozy rooms that had seen generations of Bishops through the same celebrations. He longed to imagine himself in that same scene, though that image refused to solidify, leaving only hazy edges and an ache in his middle.

“Of course,” Matilda said softly. Her familiar voice pulled him from his thoughts, and he realized he’d left a bald patch on his side of the douglas fir they’d been cutting from.

“Uh, don’t look over here, but I might have given this tree a buzzcut.”

Matilda leaned around the branches and brushed past Brom to get a closer look. She shrugged, and the tip of her hat tickled Brom’s chin as she turned around. 

“It needed a new look anyway,” she assured him with a smirk. Brom grinned, though his shoulders fell slightly when she pulled away, and he had to fight the urge once again to pull her close.

They moved on to the tree beside them and fell into a comfortable rhythm as they worked their way backwards, leaving small piles as they went. The wind rustled the tops of the trees, though the air was still with the thick covering of branches that surrounded them on the ground—even as they thinned out the greenery slightly, it was barely enough to notice, and it felt like Sleepy Hollow—and the Van Brunt house—was a million miles away. Brom could feel the weight of his dad’s disappointment, and the fire of his own anger, that nagged at a corner of his chest, but it was easy to forget—or at least ignore—his home situation when he bumped shoulders with Matilda. Her floral soap mixed with the sharp, sweet scent of the pine branches in a combination that made him feel lightheaded—a sensation heightened by the knowledge that her scent quite literally lingered on his own skin. He also thought she smiled at him more than usual, though the swell in his chest deflated at the sympathy or pity he saw laced in her looks.

And yet… even with the layers of fabric between them, Brom could swear Matilda was one touch away from sending a shock right through him. He snuck a glance at her as she furrowed her brow and stuck out her tongue while she tried to cut through a particularly stubborn branch, utterly absorbed in the task at hand. He bit his lip, torn between the desire to laugh out loud and to give into the impulse to turn her around and press a kiss—

“Here,” Brom choked out as he shook off the daydream that was becoming alarmingly persistent. “Let me help.” He placed his own cutters on the ground before he stepped closer to Matilda, wrapping his hands on the handle below hers before they tugged together.

With a few pulls and grunts, the branch eventually gave way. In a moment, Brom realized he misjudged his vigour. He should have planted one foot farther behind him, but as the tree released its branch, the momentum that he and Matilda had built sent them flying backwards. Before he knew what had happened, he landed with a thud on the frozen ground and a weight on his chest.

He blinked to see Matilda laid out flat on top of him as he struggled to catch his breath, though he knew that the effect could not be blamed entirely on the fall or the cold December air. Every muscle coiled tightly as his pulse quickened, and he realized he was staring at her lips as their breath fogged between them.

He glanced up to meet her eyes, which widened as she took in the situation herself. She braced herself against the ground on either side of Brom and scrambled off of him. Once she’d found her footing, she jumped back a few feet, leaving Brom to twist himself sideways to push himself up to a standing position. He took a slow, deep breath as he watched her, her back towards him.

“Are you okay?” he asked slowly. The implication hung thick in the air—though he was mostly concerned with the fact that they had fallen with a sharp instrument, the question hinted at more than just her physical safety.

“Mmhmm,” she said brightly as she turned around to face him. She flashed him a smile, the kind that was a little too cheerful, and Brom’s heart fell in his chest to see her disappear behind her mask perfected for customers at The Drugstore. He’d rather she’d have shot him a sarcastic remark.

And yet, he’d seen it—the way her eyes had darkened for a moment as she lay flush against him, and he could have sworn her attention had dropped lower.

“How’s it going in there?” a male voice called out through the trees, and Matilda jumped. 

“Fine!” she called back, and Brom sensed a hint of panic in her voice. He would almost find it amusing if it didn’t dig at him.

Paul Bishop emerged from the trees with a surprisingly stern look for such a gentle man, and Brom threw up a prayer of thanks that he hadn’t appeared a few seconds earlier. He also wondered if his father-in-law didn’t have a sixth sense about those things, and he had to remind himself that he was not one of the magical members of the family. 

“Your mother and I are going to head back,” he told Matilda with a glance at Brom. “We, uh, wanted to check”—Brom swallowed at the gruffness in his voice—“if you wanted to come, or if you wanted to load your branches into the wagon now before we leave…”

“We’ll come,” Matilda said quickly, and Brom nodded. “Just give us a minute and we’ll be right there.”

“Alright,” Matilda’s dad said before he disappeared the way he came. 

“I can carry the branches if you get the cutters,” Brom told Matilda as she scanned the clearing. He willed her to meet his eyes, and he held his breath when her gaze landed on him. “It’s okay.”

I want you to feel safe with me.

Matilda’s shoulders relaxed, and she gave him a small, genuine smile that reached her eyes. “Okay.”

Brom smiled in reply, warmth returning to his body as she helped pile the branches high in his arms and guided him through the trees and back to the wagon where her parents waited.

Chapter Text

Matilda knew she was playing a (mildly) dangerous game as she tried to see how close she could stay beside Brom as they cut greenery. It was by no means a romantic activity, but there was something cozy about being hidden in the forest, surrounded by the thick covering of cedar and pine needles, the fresh scent rising up around them with each cut mixed with the charge in the air that promised that snow was on the way.

Or perhaps the air buzzed with something more electric.

And then, suddenly she found herself lying on top of Brom and every sense in her body seemed to alight. The sensation wasn’t entirely unpleasant, though her brain screamed at her to put some distance between herself and Brom. And yet, part of her didn’t want to—especially after she leapt off of him and saw him looking at her like a hurt puppy that seemed to only care if she was okay. 

She’d landed squarely on him and he was worried about her.

She shook the memory of how his firm muscles felt underneath her, not ready to deal with the emotions that that experience stirred up. Better to return to civilization as quickly as possible.

As she and Brom reached the edge of the forest, she realized the sky had darkened by more than what could be explained by the late hour of the afternoon. 

She caught her mother’s eye and ignored the quirk of her eyebrow that seemed a little too knowing. She knew Rosamund Bishop had a heightened mother’s sense, but surely she couldn’t sense everything —could she?

Brom dropped his armload of greenery on top of the already impressive pile in the wagon, and Matilda added the two pairs of clippers on top. With their work done, she took off the thin pair of work gloves, eager to replace them with her thick mittens. Brom did the same, and she handed him his winter gloves.

As their fingers brushed, Brom started. “Hon’, your hands are freezing!” he exclaimed. Before she could blink, he clasped her small hands in his large grasp and brought them up to his mouth. Matilda’s eyes widened as he breathed on her fingers before rubbing them between his own. 

She should have been embarrassed, but the gesture was so sweet and genuine that she couldn’t pull her hands away. Instead, a faint giddiness bubbled in her chest as Brom focused on his ministrations, and her fingers tingled as his heat transferred to them. 

“How’s that?” he met her gaze, his smile warm and confident, and she couldn’t help but relax.

“Better. Thanks.”

He paused for a moment and dropped her hands. He glanced around them, as if he remembered her parents, and he shoved his own gloves back on his hands as Matilda put on her mittens. 

“Here, Dad, let me get that,” he said as he grabbed the handle of the wagon without waiting for an answer from Paul Bishop.

“Um, okay—sure.”

Matilda fell into step with her mom as her dad and Brom led the way back to the house in front of them. She could see the two men carry on some sort of conversation, and Matilda longed to know what they could possibly be talking about. She marvelled at how her father relaxed as Brom was his genial self, and she smiled as she recalled Brom’s earlier comment.

I’m good with parents.

She only wished she could say the same for herself, and she briefly wondered if she could have done anything to smooth over the reunion with Brom and his dad. In the same breath, anger flashed within her, and the last thing she wanted to do was to extend any sort of olive branch to John Van Brunt. 

Matilda waited for a comment from her mother that thankfully never came, and soon the little party had returned to the house. Matilda and her mother left Brom and her dad to carry in the branches and put away the tools while the Bishop women made their way to the kitchen to start on the promised hot chocolate. The gendered roles were not lost on Matilda, but she was glad to leave the boys to the mudroom while she snuck away to the domestic warmth with her mother. 

The two worked silently as Rosamund filled a pot with milk and Matilda grabbed the ingredients  of the powdered variety from the cupboard. The Bishops’ recipe for hot chocolate had been passed down and tweaked through the generations, though Matilda was pretty sure the original recipe had perhaps involved fresher ingredients and perhaps less chili and cayenne. At some point, one of her great-grandmothers had added—or at least, increased—the amount of spicy heat, and the taste had stayed in the family ever since. 

Matilda arranged the mugs on the counter—including the giant mug that her grandfather had made for her grandmother ages ago, when the two were courting—and she watched her dad and Brom carry some logs to the fireplace in the family room. Brom followed her dad’s lead and carefully placed the logs on the stone hearth while Paul explained the best way to arrange them in the fireplace. Matilda chuckled to see her dad in his element, taking full advantage of having an eager pupil.

“It looks like they’re getting along nicely,” her mother said beside her. 

“Yeah,” Matilda said with a nod. A corner of her heart lightened, and she hadn’t realized how much she wanted her dad and Brom to get along. Perhaps it was silly, but she wondered if she was waiting for her parents’ approval, before…

Before what?

“Why don’t you ask Brom to stay for the holidays?” her mom asked as she stirred in the various powders into the warm milk on the stove. The sweet and spicy aroma began to waft from the pot, and a wave of nostalgia washed over Matilda. She watched her father in the other room with her husband as the past and present seemed to crash together once again.

“I don’t know,” she finally said, leaning against the counter beside the stovetop, her arms crossed as she returned her attention to her mother. “It seems a little soon.”

Rosamund chuckled without looking up. “Well, Sweetie, you are married. And where else is he going to go for Christmas?”

Matilda nodded, unable to say anything. She hated the idea of Brom being stuck with Ichabod and Diedrich in his shabby apartment—or worse, Brom choosing to spend the holiday with them over her—but she also felt the significance, as if they would be crossing a threshold, should she invite him into her family celebrations. 

And yet, it already felt like there would be an empty space should he not be with them. With her.

Or maybe you’re just scared he’ll say, “no”.

Matilda forced herself to focus on the family room and she realized she was staring at Brom. He smiled at her with a small wave across the room, and she smiled back, a familiar warmth flooding her chest. 

She jumped when she noticed her mother ladle the hot chocolate mixture into the mugs. Matilda grabbed a serving tray from a lower cupboard and arranged the filled mugs on its surface. Rosamund followed her daughter’s gaze towards her son-in-law in the other room before fixing her eyes on the mugs. Matilda quickly hurried to the fridge and grabbed a can of whipped cream. She debated pulling some marshmallows from the pantry but decided against that addition in light of recent events.

“It’s up to you,” her mother said as she filled the last mug. “But I for one hope you put both of you out of your misery sooner rather than later.”

“Mom!” Matilda cried as heat flushed her cheeks. She grabbed the tray and hurried towards the family room, eager to distance herself from her mother’s accusations. She placed the tray on the coffee table and perched herself on the couch as Brom turned towards her from the fireplace. 

“As promised, the Bishops’ hot chocolate,” she said with a wave over the tray.

“That looks delicious, Sweetheart,” Matilda’s dad said as he brushed his hands off and grabbed the mug that said “#1 Dad” in bold letters. He settled into his armchair while Brom shuffled towards the coffee table.

“This looks great,” Brom echoed. He grabbed a red mug and before Matilda could stop him, he took a long drink.  “Agh!” he sputtered as his face turned red. He tried to regain his composure. “It’s, ah—great.”

Matilda reached for the mug and snatched it out of his hands, much to Brom’s confusion. “That’s Verla’s,” she explained. “It’s, uh—it’s pretty much just chili powder and cayenne peppers.”

As if on cue, Verla apparated beside Matilda and took the mug in question. “Thank you,” she said in her monotone before she glided towards the kitchen.

Brom’s eyes widened as he let out a couple more coughs. “Oh, thank goodness,” he replied, and Matilda’s chest filled with a strange mix of sympathy and amusement. His shoulders relaxed despite his discomfort, and Matilda realized he would have drank the whole thing if she hadn’t intervened.

She waited a moment before handing him the proper mug. “ This is for you,” she explained as she gave him the large, uneven piece of pottery that had been hand-formed by her grandfather and painted with a glaze that seemed to change between blue and green depending on the light. 

“Quite the honour, there,” Paul Bishop said from his perch. “That’s Granny Bishop’s mug.”

Brom brightened as he took a careful sip, and his smile widened at the taste of the familiar, rich sweetness. “Delicious.” His eyes still watered, and Matilda realized his mouth was probably on fire, poor guy. She headed to the kitchen to grab him a glass of cold milk, ignoring her mother’s raised brows as they crossed paths, and with a glance out the window, she caught a glimpse of the first few delicate snowflakes that floated to the ground.

“Just up here,” Ichabod directed from the passenger’s seat as Brom guided his car towards the vast field in front of them. “Stop!”

Brom slammed on his brakes, almost throwing Rip from the backseat and into the dashboard.

“Geez,” Rip groaned. “Give a guy some warning next time!”

“Ichabod said stop!” Brom cried. “And maybe somebody should be wearing his seatbelt.”

Ichabod rubbed his neck in silence, as if choosing his next words carefully. “It’s just, you can’t drive on the field,” he said at last.

“You said, and I quote, ‘Just. Up. Here!’”

“I just—nevermind,” Ichabod said. “This is close enough, so why don’t we get out and start setting up?” He threw a look over his shoulder to Rip in the backseat. 

Brom nodded before he burst into a grin. “Sounds good!”

He jumped out of the car and took a deep breath. The sun had long since set, and the freezing air refreshed his lungs, despite the sting. They’d only driven about thirty minutes at most outside of town to find a clearing with minimal light pollution, but his legs had already begun to itch in the confines of his car, and the simple act of standing immediately relieved some of that restlessness.

He’d never done well on long roadtrips.

“Hey, Brom, do you mind getting the trunk?” Rip asked from behind him.

“Hmm? Oh, sure, Buddy.” Brom fumbled for the fob on his keys and managed to press the button by memory in darkness, with the nearest streetlight a mile away—helpful for their main purpose, but less than ideal in their current situation.  With a beep and a click, the trunk popped open, spilling a small pool of light around the back of the vehicle in which to work.

The three men unloaded their supplies and began their trek toward the middle of the field. The snow that had fallen a few days prior had remained on the ground as the temperatures continued to stay below freezing, and with the tell-tale crunch under their boots, Brom felt that Christmas was truly on its way.

Whatever that might look like for him now. 

Last year, he would have been thrilled to have his dad home so close to December twenty-fifth. Now he seemingly had his wish—with a phone full of texts from his dad he’d left unanswered—and all he wanted was to celebrate with his friends. And Matilda, who was… definitely more than a friend. 

That Sunday, he and Matilda had stayed well into the evening at her parents’ place and helped to tie and hang some of the greenery, though they’d apparently collected more than usual. Rosamund had offered him the spare bedroom if they wanted to stay the night, but Matilda had insisted they head back to her apartment, and Brom couldn’t say he was entirely disappointed. 

Still, he couldn’t crash on Matilda’s couch indefinitely, and since his bestie had a spare room, he currently found himself rooming with Ichabod. It should have been fun, given the state of the place that negated any need to be precious—especially with Douffe having fled to who knew where—but in all honesty, the whole building creeped him out. He could swear he could hear hissing in the walls, but Ichabod insisted it was just the old pipes.

And now, they were having a proper guys’ night out, and Brom couldn’t have been more thrilled. Then again, stargazing wasn’t exactly what he would have had in mind, but it was a step up from a night of video games and greasy pizza with the Babes. (No offense to his Babes.)

Ichabod led the way as he and Rip lugged a sizeable trunk across the field, Ichabod’s bright green peacoat alight in the beam of Brom’s headlamp. Brom brought up the rear with an armload of foldable lawn chairs and a six-pack of beer. The trio gained some bounce to their steps as they crunched through the snow, their adventure about to truly begin. 

“This should be good,” Ichabod panted as he dropped his side of the trunk, and Rip placed his side down more gently. Brom set up the chairs as Ichabod and Rip organized the contents of the trunk, and he made sure to keep some distance from the expensive equipment.

“Can you please stand over here so we can see what we’re doing?” Rip asked.

“Sure.” Brom let Rip guide him to position, and he tilted his head to illuminate the work area as best he could. “This good?”

“Great.”

Brom watched them work, fascinated by the shining pieces they removed from the foam padding and assembled into a working telescope. “Where’d you get this?” he asked. 

“We were able to borrow it from the high school,” Ichabod explained as he ducked down and checked the eyepiece. His thick knitted cap looked like a marshmallow lit up by Brom’s headlight.

“Cool.” Brom couldn’t imagine he’d ever get close enough to borrowing Sleepy Hollow High’s gym equipment, though he supposed it was a little different.

Ichabod and Rip worked away, and Brom wished he knew what they murmured about as they screwed the pieces into place. It was like they were part of a secret club that he could never fully join since science wasn't exactly his strength.

“Uh, Brom? Can you look down here again?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Sorry.” 

Brom readjusted his focus and licked his lips as he fought to pay attention to the telescope. He wondered what it would be like if the Babes had been there helping, and he immediately counted themselves lucky that his three friends were back in town—and even then, perhaps not far enough. He then wondered what it would be like to have Matilda out with him on a night like tonight, surrounded by darkness and snowy fields with nothing but the stars above them. He’d be lucky if he could spot the Big Dipper, but he knew Matilda would recognize the constellations. He wondered which ones she used in any spells…

“Brom!”

“I’m sorry ,” Brom said as he clenched his fists. “You guys could speed it up, you know.”

“We’re almost done,” Ichabod promised with more than a hint of exasperation. He glanced up at Brom and squinted. “You know, we could just use some normal, hand-held flashlights.”

Brom scoffed. “The flaw in that plan is right there in the name. Hand- held . This is hands-free, baby.” Brom wiggled his fingers for emphasis. 

“You look ridiculous,” Ichabod said with a glance at Brom's head-gear around his colourful hat.

“Hey!” Brom exclaimed. “I’ll have you know that this is a Granny Bishop creation.” He jerked his chin up.

Rip glanced up with furrowed brows. “Matilda’s grandmother?” he asked, his voice small. “Is it magical?”

Brom winced. He hated the tension that still hung between his friend and his wife, though for good reason. “I don’t think so.”

“Did you, uh, know that they call these hats toques in Canada?” Ichabod added with his voice pitched slightly higher. “And in Australia and New Zealand, they’re called ‘beanies’, like some parts of the U.S.” Ichabod stood up after he imparted his bit of trivia.

Brom scoffed. “Well, uh, your beanie looks more like a marshmallow.”

“Well, yours looks like a rainbow threw up on your head.”

“O- kay , Bob and Doug,” Rip said with a clap of his hands. “Why don’t we take a deep breath and get the real party started?”

Brom’s cheeks flushed as he regretted his harsh words. He was determined to have a fun night out, and he didn’t want his friends to rethink their invitation to him. “Great! I brought drinks.” He grabbed three bottles of beer.

Ichabod frowned as he took his bottle. “Isn’t it a little cold for beer?”

“Nah,” Brom insisted. He handed Rip his drink before he grabbed the bottle opener from his pocket and pried the lid off with a satisfying pop . “What better way to enjoy a night out than to share some brew-skis with my bro-skis?” He took a sip for emphasis and fought the shiver that threatened to take over. Ichabod and Rip agreed—hesitantly—and opened their bottles before they toasted the night.

“So, what are we looking for?” Brom asked as he settled down on one of the chairs. 

“The Pleiades,” Rip said, his eyes fixed on his phone. He glanced up at the sky and then back at his phone before turning the telescope a few degrees. He looked at Brom, who narrowed his eyes and tilted his head. “The Seven Sisters?” Rip asked. 

“Nope, still not ringing any bells,” Brom replied before he took a swig of beer. He flinched, both from the cold and the taste, and he wondered if Ichabod had been right about his choice of drinks.

“It’s a constellation connected close to Orion’s belt,” Ichabod explained, standing beside Rip, who looked up into the sky. “You can see them with your naked eye, but there are more stars visible through the telescope.”

“Cool,” said Brom with a nod. “So, like, those stars up there?” He pointed to the first grouping he saw, though the vast expanse of pinpricks in the sky looked more or less the same to him—but still impressive. 

“Um, more like”—Brom took a step towards Brom and shifted his arm—”there. See those three stars? That’s Orion’s belt.”

Brom scoffed. “He must be a pretty small guy.”

“Sure,” Ichabod replied. “And then you follow that to Aldebran,” he shifted Brom’s arm up slightly. “See that bright star?”

“Yeah.”

“And then from there, you just move up to that bright cluster. Those are called The Seven Sisters.” Ichabod took a step back, and Brom squinted up at the sky as he studied the cluster in question.

“Bro, I only see five. Ma-a-aybe six?”

“Yeah. You can usually see six without any binoculars or telescope, but scientists now think that there are about a thousand or more stars clustered together.”

Brom nodded. “So shouldn’t they be called ‘The Thousand Sisters’?”

Rip hummed from behind the eyepiece of the telescope. “That would make for a very different story.”

Ichabod took a drink of his beer, still clasped in his mittened hand. “It’s one of the few constellations that can be seen in both the northern and southern hemispheres, and therefore, cultures from all over the world have shared similar myths about them and ‘The Seven Sisters.’”

“Righteous! … But I’m still lost on the ‘seven’,” Brom replied.

“It’s actually pretty cool,” Ichabod continued, his voice coloured in excitement as he began to talk more quickly. “Because you’re right, it’s weird that all of these cultures talk about seven sisters—er, stars—when there have been only six visible for centuries. But now there’s evidence that there really is a seventh star, but it’s hidden behind another so we can only see six. But when these myths were first being told, it was so long ago that they really could see seven stars. And that, coupled with the fact that cultures separated by vast amounts of geographical space—think Greece and Australia—have similar stories, we think these myths originated back when humans were all still in Africa.”

“That’s awesome!” Brom agreed, catching Ichabod’s enthusiasm as he latched on to something that he could understand. “The power of campfire stories!”

“Yeah, exactly!” Ichabod grinned, and Brom beamed at his friend, his own excitement mirroring Ichabod’s despite his limited understanding. 

“I think we’re good here,” Rip said. He pulled the last chair up to the telescope. “You guys good? Think we can, uh, kill the light?”

Ichabod moved his chair towards the telescope and Brom shifted closer to his friends, dragging the chair through the snow. “Just say when,” he said, his hand hovering over the button at his forehead.

“When!” Ichabod and Rip said in unison as they held up their beers. 

Brom flicked off his light, throwing them into darkness. For a moment, fear lurched in Brom’s stomach, and he almost doubted that his car was a few yards away. Then, his eyes began to adjust, and he could just make out the silhouettes of Rip and Ichabod beside him. 

“The snow doesn’t help the light pollution, but it’s not too bad out here,” Rip said.

“It’s unfortunate we missed the new moon, but it’s barely there,” Ichabod added. Brom looked around and spotted the sliver of moon poking out above the line of trees. He realized he had been with Matilda at her place when the sky was completely dark with the new moon.

He returned his attention to Rip and Ichabod, whom he could hear exchanging words like “binary stars” and “brown dwarfs” as they took turns looking through the eyepiece of the telescope. Brom nodded enthusiastically. He thought it was a little strange for scientists to assign gender or race identities to stars—let alone physical conditions—but he could appreciate the progressive sentiment.

As he took another drink, Rip called out to him. “So, you’re rooming with Ichabod right now?”

Brom swallowed. “Yeah,” he replied, “and Diedrich. Speaking of, where is Mr. Ghost Bard?”

“He refused to come out and, I quote, ‘freeze my buns off just to watch burning balls of gas.’”

Brom chuckled. “I didn’t think ghosts could even get cold.”

“They can’t,” Ichabod confirmed. “I guess star-gazing isn’t his thing.”

“He’s missing out,” Brom replied as he fixed his gaze upwards. He had no knowledge about constellations, but the pricks of light in the inky blackness of the night sky were easy to get lost in. No wonder people made up stories about them.

He wondered if the Bishops had any legends about any groupings, or any traditions connected with certain formations. If he squinted, he thought he saw one that looked like a witch’s hat. Or was that a stereotype? He couldn’t remember ever seeing Matilda in a pointed hat, come to think of it. 

“Earth to Brom! Come in, Brom! What are you thinking about?”

Brom turned towards the sound of Rip’s voice, though he struggled to see more than his friend’s outline. 

“I think I know,” Ichabod said, and Brom could almost hear the smirk in his voice. 

“Nothing,” Brom insisted. He sat up in his chair and took a long drink as he ignored the burning in his ears. He pulled at his hat for good measure to cover his ears from the cold.

“I don’t mind if you want to talk about her,” Rip said from the other side of Ichabod.

Brom kicked at the snow and took a deep breath, grateful that he couldn’t see his friend’s faces studying him. 

“It’s just… I-can’t-stop-thinking-about-her-even-when-we’re-not-together-and-I-want-to-be-by-her-side-when-we-are-together-and-I-want-to-tell-her-about-my-day-and-I-want-to-know-what-she’s-thinking-and-feeling-and-I-love-when-I-make-her-smile-’cause-she’s-so-pretty-not-that-she-has-to-smile-she's-just-always-amazing-and-it’s-just…” Brom finally stopped to take a breath. 

“So it’s going that well, huh?” Ichabod said before Brom could continue. 

Brom swallowed and fixed his gaze on the bottle in his gloved hands, though it was hard to see much of anything. ”Yeah,” he said as a smile tugged at mouth. He shifted in his seat as he willed the fluttering in his chest to still—a strange symptom of the mix of giddiness and nervousness he still felt about the whole situation. “I mean, I don’t know.” He took a long drink, draining the bottle as he craned his neck. 

The stillness of the night around them, heightened by the cold temperature and the covering of snow, along with the vast blanket of stars above, seemed to create an almost sacred space in which the three men found themselves. Brom wasn’t religious, but he could see why people might seek out such places to bare their thoughts. “I think things are going well. I mean, we’ve talked a bit, and we’ve kind of been on some dates, but mostly we just… hang out. Which would be supes boring with any other girl, but with Matty… I feel like it’s the most fun I’ve had. Especially when she looks at me like….” Brom sighed, unsure of how to finish the sentence as the memory of Matilda lying on top of him in the tree grove sprung to mind. “I just, I mean, it’s getting harder and harder not to just kiss her but I want to be careful but I think she wants it, too, but this is just so much more , you know?”

Suddenly, the stillness in the air turned thick as no one responded Brom wondered if he’d said too much. 

Then, Ichabod spoke. “Kat kissed me once.”

Brom whipped around to face Ichabod as best he could as he fought to gain his breath from the weight of Ichabod’s secret. “Excuse me, Bestie, but what?!”

“Kat kissed me.”

“You’re gonna have to give me more details. Well, within reason. Not like, all the details, ‘cause that would be weird, but like… when?” From Brom’s recollection, they’d all been too busy running around Sleepy Hollow digging up heads and performing witchy zombie rituals to have any secret kisses taking place.

“It was… before. Well, obviously, before, but like… We were all preparing for Paulie’s heist and Kat and I ended up alone trying to get costumes and we were just talking, and I was flustered like always, and before I knew what had happened, she leaned forward and… kissed me.”

Brom’s eyes widened as he took in this new information. He knew that his old self would have burned with jealousy, but now, he only felt confusion.

He also wondered if Matilda knew. 

He could clearly remember Kat on the last night that she was…. He recalled the fire in her eyes as she threatened Ichabod and pinned Brom to the ground all while she gleefully stole Rip’s life-force.

Rip piped up. “Ichabod, I don’t mean to sound callous, but—do you have any idea why?”

Ichabod sighed. “I’ve played it over in my mind but mostly I try to forget. But I think we were talking about her mom, and being kind, or what makes a good person, and then… I thought I saw her let her guard down for a moment and she said, ‘Thank you.’ I have no idea what she meant.”

Brom shook his head, unable to provide an answer. Even in death, Katrina Van Tassel loved to provide a mystery, and he was still baffled at how little he knew about his high school sweetheart. 

Suddenly, Ice gripped his chest as the memory of Kat’s lifeless body laid out on the floor of the Trousers’ theatre flashed in his mind, and he shivered against the image. Part of him felt guilty for not being able to help her, and part of him still burned with anger at the havoc she’d wrought at the cost of Rip, Ichabod, and Matilda. 

“Is it weird that I miss her?” Ichabod said at last. “I mean, I didn’t even know her. And she just wanted to turn me into a—a vessel, so-to-speak, so I don’t know why I still care.”

Brom heard Ichabod’s drawn-out sigh and nodded, though he realized neither of his friends could see him. “Yeah,” Brom said. “I mean, no, I don’t think it’s weird. I think grief can sneak up on you in stupid ways.” He fiddled with the empty bottle in his hands, absentmindedly scratching at the edge of the label that he’d never be able to pry off with his glove. “Maybe you’re just sad about the loss of what you thought you and Kat could have had.” God knows that’s a familiar feeling.

“Wow, Brom, that’s… deep.”

Brom nodded again, lost in his thoughts that swirled and churned, dredging up memories of himself with Kat before they morphed into images of him and his dad, and the pang of loss hit him anew. He could almost feel his cell phone burning in his pocket, filled with messages from his dad that he wished could make things right. 

Then, he thought of Matilda, and that moment when the world had come into focus, despite his pounding head—a future that he hadn’t realized he wanted so badly until it had been wrenched away, only to be dangled in front of him. He flexed his left hand by instinct, aware of the ring nestled against his skin, and another memory washed over him—the smile she gave him as she passed him the hot chocolate, her eyes warm and sincere, and Brom felt like he was exactly where he was supposed to be. 

“Well, you guys sure do have strange tastes in women,” Rip said with a halfhearted chuckle. 

Brom sat up in his chair and bounced his legs. “Do you know what, I appreciate where you’re coming from, and it’s a valid point,” he agreed. “And if you had told me a year ago that I would be married to Matilda Bishop, I would have said you were crazy. But we don’t use that word anymore because it stigmatizes mental health struggles, and Matilda is…”

Amazing? Badass? Compassionate? The bravest person I know?

Brom reached down beside his chair and fumbled for a bottle of beer. He then dug out his bottle opener from his pocket before he pried off the lid, once he could make the tool connect with the bottle cap in the dark.

“You guys ready for another?” he asked, and Rip and Ichabod declined with a mumbled, “no, thanks” in unison.

Brom sat back in his chair and tilted his head up to take in the heavens. Even without the telescope, the view was impressive, and it was hard not to feel small as he stared down space itself.  How did Ichabod and Rip do it all the time?

Brom shifted in his seat as a restlessness threatened to creep up his legs. He realized that, in a way, he and his two friends found themselves in very similar situations—alone in Sleepy Hollow. 

“What about you, Rip?” Brom asked aloud. “Are you doing okay?”

“Uh huh,” Rip replied, followed by a crunch of snow as he adjusted his seat. “I haven’t been up to much. Just trying to figure out what comes next.” 

“Right.” Brom took a drink before he continued. “And do you have any idea what that is?”

“I—I know this sounds strange, but I think I’d still like to get into politics. Maybe still try my hand at running for mayor.”

“I hear there’s an opening.”

“I think I’m less likely to get kidnapped, now, too. Or poisoned.”

Brom spat out his mouthful of beer. “Sorry,” he choked out.

“Too soon?” Rip asked.

“I appreciate gallows humour,” Ichabod chimed in. 

“Thanks,” Rip replied. “I, uh—I feel like I’ve escaped death twice, if that makes any sense. So I’d like to really be intentional about what I do.”

“So, you don’t want to be a teacher?” Ichabod asked.

“I don’t think so. Don’t worry, your job is safe.”

“No, I wasn’t—I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know, I’m only teasing.” Rip paused and took a deep breath before he continued. “I’ve lost a year of my life, though, right? And if I’m not sure about my past, I’d like to be confident about my future.”

“How so?” Brom asked as he kept his gaze fixed upwards. He wondered if his friends felt it, too—the strange sense of safety that came with the darkness that cloaked their facial expressions. Perhaps it was easier to say what you really meant when you couldn’t see each other. 

“I came to Sleepy Hollow partially because I needed the job and the middle school had the opening. But I was also hoping to find out more about my dad.” Another pause, and Brom willed his friend to continue. “I, uh—he left when I was pretty little. My mom was always on his case, and he drank more than he should, but he was always a lot of fun. Sometimes he would disappear for the night but he would always come back. Until one day, he didn’t.”

Brom’s heart went out to his friend. “Wow, Rip, I’m sorry. That must have been rough.”

“Yeah. It was hard. It was also strange, because he’d named me after himself. ‘Rip Van Winkle, Jr.’”

“You’re a Junior?! ” Brom bit his lip as soon as the words were out of his mouth. “I mean, not the point.” He tucked the new information away for future use. 

“Yup. So I always wondered, why would a man be proud enough to name his son after him, but leave him without a word?” 

“And your mom?” Ichabod asked.

“She passed away a couple of years ago.”

Brom wondered if Kat had known about that. A shiver ran through him at the thought that Kat and Baltus had been that conniving, to know that Rip was so alone.

“You think your dad is connected to Sleepy Hollow?” Ichabod asked, his voice pitched slightly higher. 

“Maybe,” Rip replied. “I found some things that suggested he had been here once, or his family had been here, but it was hard to confirm anything.”

Brom swallowed a swig of beer. “You should check with Judy. She’s got all the town records and genealogies and stuff. She might be able to help you find something.”

“Huh. That’s good to know. Thanks.”

“Any time.”

Rip sighed in the darkness. “I don’t even know if I want to find him. I just… want some answers.”

“I understand that,” Ichabod replied.

Brom swallowed the lump in his throat. “I, uh—I think I have the opposite problem,” he said in a tone that came out sadder than he intended. “My absent dad wants to also have too much control over my life and I can’t forget that I’m a Van Brunt even when I want to.”

“I’m sorry, Brom,” Rip said. “Things are still bad with you and your dad, then, huh?”

It was Brom’s turn to sigh. “I’m sorry, guys, I know I’m not one to talk.” He was very aware of his two friends’ situations, and he hated to complain about having his father physically present and, well, alive. “It’s just—it still sucks.”

“It definitely sucks,” Ichabod agreed. Then, the squeak of the folding chair sounded beside Brom, and he realized he could see Ichabod a little more clearly beside him as his friend sat up. “Hey, what are you guys doing for Christmas?”

Brom shrugged, forgetting that they likely could not see him, and Rip replied with a noncommittal “not much”.

“Why don’t we spend Christmas together?” Ichabod asked, his voice cheerful. “Brom’s at my place anyways and he’s not talking to his dad. Rip is celebrating his first holiday after his sleeping spell. And this is the first Christmas after—after my grandmother passed away. I for one would be honoured to spend the day with you guys.”

“That sounds like a great idea,” Rip agreed.

Brom smiled, his muscles easing at the idea of spending the day with his two best friends. “Count me in.”

“Great!” Ichabod exclaimed. “I mean, in a way, I kind of assumed we’d probably be together, but I realized I hadn’t actually asked. I think we all deserve to have a proper celebration this year.” 

“I’ll drink to that,” Brom said as he held up his beer, and the three friends clinked bottles to seal their agreement. Brom took a long drink of the cold liquid, and he couldn’t help but wish he had some of the Bishop hot chocolate instead as he shivered despite the lightness in his chest.

Chapter Text

Matilda looked up from behind the counter as the bell on the door of The Drugstore chimed to announce another customer. She relaxed to see it was Brom, and she returned his smile when he scanned the bar quickly and flashed her a grin, immediately coming to her.

“Oh, sorry!” she exclaimed as cold liquid spilled onto her hand. She grabbed a clean cloth and wiped off the glass of beer she’d overfilled and shoved it towards the customer—spilling a few more drops in the process. 

Without a second glance to the poor patron, she fixed her attention on Brom, who came behind the counter to give her a hug. “Hey,” he greeted as he wrapped his arms around her.

“Hey,” she echoed as she returned his embrace. His usual understated cologne was overpowered by the lingering aroma of cheap body sprays unique to boys of the middle school and high school variety.

“Uh, long day?” she choked out as she took a step back. 

“Oh, yeah, sorry—the kids alway go way too heavy on the spray no matter what I tell them. I can stand back here if you like.”

“It’s fine,” Matilda replied, though she couldn’t suppress a tiny cough. She glanced around the bar, where only two customers sat at opposite ends of the space, both absorbed in their phones. “It’s really supposed to be staff-only behind the counter,” she added with a tilt of her head. 

“Oh?” Brom arched his brow. “I’m sure you could find a way to put me to use.”

Matilda leaned against the counter to steady herself, annoyed at how easily he could make her knees wobble. He hadn’t even said anything suggestive—mostly. “It’s fine,” she repeated to assure herself as well as Brom. “What’s up? How was your night with Ichabod and Rip?” She stumbled over the latter name, and she wondered if she would ever feel less guilty about her not insignificant role in his year-long sleep. 

“It was fun!” Brom exclaimed. “We went out to one of the Van Ripper fields and did some stargazing.”

Matilda nodded along with Brom’s story as she placed dirty dishes into a plastic bin.  “Oh yeah? I didn’t think you cared about that kind of thing.”

“Hey, I’m a man of many interests. Besides, I was tagging along, so I couldn’t say much. But it was cool to hang out in the snow, and look up at the stars, and we were able to talk a lot.”

“That’s good,” Matilda replied. She glanced around the bar to confirm that no one had any pressing need for drink refills or food orders before she grabbed the bin and nodded at Brom. “Do you want to continue your story in the kitchen?”

“Sure, and here—let me get that,” Brom said as he reached for the plastic bin.

“Brom, I can handle a few glasses.”

“I know, I just want to help.”

Matilda swallowed. High school Brom would have never offered to carry anything for her. “Okay. Thanks.”

She led the way to the kitchen and waved him towards the dishwasher. “I just need to load this tray,” she explained as she placed a plastic tray with a lattice pattern on one side of the large machine.

“Sure,” Brom said with a nod. He followed her lead and began to arrange the glasses upside down on the various notches. 

Matilda smiled as their arms bumped each other’s, but she didn’t step aside. “So, what did you guys talk about?”

“Oh, you know. Guy stuff.”

“Guy stuff? Like, cars and beer and girls?” 

Brom chuckled. “No. Do you really think that’s what Ichabod would talk about?”

Matilda shook her head as she focused on her hands. “No. Can’t say those seem like your topics, either.”

“Thank goodness your opinion of me isn’t that low.” 

“Meh, the bar’s still not that high, either.” Matilda threw a look at Brom beside her, and he nudged her with his elbow. “Kidding!”

They made quick work of loading the few dishes, proof of the slow hour of the day, and Matilda slid the tray into the industrial dishwasher and latched the door shut. After she added the soap and set the timer, the swish of water sounded behind her, and she turned towards Brom. “What did you guys talk about? If there’s anything you can share.”

She absentmindedly took a step closer to him, as if to savour his presence, cheap body spray and all. In the few short days he’d stayed at her apartment, she’d grown used to rounding a corner and seeing him flash her a grin, or hearing his off-key singing from another room. Now, the cramped space felt strangely empty. 

“Oh, uh, not much,” he said as he rubbed his neck. “Mostly dads.” 

Matilda narrowed her eyes at him, wholly unconvinced. “And girls?” she added with more than a hint of teasing. 

Brom smiled. “Maybe.” 

“Good. I’d hate to think I wasn’t interesting enough to be talked about.” Although I think I still care a little too much what Rip must think of me.

“Oh, don’t worry, Hon’, you are most definitely worthy of being talked about.” Matilda beamed at the compliment as Brom slowly took her hand, and she almost wished he’d pull her close.

And then, she remembered his comment about dads. “Have you talked to your dad at all?” she asked as she rubbed her thumb over his knuckle.

His shoulders fell and he dropped his gaze. “No,” he admitted. “There’ve been some texts, but… I’ve been ignoring him.”

Not for the first time did Matilda feel the weight of the situation, given that Brom was usually so excited to spend time with his dad when he was in town. She felt torn between her guilt, as if she was somehow responsible, mixed with the thrill that she was important enough to Brom to take such drastic action. 

“So I guess… I guess it’s likely that you won’t be with him for Christmas?” she asked carefully, and she cringed at the hopeful tone in her question. 

“No,” Brom agreed. 

Matilda took a deep breath as she tried to read his expression, a task made more difficult as he kept his gaze fixed on their hands. “Well, in that case, I was wondering if… I mean, I’m going to be at my parents’ for the rest of the month, and I thought that maybe, if you wanted, you could—you could spend the holidays with us?”

Brom instantly looked up, his brow creased in regret, and Matilda’s stomach dropped. 

“No, nevermind, it’s fine—forget I asked.” She tried to release her hand from his, but he kept a gentle grip.

“No, it’s—hey, it’s not that,” Brom said, and his free hand reached for her waist and pulled her to him. Matilda looked up at him through her lashes, and he chuckled before looking away.

“What?” she asked him, suddenly confused more than worried. 

“It’s just—sometimes you do this pout thing,” he said before meeting her eyes.

Matilda brightened. “I do?”

Brom nodded. “Yeah, you do.”

Matilda willed her expression to become neutral. “That sounds obnoxious.” 

“It’s kind of cute.”

“Ugh, that’s even worse.”

Brom’s smile relaxed as he glanced down. “I would love to spend Christmas with you and your family,” he finally said, “but I’ve kind of already made plans with Ick and Rip.”

Matilda sighed, struggling to pull her attention from the pressure of his hand on her waist, and she wasn’t sure whether to look up or down. She settled for staring at the floor as well, and she studied the black and white tiles. “Well, that was stupid.”

“Yeah.”

As she mentally traced the hexagonal black tiles arranged like daisy petals, she urged herself to say what she knew she should. “It's good that you guys have each other.” 

“Yeah.” Brom shifted in place and glanced up, and Matilda met his eyes. “It would have been really nice to be with you—and your parents. Plus, I wasn’t sure how much you guys celebrated Christmas?”

Matilda nodded, and she cursed her own procrastination. Perhaps she should have asked when her mother had suggested it a few days ago. “Well, we kind of mash Yule and Christmas together into a week-long celebration,” she explained. “The benefits of two parents with different traditions. So maybe you can make it on Yule?”

Brom grinned. “I’d love that.” 

Matilda’s heart skipped a beat, and her pulse quickened in a strange mix of excitement, relief, and nervousness. “Good. It’s this Saturday.” 

“I’ll mark it on my calendar.”

“Do you even use a calendar?” 

“I’ve got one at school. Plus my phone.”

“Right.” It was still kind of strange to imagine Brom performing such adult tasks like organizing his schedule. 

As if sharing the same thought, Brom spoke up. “Don’t look now, Babe, but I think we just coordinated our first holiday as a married couple.”

Matilda rolled her eyes. “That’s one way to put it.” Still, she realized she was looking forward to the holidays more than she would care to admit.

She began to lean towards him and stopped herself. 

“Customers,” she said aloud.

“Pardon?” Brom asked with a frown.

Matilda sighed. “Sorry. I just—we should probably get back out there.”

“Sure.” 

Matilda reluctantly pulled away from Brom and headed towards the door to the outside world, complete with lights and plastic greenery and the faint scent of citrus and old coffee, with Brom close on her heels. 

A quick scan of The Drugstore allayed her concern, as both diners remained fixated on their phones and her absence had likely passed unnoticed. She continued her path towards the counter with the sink on the other side of the room. “So, what kinds of stars did you gaze at with Ichabod?” she asked over her shoulder as she crouched down and opened a cupboard. 

“Oh, um, we were looking at the constellation about the Seven Spinsters,” Brom replied. He leaned against the counter as she tucked her head into the cupboard. “And they said there are some stars that are non-binary, and something about some that had dwarfism.”

Matilda poked her head out and frowned. “Brom, that can’t be right.”

“It is!” Brom exclaimed. “That’s what Ick said.”

Matilda sighed and disappeared again to continue her search. “Do you think it was the ‘Seven Sisters’?” she asked into the small space. 

“Hmm?” 

She emerged with a box each of sweeteners and sugar packets. “The constellation—was it the ‘Seven Sisters’?” she asked again. She balanced the small boxes on her knees before she swung the door closed. She then popped up beside Brom and almost knocked him over.

“Oh, uh, sorry,” she muttered. She then shoved the box into his hands. “Would you mind filling those containers?” She pointed towards the row of small plastic holders on the counter in front of him that held various amounts of paper packets.

“No problem,” he replied. 

“Thanks.”

“You might be right,” Brom picked up from their previous conversation. “‘Sisters’ rather than ‘spinsters’. I don’t know much about the constellations, but it was cool to see Ick so excited about them. It’s good he was able to get back to teaching.”

Matilda smirked as she began to wipe down the counters in preparation for the evening. “And not just ‘cause you don’t want to sub anymore?”

Brom scoffed. “I would never dream of putting my own comfort above what’s best for my friends.” 

“Sure, Saint Brom.”

They didn’t have time to say more as Matilda was pulled away to serve a customer, and soon, Colonial Drugs ‘N’ Stuff was in the midst of the evening rush as Christmas shoppers stopped by for some sustenance before either heading home or continuing on their errands. Matilda was glad to have Brom by her side, and she was grateful when he jumped in to help—even if he got some orders wrong now and then.

“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Van Ripper, I thought you said green tea—I’ll get your black tea for you right away. I must have been flustered by your beautiful smile,” he said with a wink, and Matilda bit her lip. He certainly had the charm and enthusiasm for customer service, if not the coordination. 

Matilda filled the miniature metal teapot with hot water and carefully handed it to Brom while he studied the bags of tea. She snatched a couple of packets that said “Orange Pekoe” and shoved them into his hand, making sure to give him an appreciative smile. 

“It’s such a treat to be served by the young Mr. Van Brunt,” the older woman said with a wave of her hand. “I’m amazed you haven’t been snatched up already.” 

“Oh, didn’t you hear?” Brom replied without missing a beat, and Matilda froze. “Matilda and I got married six weeks and five days ago.”

You’ve been counting down to the day?!  

“Of course! That does sound familiar,” Mrs. Van Ripper replied. “It was a nice surprise, but it did seem kind of sudden. Usually those kinds of things are in the papers, you know? Especially with your families, large celebrations, all of that.”

Brom put his arm around Matilda and hugged her to him. “It was a bit of a whirlwind,” he said with a grin, and Matilda’s cheeks flushed.

“How romantic ,” Mrs. Van Ripper gushed. “And now you’re just about to have your first Christmas together!”

“Yeah,” Matilda said with a nod as she fought the urge to squirm. And yet, part of her liked the image that Brom projected of them as newlyweds. Technically, everything he’d said was true… Besides, she greatly preferred the implication that they were too excited to wait for a “proper” wedding rather than admit what had actually happened.

“Your father must be so proud, Brom,” Mrs. Van Ripper continued. Matilda could feel Brom’s body tense, and she slipped her arm around his waist. 

“Why don’t you have a seat, Mrs. Van Ripper, and we’ll bring your tea to you?” Matilda jumped in. “And some cookies, on the house. Those ones with the jam that you like.”

“Thank you, dear, that would be lovely,” Mrs. Van Ripper replied with a smile, oblivious to the minefield into which she’d stepped. “And do say hi to your father for me, won’t you, Brom? I’ve seen him around town but I haven’t managed to catch him.” 

“I’ll tell him when I see him next.” Matilda could see his smile leave his eyes, though it remained otherwise fixed in place, and she gave him a squeeze. Another clever half-truth.

Mercifully, the older woman said nothing more before she retreated to a table. Brom moved to grab the tea, and Matilda slid her hand down his arm and gripped his hand before she snatched the box of cookies and arranged a few on a plate.

“I can take them to her,” she offered, but Brom shook his head.

“I’m fine. You’ve got enough on your plate.” He held up the plate of cookies for emphasis with a twinkle in his eye, and Matilda smirked. As she took the next order, she kept glancing towards Brom and Mrs. Van Ripper, his hand on her shoulder and they chatted amiably. Brom then looked over at her across the bar and smiled as he continued the conversation, and Matilda suspected she may be the subject. Her heart fluttered in her chest, and for once she didn’t question the glimmer of happiness. 

And then, she imagined Kat in her usual place behind the bar, scrambling to grab everyone’s drinks and food while Matilda made sarcastic remarks under her breath. What would she say if she saw Matilda now? Would she scowl or simply roll her eyes?

Please be happy for me, Kat.

Matilda clenched her fist and concentrated on the spark of energy to calm herself. Another glance at Brom helped her breathing even out, and she willed herself to focus on the counter before her—the counter that was somehow already sticky with—

“Matilda? Can I get that glass of wine?”

“Oh! Yes, sorry, Ramona. Coming right up.”

Unfortunately—or fortunately, depending on one’s perspective—the rest of the evening saw Colonial Drugs ‘N’ Stuff as a hive of activity, proof that Sleepy Hollow was in its zenith of the shopping season. Matilda was more than ready to see the last customer pass through the doors at closing time, and she all but chased them out to switch the lock with a satisfying “click” behind them. She turned around and leaned against the door, her gaze landing on Brom, who had precariously perched himself on one of the bar stools, half draped over the counter.

“You didn’t have to work the whole night,” she said.

“A ‘thank you’ would be nice.”

She softened her expression as she crossed the floor towards him. “Thank you.”

He sat up and reached for her hands, and she stood in between his knees, a comforting intimacy that she was too tired to analyze. Or, maybe she didn’t need to question it anymore.

“What do you need to do before you can go home?” He pressed his knees gently against her legs. 

“Not much,” she said with a sigh. “I’ll leave most of it for tomorrow, but I’ll just gather up the dirty dishes and get them into the kitchen.” 

“Sounds easy enough. And then I can drive you home?”

Matilda nodded. “That would be great. If you don’t mind driving me to my parents.”

“Not a problem,” he assured her. He shifted in his seat and Matilda took a step back to give him room to stand up. He pressed a kiss to her forehead before he released her hands and made his way to the other side of the counter, immediately grabbing a plastic bin and loading the various mugs and plates and cutlery into it with the clinks of silverware and porcelain. Matilda stood rooted in place, fixated on a lock of hair that hung by his forehead as he worked. 

How did he do that? He was so full of easy affection that it seemed to just pour out of him, all while he was struggling with his relationship with the one person whose praise he cared about the most. And then, he could charm a room of customers and jump into the chaos with her like it was nothing. Not to mention how a simple kiss to her forehead made her whole body flood with heat.

She, meanwhile, could barely relax before she accidentally summoned the ghost of her best friend—metaphorical or otherwise—and wondered whether she was betraying her… by maybe not feeling sad. 

I’m sorry, Kat. But she didn’t mean it this time—not really.

Instead, she let herself enjoy the closeness of Brom as they carried the dishes into the kitchen. They even managed to give the counters and tables a quick wipe, and Brom arranged the containers of sugar packets on each table before Matilda finally flicked the lights off. She also noticed the rainbow hat that he still wore that he was technically “borrowing” from the Bishops. 

“Did you wear that out stargazing?” she asked as they made their way to his car after she had locked up. The glow of the streetlights made the garish colours pop even more, and she had to bite back a chuckle at the sight of him carrying her small suitcase down the main street wearing her grandmother’s hat.

“Yes, and I’ll have you know, it’s very warm.”

“I do know. Did they tease you?”

“A little.” 

“Well, you just remind them who you’re married to,” Matilda said with a wave of her finger as they arrived at his car.

“Oh, they know.”

Matilda almost wished the drive to the Bishops’ house was longer, and before she knew it, she found herself standing on the porch, not ready to say goodnight.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come in?” Matilda asked, and she ignored how her heart beat faster in her chest.

“Matty, I’d love to, but I’ve got work tomorrow.”

Matilda nodded quickly and glanced down. “Of course.” He must be exhausted, having worked a full day at school and then continued into the evening at The Drugstore. And yet, she selfishly didn’t regret it. 

She looked up at him again and Brom groaned. “What?” she asked quickly.

“You’re doing it again.” He shifted in place, and Matilda bit her lip. 

“The pout?” She made a note of the effect it had on him, though she couldn’t say she was aware that she was doing it. She also wondered if it wouldn’t be very hard to convince him to at least come in for a hot chocolate, but she thought better of it.

“Thanks for everything tonight,” she said instead. Suddenly, a nervous energy buzzed in her veins, and she felt like they were saying goodnight after a first date. She wasn’t sure what to do, though she knew what she maybe wanted to do.

She leaned forward and placed a kiss on his cheek, rough with a hint of stubble. “Have a good night.” She saw his features soften as he watched her close the door, their eyes fixed on each other’s.

With a deafening click , the door latched closed, and Matilda sighed.

It was a very tricky business, dating your best friend’s ex who also happened to be your accidental husband.

Chapter Text

Brom found it was getting harder and harder to leave Matilda. And not in the “don’t do anything fun without me” me way, like when they were digging up heads for Henrietta or breaking into Baltus’ office, and not in the “your heart is breaking and I don’t want you to fall apart completely” way after Kat had just died. It wasn’t even in the “you’re the coolest person I know so who else would I hang out with?” way that he realized had been hovering over him for longer than he could remember. (Again, no offense to his Babes.)

This was more in the “all I want to do is be with you and hold your hand and maybe more (definitely more—if you want) and can’t you see how well we fit together so please don’t make me spend another second without you” way. It was a pretty foreign emotion, especially in regards to Matilda Bishop, but now he couldn’t imagine it any other way.

And then he’d willingly told her not once but twice that he couldn’t stay with her. The words felt bitter as they spilled out of his mouth—twice!—but then she’d gone and done The Pout— TWICE —and all he wanted to do was take her face in his hands and kiss the pout off her lips and promise that he’d stay forever—or at least for as long as she wanted him to. (He really hoped it was forever.)

And then she’d pressed her lips to his cheek and he just froze as all thought left his body except for the wish that it had been an inch or so over, and all he could do was watch her like an idiot as she disappeared behind the large wooden door.

Brom groaned as he forced himself to turn around and head down the steps of the Bishops’ porch and back to the driver’s side of his car. Stupid adult job that meant he needed to get to bed soon so he could function in the morning. Stupid weird past he had with Kat that felt like ancient history now more than ever. Stupid Christmas plans he’d already made with Ichabod and Rip. Stupid Ichabod for having an extra bedroom for him. 

“Your bedroom is stupid!” Brom exclaimed as he burst into Ichabod’s apartment. He breezed past Ichabod in his bed with a book, with only a lamp for light, and disappeared into the kitchen which led to his room. 

“What did my bedroom do to you?” Ichabod called after him.

Brom poked his head back in the doorway. “Sorry,” he whispered. “It’s not stupid. I’m very glad for the space.” He whisked around and headed back towards his bedroom, which was a glorified name for the empty space that just held a mattress and his suitcase, and a chest of drawers that looked like it had been a reject from the motel at the edge of town.

Ichabod followed him into the room and leaned against the doorframe, clad in one of his ridiculous onesies. “You want to talk about it?”

Brom took off his rainbow hat and carefully placed it on top of the chest of drawers before he ran his hand through his hair. “Nah,” he replied with what he hoped looked like a nonchalant shrug.

Diedrich appeared beside Ichabod and strummed a chord on his ukulele. “You want to sing about it?”

“No!” both Brom and Ichabod cried in unison. 

Brom rolled his shoulders. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you guys. I just need to get to bed.”

“Did you—did you have a fight with Matilda?” Ichabod asked carefully.

“God, no,” Brom said with a chuckle as he shrugged off his coat. For some reason it had never occurred to him that he might ever fight with Matty. For a moment, he imagined her throwing things across the room at him and lightning spurting from her fingertips. He shuddered at the idea.

“No, everything is great,” he assured his friend, and he tossed his coat over one corner of his suitcase. 

“Romantic evening, then?” Ichabod wiggled his dark eyebrows, which had an unnerving effect behind the clear frames of his glasses.

“Not exactly,” Brom replied. “I met her at The Drugstore after school and then I ended up staying and helping with the rush.” Brom frowned. “I’m not sure where Verla was, come to think of it. Anyway, I just dropped her off at her parents’ place, since she’s staying with them for the holidays.”

“And that makes my bedroom stupid how?”

Brom gave his friend a sheepish look. “No reason.”

Ichabod narrowed his eyes at Brom before he finally relaxed. “Okay. Oh, and we’re still good to head in early tomorrow? I promised Ramona and Eugene that I’d help set up for the Non-Denominational Holiday Show.”

Brom closed his eyes for a moment, suddenly wishing that his roomie wasn’t also his bestie, his co-worker, and a giant nerd all rolled into one lanky package. “Sure.”

“Great! Have a good night. Oh, and, uh, you’ve got something on your—” Ichabod pointed at his cheek with a knowing smile. 

“Night,” Brom mumbled. He flopped down on the mattress and gently touched his cheek, savouring the ghost of Matilda's kiss while he wondered how this was where he found himself at the end of another year.

It didn’t take long for Brom to fall into a deep sleep, despite the sparse accommodations of a sheet tucked around the mattress on the floor, a flimsy pillow that had seen better days, and a  sleeping bag zipped all the way open as a comforter. It almost reminded him of college, though he knew he couldn’t coast by on a couple of hours of sleep anymore. He was glad, at least, that his body wasn’t picky about how or where it grabbed its solid eight hours, even if the pipes in Ichabod’s building seemed particularly loud that night…

Though it hadn’t been the first, Matilda’s kiss to his cheek had encouraged Brom to hope that she wanted more, too, and he drifted off to sleep with romantic visions. Free from the inhibitions of the waking world, he dreamt of her embrace, the pressure of her arms wrapped around him, her hand trailing up his arm as she pressed soft kisses to his neck and ear, until—

Brom awoke to a fluttering sensation in his ear, and he giggled as he hugged his pillow to him, his eyes still closed in the hazy in-between of dream-land and reality. “Stop, that tickles!” he said as he moved to brush his ear, only to come into contact with a cold and very un-human form of skin.

Brom’s eyes flew open and his heart stopped in his chest when he saw the plaster wall of Ichabod’s apartment and he realized he was very much alone. 

Or rather, he should have been alone.

Being very careful not to move his arm, he slowly turned his head to see the offending party as dread coiled in his stomach.

And then, he let out a blood-curdling scream that woke up half of Sleepy Hollow and nearly sent Ichabod to join Diedrich on the other side.

The jarring ding of the doorbell wrenched Matilda from her sleep, and she blinked to orient herself. Another ring, and she groaned, wondering what kind salesperson would go door-to-door in the middle of the night.

At this rate, a very dead one. 

She threw on her housecoat and padded down the hallway and stairs, only half awake as a knock rapped at the door. 

She frowned, confusion mixing with curiosity as her senses began to sharpen. She flicked on the light to the porch and noticed the shadow of a grown man, and she stood on her tiptoes as her chest tightened to look out the old-fashioned peephole.

She relaxed slightly when she spotted a familiar rainbow-coloured hat on one very distressed-looking husband.

“Brom?!” she exclaimed as a different kind of concern began to clutch at her chest. She swung open the door. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I know, I’m so sorry, Matty, but can I come in?”

Matilda blinked at the rather pathetic-looking form in front of her before she stepped back and waved him inside. He wore a t-shirt and boxers, with his coat haphazardly thrown on and open, and his hat askew. He also carried his suitcase and duffle bag and dropped them on the ground with a soft thud before he rubbed his hands together. 

As she shut the door, she noticed her parents standing at the top of the landing. “It’s okay, I’ve got it,” she assured them. Her mother nodded, her eyes barely open as she quickly headed back towards their bedroom. Her father narrowed his eyes and glanced at Brom before returning his attention back to her. “Really,” she added.

After another drawn-out moment, Paul Bishop reluctantly turned to follow his wife, who was more than happy to let Matilda deal with whatever crisis had erupted. 

“Brom, what happened? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, if you consider waking up to a python making out with your ear and wrapping itself around you to make you its next meal okay. I’m just peachy.”

Matilda stared dumbfounded for a few moments before she took a breath. “Excuse me, did you just say a python? ”

“Yeah. I texted you before I came over ‘cause I didn’t want to wake you.”

“So you rang the doorbell?”

“I, uh, well—yeah.” His features, tight with fear, began to relax in an apologetic look when he realized the flaw in his plan. “Sorry.”

Matilda shook her head as she tried to make sense of this surprise. She debated asking Brom for more details, but one look at him told her that any form of questioning would be fruitless, and truth be told, she needed more sleep before she could deal with whatever nonsense he’d stirred up.

Besides, it wasn’t the worst thing in the world that he was here. In fact, she may have secretly wished for it.

She offered him a tired smile. “Why don’t you explain it in the morning, hmm? I can take you to your room.”

Brom nodded as his whole body relaxed, and Matilda warmed at the smile he gave her. She led him up the oak staircase and down the hall to the bedroom that was right across from hers.

“Have a good night,” she said as she began to close the door.

“‘Night,” Brom echoed as he slipped out of his coat. “Oh, and Hon’?”

“Hmm?”

“You guys don’t have any snakes around here, do you?”

“No snakes,” Matilda assured him with a tilt of her head. “But we do have a stuffed raven that has been known to come alive and peck at windows and… other things.”

“Har-har,” Brom replied, though he didn’t look convinced. “You’re joking, right?” His brow tightened once more. “ Right ?”

“Good night, Brom.”

Matilda felt a little guilty about her teasing as she closed the door, but she couldn’t resist the opportunity so blatantly handed to her. She also knew that the crystals on the nightstand would help him have a deep and peaceful sleep.

When she returned to her own bedroom, she grabbed her phone and crawled into her bed. She bit her lip as she scanned Brom’s frantic texts about a twelve foot python, curious to know what had actually happened but too tired to worry about it at that exact moment. She also noticed a text from Ichabod, and she tapped on his name.

The previous tenant’s snake has made its appearance. Did Brom get to you okay?

Matilda tapped back her reply. Yes, thank you. Dying to know more about this twelve foot-long python. Hope you guys are okay.

After she’d hit “send”, the three dots began to dance, and Ichabod’s reply popped up.

Glad to hear it. And more like a four foot pet snake. Tell you more about it tomorrow. For now, it’s safely captured under a laundry bin. Have a good night!

Matilda smiled, wondering if she could also put Brom under a laundry bin for safe-keeping. 

As she clicked her phone off, she noticed the clock said three-thirty A.M. She groaned as she rolled over into her pillows and prayed she’d be able to get some semblance of rest, all while being hyper-aware that that the evening had placed Brom in the Bishops’ guest bedroom after all.

She mentally offered the snake her thanks before she drifted off to sleep.

Despite her lack of sleep, Matilda started her day with a slight bounce in her step—which was ridiculous, if she thought about it for more than two seconds. After she showered and dressed, she opened her bedroom door to see that Brom’s was already ajar. A quick peek inside revealed that his bed was already made and his suitcase and duffle bag were arranged neatly at the end of the bed.

She hopped down the stairs and into the kitchen, where the rich aroma of freshly-brewed coffee alerted her senses. She scanned the room to see only her father at the kitchen table with his coffee and newspaper. 

He glanced up. “Morning, Kiddo.” Matilda’s countenance must have fallen, for Paul Bishop returned his attention to his paper. “Your husband’s not here.”

Matilda’s cheeks flushed. “I didn’t say anything,” she mumbled as she grabbed a mug from the cupboard and poured herself some coffee. 

Her father let out a huff. “Maybe. But your mother’s not the only one with a sense for reading you, you know. Even if I don’t have The Magic.” He looked up at her from across the kitchen with a twinkle in his eye.

Matilda rolled her eyes as she crossed the room and joined her dad at the table, tucking herself up on a chair and nursing her mug with two hands. She couldn’t help but give a small smile at how well he knew her, which she had to admit, she’d missed more than she’d realized when she’d kept her distance from her parents during the last year. 

“Abraham left early for school, but he left a note for you,” Mr. Bishop continued with a nod to a piece of paper on the table.

“Oh?” Matilda said, trying to hide the brightness in her voice. She placed her mug on the table and reached for the note, her heart light in her chest as she read Brom’s handwriting.

Thanks for taking me in last night, Babe. I’m sorry I woke everyone. I had to leave early to help Ichabod with something but I’ll drop by the store tonight. Have a good day! Love, Brom.

Matilda’s heart rose in her throat as she read the last two words again. They were scrunched up at the edge of the paper, as if he’d misjudged the space, but they were there. She let out a long breath as she thought over what that meant, and not for the first time did she recall when he’d called out those words after her, the casualness by no means taking away from his sincerity.

“Everything okay?”

Matilda blinked and focused on her dad. “Yeah,” she assured him. “He just says he had to leave early for school and he’ll meet me at the bar later.” She glanced at the clock on the oven. Nine o’clock. Goddess, she could have sworn it was earlier. She also wondered how early he started his days on a regular basis.

Luckily for her, The Drugstore’s hours were not those of a public school, so she enjoyed a lazy start to her day and even arrived for her shift uncharacteristically early. She also had to stop herself from checking the door or looking at her phone for signs of Brom, especially when Verla decided to finally join her. 

“Where have you been?” Matilda asked. “You were supposed to help me yesterday.”

Verla shrugged as she passed through the counter and joined Matilda. “I saw you already had help so I didn’t want to intrude.” If Matilda didn’t know any better, she would have sworn she saw the corner of the ghost’s mouth turn upwards.

Matilda glared at her, though what it was she was frustrated by was unclear. “Well, I need your help today, so don’t you dare think about leaving.”

“Okay,” Verla replied simply.

The latter part of the day passed by in a rush, as it had done the day previous, and Matilda barely noticed Brom’s arrival as she was closing up.

“Hey,” he said warmly as he crossed the room towards her. 

“Hey,” she echoed, and she stopped mid-wipe and studied him. “You look awful,” she added as she took in the dark bags under his eyes and the droop in his shoulders.

“Well, hello to you, too.”

Matilda winced. “Sorry,” she said quickly. “Long day?”

Brom shrugged, still dressed in his winter coat and hat. “Let’s just say I drank a lot of the stuff they call coffee in the teacher’s lounge and it still wasn’t enough. Also, it’s gross.”

“That does sound bad.” Matilda scanned the bar and quickly calculated how much she could leave for tomorrow. “Just give me five minutes and we can get going.”

“No rush,” Brom replied, though he closed his eyes as he sat down on a stool. He folded his arms on the counter and laid his head down, and Matilda’s heart rose in her chest.

She bit her lip and waved her hand, instantly shining the counters and tables to a sparkle and collecting all the dishes into place with soft clinks . With a final wave, she sent the cloth back under the counter to its home before she rushed to the staff room to grab her coat and purse.

“Ready,” she announced as she joined Brom.

“Hmm?” he said, lifting his head. 

“Think you can make it home, Big Guy, or do we need to camp out here for the night?”

Brom gave her a sleepy grin, and Matilda had to resist the urge to tuck his hair out of his face and under his hat. “I’m good.”

Soon, Matilda and Brom found themselves collapsed on the Bishops’ family room couch, both half asleep after their respective busy days and the incident of the night before, though neither made any movement towards their bedrooms.

“So, were you attacked by any more snakes today?” Matilda asked as she twisted herself on the couch to recline against the arm, draping her legs across Brom’s lap. 

Brom smiled with his eyes closed, his head back against the couch as he slid lower into the cushions. “No, thank God. Sleepy Hollow Middle School is snake-free, though I think there are some turtles in the science room.”

“You think? Shouldn’t you know? You were the sub for, like, a year.” No thanks to me.

Brom shrugged. “The kids loved to take care of them, and I don’t really do reptiles.” After a pause, he opened his eyes and looked at her. “Was it busy today?”

Matilda nodded. “Yeah, pretty busy. Verla was there to help, though. Ichabod dropped by on his way to the pet store for some food and stuff. Your ‘giant python’ is really a California kingsnake, by the way. Totally harmless. And it’s four feet at most.”

Brom scoffed. “Yeah, well, I’d like to see how you react when you wake up in the middle of the night with a giant snake wrapped around your head.” Brom finished with a shudder. 

“Fair point.”

Brom absentmindedly took Matilda’s foot in his hands and began to massage. She bit her lip as the pressure worked deep into her aching muscles, and she fought to suppress a moan. 

“Is that too much?” Brom asked, suddenly stopping.

Matilda shook her head. “No, it’s perfect.” She sunk down lower into the cushions and savoured the attention, the tension of a long day easily melting under Brom’s hands. She felt her eyelids grow heavy, and she blinked to focus on Brom, willing herself to stay awake. “So how was the show?” 

“It was good,” Brom replied as he worked the knuckle of his thumb into the arch of Matilda’s foot. “It’s a funny age, because they still want to do the fun things like Christmas pageants, but they’re also starting to lose interest, and some kids are more into it than others.” Brom shrugged. “At least it’s an afternoon off from classes.”

Matilda chuckled. “I seem to remember that that was your favourite part of school shows.”

“Yeah, well, I never was very musical.”

“I’ll say. Mr. der Ruiter tried to get you to sing and you sounded like a dying moose.” 

“Hey!” Brom ran his fingers along the underside of her foot lightly, and Matilda squirmed at the sensation. She tried to jerk her foot away, but his grip was firm. “At least I was a very handsome moose.”

“It was a wise decision to make Prince Charming a non-singing role that year,” Matilda stated diplomatically. She swallowed at the memory of Kat as the princess, with her golden hair and her beautiful voice that any Disney princess would envy. She, meanwhile, was perfectly content to hide away as townsperson number three.

“Did anyone else interesting drop by today?” Brom asked as he moved to her other foot. 

“Judy came in,” Matilda replied. “She said that she and Trudy wanted to have us over for dinner sometime. Not sure if that’s going to happen before January, though, but Trudy wanted to go over things with us before Baltus’...” Matilda trailed off as her throat went dry, and Brom rubbed her leg. 

“That would be nice.”

Matilda offered him a small smile, painfully aware of the contrast of their growing domestic life with the potential legal troubles that hung over them. She took a deep breath to steady herself and brushed all thoughts of Baltus aside. 

Brom, however, seemed completely unfazed as his ministrations slowed to a stop and he rested her foot on his lap. Matilda saw his eyes flutter closed and his head tilted to the side against the back of the couch.  

“Time for bed?” Matilda asked quietly, and Brom merely groaned in response. She slid her legs out from his lap, reluctant to disentangle herself, before she grabbed a blanket and draped it over him, her gaze lingering over his features. She should have insisted he head straight to bed, but she’d underestimated how quickly he could fall asleep, no matter the position. 

His phone buzzed on the table, yanking her from her thoughts, and she instinctively looked at the name that popped up. 

Dad.

Matilda’s stomach lurched, and she immediately pressed the red button without thinking. She took another deep breath, worried that she might have overstepped, but one look at Brom, peacefully asleep, chased away any doubt. 

Suddenly, she was determined to give Brom a true holiday. Surely they both deserved that. 

The real world could wait until January.

Chapter Text

Knock, knock, knock.

Matilda slowly opened her eyes at a pesky tapping on her bedroom door that only grew louder as she entered the waking-world. 

“Matilda? Honey?” a muffled voice asked through the door. Matilda squeezed her eyes shut, confused by the masculine quality for a moment. Then, her eyes flew open. 

“Brom?” 

She took a second to assess her attire—a sweatshirt and pajama pants, perfectly chaste—before she stumbled out of bed and opened the door. “What’s wrong?” she croaked out. 

“Hey,” Brom greeted with his grin that was annoyingly charming so early in the morning. “Nothing’s wrong.” He raised his arm and leaned against the doorframe, and Matilda slowly studied him with sleepy eyes. He wore a flannel shirt and jeans, his hair already styled, and he smelled of his cologne and the soap they kept in the guest bathroom, a hint of rose mixed with the leather musk.

Matilda frowned, her eyes half closed as she leaned against her door that swayed slightly. “What time is it?”

“Uh, about eight o’clock.”

“There’s no school. And no work. Why are you up this early?”

“Oh, I’ve been up since six-thirty.”

Matilda opened her eyes fully, unable to think of a retort, and all she could think was, why?

Her question must have been plainly written on her face, because Brom burst out, “It’s Yule!”

Matilda nodded with a drowsy smile. She’d had a hunch, but she wasn’t quite ready for the sight of her adult husband bouncing in her hallway like… well, like a kid on Christmas morning. “Happy Yule, Brom.” 

“Happy Yule, Babe. You coming?”

Matilda nodded. “Just give me a few minutes?”

“Sure.” With a quick kiss on her cheek, he disappeared down the hallway, and Matilda shook her head. She could only imagine what companions her father and her husband made alone in the kitchen. Rosamund, meanwhile, was even less of an early riser than her daughter. 

She hurried to make herself presentable, throwing on a sweater and jeans with her hair clipped back. She decided to forego much makeup, since it was just a day with family—though a swipe of mascara and a touch of lip gloss were easy enough—and she soon joined the others in the kitchen. 

Her mother was even more casual, still in her bathrobe with her hair twisted up. “Morning, Sweetie,” she greeted Matilda from the coffee pot, mid-pour. “Happy Yule.”

Matilda crossed the small space towards her mother and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Happy Yule, Mom,” Matilda replied. She reached for a mug from the cupboard and glanced around the kitchen to see Mr. Bishop and Brom at the table, both reading pages of the newspaper. 

Matilda frowned at her mom, who leaned on her elbows over the island counter with her mug of coffee. She threw an amused smile at Matilda over her shoulder, and Matilda rolled her eyes as she helped herself to her own cup. She studied the two men, surprised at how they drank from their mugs at similar times and turned the pages at similar times. All that was missing was a pair of glasses on the end of Brom’s nose, and a crease in his brow over the concerning news of the day.

“Don’t,” she warned her mom.

Her mother straightened. “I didn’t say a thing,” she said as she fixed her attention on a box of doughnuts on the counter and picked out a pastry covered in coconut. 

“Where are these from?”

“Hmm?” Her mother swallowed a bite before answering. “Oh, your husband went out and picked them up. He asked if we had any plans for breakfast and I told him we usually keep it pretty casual, and then he came back with these. Wasn’t that sweet? ”

Matilda made note of the emphasis her mother added to the last word, along with the twinkle in her eye. “Sure. Yes. That was nice.” She wished she could decide whether she was amused or embarrassed. Or, perhaps, a little bit touched.

Matilda grabbed a chocolate glazed doughnut and carried her “breakfast” to the table. “Whatcha got there?” she asked as she slid into the chair next to Brom, and she took a bite of doughnut. 

“Hey!” He beamed at her, and he folded up the page and laid it down on the table. “Just some cartoons,” he admitted. “What about you?”

“Apparently a nice man brought us Yule doughnuts.”

“Hmm. Sounds like a standup guy.”

“I hear he’s alright.”

“Just alright?”

“Maybe a little more than alright.” Matilda took a large bite of her doughnut to avoid answering any more questions—or perhaps to stop herself from what could be interpreted as flirtatious banter by her ever-watchful parents. As if on cue, she noticed her father glance at her over the frame of his glasses, and she had to stop herself from narrowing her eyes. 

“Paul, can you help me with something over here?” 

The three of them looked at Rosamund back at the island, who feigned innocence with a neutral expression. Paul stood up, his chair scooting across the floor behind him, and he left to join his wife at the other end of the room. 

Matilda took a sip of coffee and returned her attention to Brom, willfully ignoring whatever her mother was up to. “Did you eat?”

“Yeah,” Brom said as he draped his arm across the back of her chair. 

“What kind of doughnut?”

Brom gave her a sheepish smile. “Sprinkles.”

“I can tell.”

“Hmm?”

“You’ve got something right…” Matilda began to reach for the offending spot, but thought better of the intimacy and pointed to the corner of her own mouth. “Right here.”

“Here?” He wiped his mouth with his thumb and licked away the orphaned sprinkle . “Is that good?”

Matilda took a swallow of coffee. “Good.”

“Abraham?” 

Matilda jumped and pivoted in her chair to face her father.

“I was wondering if you could help me light the Yule fire.”

“Hmm? Oh, sure, Dad!” Brom hopped from his seat and began to follow Mr. Bishop out of the kitchen towards the mudroom. Halfway across the room, he turned back and sidled up to Matilda and bent down to whisper, “Do I know what the Yule fire is?”

Matilda nodded as she tried to recall how much she’d told him. “Umhmm. It’s the fire we light for the Yule log, but it needs to burn a bit, so we start it early.”

“Great!” he kissed the top of her head and hurried away, chasing after Mr. Bishop in the direction of the mudroom.

Matilda shook her head at herself, as if to dispel the familiar heat that washed over her, and shoved the rest of her doughnut in her mouth. She gulped down her coffee and brought the mug to the counter when Brom reemerged, grunting, his arms wrapped around a massive log. 

“Just place it on the coffee table,” Matilda’s father called from behind him. “And gently! ”

“Yes, sir!” Brom mumbled as he slowly lowered the log to the coffee table. 

Matilda barely had time to throw him a look of apology as she was called away by her mother to help bring out the supplies for decorating the Yule log. When she returned to the living room with The Basket, she saw Brom crouched over the fireplace with her father behind him.

“That looks good,” Paul assured Brom, and Matilda could just glimpse the flame that licked the formation of medium-sized logs in the large fireplace. She bit back a smile as Brom beamed at her dad, and when Paul glanced at her, Brom followed his father-in-law’s gaze.

“Hon’, the Yule fire has been successfully lit,” he announced, his smile widening as Matilda nodded to him. 

“Great. Now be careful where you wave that thing,” she said, a jolt of concern running through her to see the flame still flickering on the end of the lighter.

“Oops.” He released his hold on the switch and carefully placed the lighter on the stone hearth. 

“How’s it going in here?” Rosamund asked as she breezed into the living room, now dressed in flowing red pants and a cream sweater. Her damp hair was pulled back into a braid, and she wore a chunky necklace of red glass beads. 

“Brom was about to light the house up in flames,” Matilda teased, her tone and expression deadpan. 

Brom opened his mouth to protest, but Paul Bishop spoke up first. “He did a fine job lighting the Yule fire,” he assured his wife. 

Rosamund grinned. “Of course you did. Now, Brom, we’re usually pretty casual about celebrating Yule, but this is one of the more… ceremonial aspects.” She took the basket from Matilda and sat down on the couch, resting the collection of supplies on her knees. Paul joined Rosamund, and Matilda rounded the coffee table to sit with Brom, who took in the large log and mysterious basket with wide eyes. He shifted towards the table with cautious movements, and Matilda warmed at how enraptured he seemed to be. 

Rosamund gestured towards the log in front of them. “This is the Yule log. It is the symbol of our celebration as we mark the shortest day of the year and welcome the return of the sun and the beginning of a time of light, renewal, and rebirth.” Matilda felt her own attention fixated on her mother as she soaked in the reminder of this special time—a holiday that she’d fought to ignore last year when she was wracked with guilt, though Kat hadn’t shared the same sentiment. 

“We decorate the Yule log and light it as an altar to commemorate this turning point in the calendar, and to refocus ourselves towards the coming year,” Rosamund continued in her soothing tone. It should have been amusing, to see her parents inhabit the roles of teachers, but Matilda felt the lesson helped her refocus on the meaning of this day. Goddess knew she could use the help to centre herself after everything that had happened. 

“Later we’ll also each write a note as a sort of wish or prayer of what we hope will happen in the next year. It can be nice to talk about with each other, but it’s often easier to write it down without the pressure of speaking it aloud if you aren’t comfortable.” Rosamund looked at her daughter specifically as she said this, and Matilda glanced down at her lap, though she knew there was only understanding rather than accusation in her mother’s words.

“Cool!” Brom exclaimed, his eyes alight. He raised himself on his knees to study the contents of the basket before he sat back down. “And you use all of this stuff?”

“Not necessarily,” Matilda spoke up. “Everything has specific meanings, so you can use all of it, or just a bit.” Rosamund laid the basket on the table beside the log, and Matilda picked out the first item she touched. “Like cinnamon,” she continued. “It symbolizes good luck. Or lavender,”—she raised a dried nosegay of the delicate purple flowers— “which represents happiness, luck, and peace.”

“I recognize this,” Brom said as he reached for a dried orange slice and held it up. “This is for the sun, right?”

Matilda nodded, memories of their day decorating The Drugstore springing to mind. “Yes, exactly.”

Rosamund nodded, and even Paul looked mildly impressed. 

“We also often use the extras to decorate the tree on Christmas Eve,” Matilda added. She thought her mother had prepared more than usual as she raised herself on her knees and shuffled through the items before raising her eyebrows at the Bishop matriarch. 

“Well, you weren’t around for the Yule log last year,” Rosamund said simply. “And this year… I just thought I’d be prepared.” 

Matilda ignored whatever her mother was implying—she suspected that she was making up for missing last year and a new chapter with Brom this year—and she dug for the spool of twine among the small pieces of greenery, pine cones, and flowers. She handed it to Brom while Paul reached into the basket. 

“Hmph,” her father muttered as he removed a piece of greenery with skinny rounded leaves and white berries. “We certainly don’t need this.” Matilda could almost see him frown at her mother—a sentiment she was tempted to share.

“I’ll take that,” said a ghostly voice beside him, and Verla snatched the mistletoe from his hand. 

“What was that?” Brom asked Matilda, leaning close towards her. 

“Nothing,” she said quickly, her cheeks flushed. She for one was not going to explain the symbol for healing and fertility to her clueless husband—never mind its more well-known romantic use.

Soon, the gathering of two witches, two husbands, and a ghost, were deep into the task at hand as they chatted amiably—which involved Matilda’s parents asking Brom about how things were going at school, and him asking them about their lives. The fire crackled behind them, growing to a blaze before settling back down. Brom kept his eye on the fire and added a log every now and then, and Matilda noticed he would glance to Paul for a nod of approval until he found a rhythm that satisfied them both. Matilda’s heart swelled in her chest, and the sentimental routine from her childhood that she had so recently avoided out of guilt or embarrassment now felt like a balm after the last few months that had left her battle-weary. It meant even more, to share it with Brom who not only deserved a happy celebration, but was an integral part of helping her survive the chaos and grief.

Soon, the eclectic array of items from the basket found their places on the log, with everything from cloves and baby’s breath to orange slices and pine cones. The fresh scents wafted from the arrangement as Matilda and Brom and her parents wrapped and tied them with twine and slid the various sprigs into any free space, with more than a few suggestions from Verla. 

“Careful not to cover the holes here,” Matilda told Brom, brushing his hand back and guiding it to another spot. “Those are for the candles.”

“Got it, Babe. Thanks.”

She let her hand linger on his for a beat longer than necessary before she reached for a new item—a small branch of ivy that represented love and rebirth. She felt the significance and looked for a spot on the log to which to add it, finally jamming it into a space near the bottom.

“I think that’s all we’re going to fit,” Rosamund said. “What do you think?”

Matilda sat back, and studied the arrangement as a whole. Every inch was crammed with greenery and florals and fruit, and she wondered how they would ever move the log with all its decor to the dining table and then the fireplace later that evening. Matilda noticed that there were still supplies left in the basket, though the mistletoe was suspiciously missing—save for one piece wedged near the middle of the log. Matilda narrowed her eyes at Verla, who merely shrugged in response. 

“I think it looks great!” Brom exclaimed from beside Matilda. He sat back, his weight resting on his arms, and Matilda instinctively mirrored his position. Their hands rested side-by-side on the rug with their pinkies touching, and Brom hooked his fingers over Matilda’s. 

“Wonderful!” Rosamund agreed. “That just leaves the candles.”

She dug into the basket and pulled out four tall candles.

She shimmied each stick of wax into the notches that Matilda’s father had cut. With a bit of effort, they were wedged in, and she adjusted them to align them straight. Brom reached for the lighter behind him, but Matilda shook her head.

“On this day of Yule, we give thanks and remember our blessings,” she said, her tone clear yet soft. Then, she continued in Gaelic.

Brom leaned closer to Matilda and wrapped his hand around hers, his eyes fixed reverently on his mother-in-law, and Matilda whispered a translation as each candle burst to life with a wave of Rosamund’s hand. 

"Great sun, wheel of fire, sun goddess in your glory,
"hear me as I honour you
"on this, the shortest day of the year.
"Summer has gone, passed us by,
"the fields are dead and cold,
"all of earth sleeps in your absence.
"Even in the darkest times,
"you light the way for those who need a beacon,
"of hope, of brightness,
"shining in the night.
"Winter is here, and colder days coming,
"the fields are bare and the livestock thin.
"We light these candles in your honour,
"that you might gather your strength
"and bring life back to the world.
"O mighty sun above us,
"we ask you to return, to bring back to us
"the light and the warmth of your fire.
"Bring life back to earth.
Bring light back to earth!" *

Matilda squeezed Brom’s hand to let him know the blessing had ended, and he squeezed back. For a moment, the family sat in silence, surrounded by the cozy glow of the candles and the crackling fire behind them while the mid-morning light poured in through the windows. 

“Well,” exclaimed Paul as he leaned forward on the edge of the couch. “I think it’s time to start the roast.”  He looked at his daughter, but before she could say anything, Rosamund spoke up.

“I’ll help you,” she volunteered, and Matilda rolled her eyes at her mother’s not-so-subtle method of leaving her and Brom alone together. “Matilda can help Brom keep an eye on the fire.”

Brom nodded enthusiastically. “On it, Mom.”

Rosamund and Paul retreated to the kitchen, and Brom and Matilda pivoted to face the fireplace. Brom shifted to stoke the fire and add another log, and Matilda regretted the empty space beside her, though it only lasted for a moment before he joined her once again. Their hands quickly found each other’s, and Matilda enjoyed the familiar warmth of his touch, despite the simplicity. 

“So, remind me what else you do for Yule?” Brom asked as he rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand.

“Oh, we boil children in our cauldron out back and dance around naked.”

“And after that?”

Matilda smiled at his unfazed response. “After that , we have a lazy lunch, and we have a big dinner as our main holiday meal.”

“When do you write the notes? And burn the log?”

“After dinner. Then we sometimes play games, or we’ll just sit around the fire. It’s pretty boring, really.”

“I think it sounds great.” 

Matilda pulled her gaze from the bright flames that danced in the fireplace to study Brom’s expression. His eyes were fixed forward, but there was no hint of teasing in his features, and her heart rose in her chest. “It is nice,” she murmured so quietly she wasn’t sure if he heard, but he gripped her hand in reply. 

“Do you know what you want to write down for the Yule log?” he asked, turning towards her.

Matilda shook her head, unable to voice her deepest wishes or concerns in that moment, all too numerous to count and too messy to separate, like rolling waters that churned up the dirt below. She swallowed before she asked him quietly, “You?”

Brom smiled and leaned towards her. “I know exactly what I want to write,” he murmured in her ear, and a shiver ran through her as his breath tickled her skin, his voice deep and calm like a still lake.

“Oh?” she choked out, her eyes flitting back and forth to read his, and part of her yearned to answer the question she saw there.

The other part of her panicked, and she leaned back slightly. “Drink?” she asked a little loudly.

“Huh? Oh, sure.” He smiled good-naturedly, and Matilda felt both relieved and guilty that he could so easily let things roll off of his back. 

Matilda hopped up and retreated to the kitchen. She quickly grabbed a couple of glasses and opened the fridge to see a jug of apple cider. Deciding that was good enough, she poured both servings on the edge of the counter away from her parents’ preparations—and to avoid any looks—and she carried the libations back to the living room.

“Here you go,” she said, shoving the amber liquid at him.

“Thanks, Hon’,” he said warmly, as if she’d given him exactly what he’d requested, and he took the glass from her. Matilda winced and gave him her best apologetic smile, reminding herself that she was truly glad to have Brom at her side. She just wished she could ignore the nagging feeling that he would soon be gone.

Or, you could ask him to stay.

The room began to feel warm, though whether it was from the fire to which Brom attended, the sun that filled the low-ceilinged room, or from sitting so close—she wasn’t entirely sure. She threw her head back and gulped down half of her drink, and she shivered as the cold liquid slid down her throat.

Chapter Text

Brom wasn’t sure exactly what he expected the Bishops’ Yule day to look like, but he was surprised at just how, well… normal it all was. Well, aside from the fact that Rosamund could light the candles with a wave of her hand, or the odd decoration that levitated from a shelf or windowsill now and then. The twigs tied into pentagrams with red or black ribbons hinted at their witchy origins, though they weren’t that far from some of the decorations his grandmother might have had, all things considered. The Bishops’ home was downright cozy, a fact that might have shocked most residents of Sleepy Hollow, but to Brom, it was beginning to feel like the most homey place he knew. 

Or perhaps he was just getting carried away by the holiday cheer.

In some ways, the day was relatively ordinary—there were no grand events, or extravagant banquets. He and Matilda spent part of the day in front of the fire while her parents prepared the roast to cook for the afternoon. Lunch was no more than an array of appetizers and snacks that they enjoyed around the kitchen counter before moving to the family room, perfectly casual and non-fussy and nice . The weather was clear and bright, and so they enjoyed an impromptu walk through an ideal winter landscape. Paul even let Brom chop some wood for the fire, though not without a mountain of instructions and warnings, and two pairs of very watchful eyes from both his father-in-law and his wife.

He might have thrown in a flex or two for good measure as he indulged in his dream of being a lumberjack, and he couldn’t resist a glance to Matilda to see if she was impressed. (The jury was out on that one but he thought he caught a glimmer in her eye that made him hope.)

Before he knew it, it was time to sit around the dining room table, with the large Yule log carefully placed in the middle, joined by the delicious pork roast surrounded by potatoes, carrots, and apples as the main attraction. The aroma of roasted meat mixed with the warm spices made Brom’s mouth water, and he was pretty sure he’d never seen or smelled anything so delicious. He tried to recall when he’d last had a meal like it. 

“This looks amazing!” he exclaimed as they took their seats, with Rosamund and Paul at either end, and Brom and Matilda across from each other, each place set with a generous glass of red wine. He almost had to strain to see Matilda over the elaborately decorated Yule log with its array of greenery poking in every direction. 

“Why, thank you, Brom,” Rosamund said as she tented her fingers together and beamed at her husband. “It’s mostly Paul, but he lets me help.” 

“Ah,” Brom replied, turning to Mr. Bishop. “A man who’s not afraid of the kitchen. I like that.” 

“Hmph.” Paul shifted in his seat before adding, “I know my way around a recipe or two.”

“More like you could write the whole cookbook,” Rosamund said with a grin. “Meanwhile I manage to constantly burn the toast. Now drinks, I can handle but this”—she gestured towards the dishes on the table—“is outside my wheelhouse.”

“That is blatantly untrue.”

“It looks great,” Brom repeated enthusiastically. “I didn’t realize that a Yule meal would be so… so…”

“Normal?” Matilda piped up with a smirk.

Brom gave her a sheepish smile. “Yeah.”

“Did you think we roasted bats wings or something?”

Brom swallowed before he realized that Matilda was teasing him. “Nothing like that,” he assured her. He accepted the salad bowl from Mrs. Bishop and began to serve his plate. 

“It’s fine,” Matilda replied with a shrug. “We save those for Verla.”

Brom held his breath as he tried to casually glance around the room to catch sight of the ghost, half expecting her to pop up chewing on said wing. He exhaled slowly when she failed to appear, and he noticed the amused glances that Matilda exchanged with her mother. 

“So, Brom, do you do any cooking?” Paul asked as he shoved the dish of roasted Brussels sprouts towards him.

“Oh, I—a little,” Brom said carefully as he debated how few sprouts he could take without seeming rude. He slowly placed four pieces of the green vegetable on his plate. “I can make spaghetti and meatballs. And a mean lasagna,” he added with a glance to Matilda. “But, uh, I usually try to keep things healthy. And easy. Simple proteins and vegetables.” He passed the bowl to Rosamund, eager to be rid of his least favourite dish—and more eager for the sliced roast pork that was on its way.

“That must be hard, being on your own in that big house for so much of the year,” Rosamund said. 

“Nah, it’s fine,” Brom replied. “Plus you can get a lot of prepared meals these days, and I’m out with the Babes a lot.”

“Hmm.”

Brom wasn’t sure if he heard disapproval or pity in Paul’s huff, and he quickly changed the subject. “It’s really nice to be here with you guys for your Yule dinner,” he said, his chest full as he met Matilda’s eyes over the Yule log. He forced himself to bring his attention back to Mrs. Bishop. “Is this what you have every year?” He couldn’t help but soak up any traditions they might have, eager to learn more about Matilda’s past while also feeling his own lack of family routines.

“Mmhmm,” Rosamund said with a nod. “It’s traditional to have pork or ham for Yule, though it used to be roasted boar back in the old days.” 

“Huh. That sounds like Christmas. And then, all the greenery, and spices…”

“That’s ‘cause you stole those things from us,” Matilda said, a glimmer in her eye as she tore off a piece of her dinner roll and popped it in her mouth.

“Touché,” Brom agreed with a chuckle, and he began to dig into his plate that he’d probably loaded up a little too much to be considered polite. With the first bite of pork, he knew he’d want second helpings, especially paired with the gravy.

“And what about you, Brom? Do you have any Christmas traditions?”

Matilda coughed and shook her head, but Brom simply nodded. “I haven’t really done much for the last few years,” he replied, and he looked from Rosamund to Paul as he explained. “My dad’s usually gone, so I have a quiet morning, and then I meet up with the Babes. I usually have a call with my mom at some point, too.” 

“This year will be different, though, right?” Matilda added. “Brom’s going to do a dinner with Ichabod and Rip.” She glanced down at her plate, and Brom felt something in him sink, though he wasn’t entirely sure why.

“That’s right,” he said. “Since, uh, we’re all kind of on our own, we thought it would be a nice way to celebrate.” Since I didn’t really think you celebrated Christmas….

“That sounds like a nice idea,” Paul added from his end of the table. “What are you guys making?”

“I think Ichabod said he has one of those frozen turkeys that have the stuffing inside.” 

“Oh, those things are awful,” Rosamund bemoaned.

“They’re not bad,” Paul replied.

“I’m sure it will be nice,” Brom assured them. “I don’t think any of us have cooked a turkey before, and Ichabod’s kitchen isn’t in the best shape—”

Matilda snorted. “That’s putting it nicely.”

“—so we thought we’d keep it simple.” Honestly, the plan had sounded pretty good to Brom, who was used to either ordering takeout or heating up a frozen dinner on Christmas, but now, seated at the Bishops’ table, the idea made him feel a little deflated. 

“Oh, I know!” Rosamund exclaimed, and her fork clattered to her plate before she clapped her hands together. “Why don’t you boys have your dinner here?”

“Rosamund, I don’t know if they want—”

“Mom, I don’t think that’s such—”

“Nonsense,” Rosamund cut off her family members with a wave of her hand. “It will be fun. And it doesn’t have to be anything formal. We can join forces and have a nice get-together.”

Brom swallowed a bite of potato. “You’re sure? I wouldn’t want to get in the way of your Christmas day.”

“It will be fine,” Rosamund assured him with a warm smile that easily convinced Brom. “We’re always a bit more casual on Christmas, anyway.”

Matilda held up her wine glass and swirled the deep-red liquid around. “We have a big brunch whenever we feel like it and then usually snack for the rest of the day. We only do a turkey dinner when Dad’s family is in.” 

“It would be nice to have more people for Christmas again, wouldn’t it, Paul?”

“Yes, Dear.” Brom noticed the genuine smiles that passed between husband and wife, and he warmed at the understanding that needed no further explanation. 

“I’ll have to run it by Ichabod and Rip, but that does sound nice,” Brom agreed with a grin. “Thank you!’ He met Matilda’s gaze once more and brightened at the small smile she gave him. He decided to brave a bite of a Brussels sprout and lit up as the surprisingly savoury taste hit his tongue. “Mmm,” he said as he chewed and swallowed. “This is delicious!”

“Dad’s Brussels sprouts are good,” Matilda agreed.

“Thank you. It’s a bit of a family trick.”

Rosamund chuckled. “Not my family.”

Brom nodded, his mouth full as he had to stop himself from eating too quickly. 

“It’s all in the roasting,” Paul continued, and he leaned forward as if he was about to impart some special wisdom. “Plus, you add a splash of vinegar and brown sugar. Or honey, but I usually go with brown sugar.”

“They’re delicious,” Brom said again, having had to completely rethink his stance on the vegetable after a single bite. 

“So, Brom,” Matilda started, and Brom paused to turn to his wife. “Since this is, uh, a bit of a different kind of Christmas, is there—are there things that you want to do for the holidays? Things that you don’t always get a chance to do?”

Brom swallowed as Matilda’s dark eyes searched his, and his heart rose in his chest. “Oh, uh, I—I don’t know if I’ve ever thought about it.”

Liar .

He’d always loved Christmas, but he couldn’t pretend that he didn’t long to celebrate in ways that were almost impossible when you were by yourself. Even the things that he could do lacked a certain jolliness when done solo. 

“I haven’t made a gingerbread house in ages,” he said aloud. “My mom and I used to make them when I was a kid, but it’s… it’s been awhile.” For a few years, he used to buy himself the kits from the grocery store, but he gave up when he only ever half finished the houses and they went stale before New Year’s. 

“That sounds like fun,” Rosamund agreed. “Matilda, you and Brom could do that this week.”

“Sure. Do you remember where Granny’s recipe is?”

“I’m sure I can find it.”

“Done. Anything else?” Matilda flashed Brom a self-satisfied look, both pleased with herself and daring him to give her a bigger challenge.

Brom shrugged. “I mean, presents on Christmas morning are always nice.” 

“Well, duh. That’s already a given.”

Brom quirked one corner of his mouth in a sly smile, and for a moment he was only aware of Matilda before he remembered himself. “Not that I need any gifts,” he said quickly, looking at Rosamund and Paul. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Nonsense. We’ve got that all sorted.”

“Right. Thank you.”

“It’s nothing,” Rosamund insisted before she took a sip of wine. “Is that it? Are there any other things you want to do, or used to do for Christmas?”

Brom licked his lips, unable to keep an image from springing to mind. 

“There it is!” Matilda exclaimed with a point of her finger. “There is something else.”

Brom shrugged. “It’s nothing, really.”

“Come on.” 

“I’m afraid she won’t let it go,” Paul said with a knowing smile. “Better to just give her what she wants.” 

Brom nodded, and briefly debated lying, though he couldn’t think of a convincing alternative. “Okay, fine. When I was a kid, my mom and dad—well, mostly my mom—would give me a new set of pajamas on Christmas Eve. The pattern was always different—sometimes it was snowmen, sometimes superheroes. But it just kind of became a tradition.”

“Aw, did little Brom wear little onesies with Spiderman on them?” Matilda teased as she scrunched up her nose at him.

“Hey, they weren’t onesies! They were very manly button-up pajamas.”

“That sounds like a very sweet tradition, Brom,” Rosamund interjected. 

“Yeah, it was nice. I didn’t think much of it at the time, since I was more focused on all the toys I was going to get. It’s just funny what sticks out to you, looking back.”

“It is nice to have family traditions,” Rosamund agreed. “And I for one wouldn’t mind continuing the one that you started for us today.”

Brom and Matilda both frowned. “What tradition?” Matilda asked.

Rosamund smiled. “Doughnuts for breakfast on Yule.”

Brom grinned, delighted at the thought that he could contribute anything, much less start a tradition of his own. There was something solid about the idea, as if he could put down roots in this family—as if he could put down roots in Matilda’s life. 

He mentally shook his head at himself before the familiar longing could wrap itself around his heart too tightly.

“What about you?” he asked as he reached for his glass of wine. “Are there things that you used to do?” He saw Matilda’s eyes darken ever so slightly, and he instantly regretted the question.

“Well, Kat would often join us for Yule,” Rosamund said carefully. “She and Matilda were in charge of decorating the Yule log.”

Brom’s heart sank as his gaze fixed on Matilda. “Babe, I’m so sorry—I didn’t realize.”

“It’s okay,” Matilda replied with a small smile. Brom wished he could reach across the table and take her hand, and he suddenly hated the large table and decorations that separated them. He also realized why she had retreated into herself at times, and his heart ached as he wondered at the mixed emotions this day must bring up. Her flashes of hot and cold suddenly made more sense, and all he could do was hope that she could read his empathy. 

He relaxed slightly when the tightness in her features softened, and her small smile warmed her dark eyes. 

“I’d like to offer a blessing,” Rosamund said suddenly, lifting her wine glass in the air as if to make a toast. “On this day of Yule, as we gather with our loved ones”—she looked at each person around the table, and Brom’s breath hitched in his throat when her gaze rested on him—“may we also remember those who are not with us. As we celebrate the sun’s return, may we also acknowledge our grief, and may those not with us feel peace and love on this side and the next.” The Bishop matriarch raised her glass before taking a drink, and Brom followed along with Matilda and Paul in the sentimental toast. He studied his wife’s expression and saw tears glisten in her eyes, and he felt the prick of tears threaten to well up in his own, praying that he could help ease the sting that came with the holidays.

The reflective mood soon bubbled into one of frivolity, and Brom was in his element, telling his favourite anecdotes and jokes. While he was happy to be the source of his in-laws’ laughter, he was especially thrilled whenever he looked at Matilda to see her beaming at him—in her way—and the real prize was won. 

“I’m pretty sure my ears were ringing for a week ,” Brom added as the laughter died down around the table.

Rosamund sat back in her chair and ran her fingers under her eyelids. “Oh my goddess, I can’t imagine,” she said with a chuckle as she tried to collect herself. “I don’t know how you manage all those twelve-year olds every week.”

“I’m pretty sure some of them would be missing some finger-nails by the end of the day if it was me,” Matilda said over the rim of her wine glass. “Or at least a couple inches of hair.”

“Sometimes I wish I could, but I’d rather not have to deal with the angry parents.”

“I think I could handle them.”

“You most definitely could.” The image of Matilda taking on difficult parent meetings and staring them down into submission gave him a little too much joy.

The four of them now sat back with empty dessert plates, a few crumbs as the only evidence of the feast they’d enjoyed. Brom felt he was about to burst if he so much as twitched, but he didn’t regret a thing.

“We should probably clean up so we can start the log in the fireplace, hmm?” Rosamund said with an eyebrow raised at her husband. “I’ll clear the dishes if you want to check on the fire?” 

Brom jumped from his seat as Rosamund stood up—well, as much as he could jump with the almost unpleasant fullness in his stomach—and he moved to collect the dishes within reach. “Let me help you with that, Mom.”

“Thank you, Abraham.”

Somehow, the way Rosamund said his full name made his heart lift—so different from the way his dad said it, thick with annoyance at best. Brom followed Mrs. Bishop to the kitchen with his pile of plates and forks, and Matilda brought up the rear with the platter that held half a Christmas fruit cake. (Brom didn’t think he liked fruit cake, but the Bishops had proved him wrong on that front, too . )

“We won’t worry about cleaning up everything tonight,” Rosamund assured him as she shifted some dirty pans to make room for the dishes, “but we can at least get these into the dishwasher, and leave the pans to soak.”

Brom nodded and turned the tap to fill up the sink with hot water, adding a couple generous squirts of dish soap. He then went to work scraping any remnants of food into the garbage before either handing them to Rosamund for the dishwasher or placing them in the sink. Matilda, meanwhile, popped in and out carrying glasses and platters from the dining room, adding to the growing collection on the island, before she disappeared. 

“I’m so glad you were able to join us for Yule, Brom,” Rosamund said as they worked side-by-side.

“I’m so happy to be here,” Brom replied, the words feeling thin compared to the sincerity he felt. “Really.”

“I know things are difficult with you and your dad right now,” she continued, and Brom felt himself relax with the warmth in her tone, despite the subject matter. “I really hope that you can feel like this is your home, too.”

Brom swallowed the lump that rose in his throat. “Thank you.”

He looked up as she placed a hand on his arm, and Brom paused. “I also wanted to thank you,” she said carefully. “I’ve been worried about Matilda, and this year has been so hard on her. I’m so grateful she has you as a support.”

Brom nodded as he blinked away tears that threatened to well up once again. 

“She wasn’t really around for most of Yule last year, and we haven’t seen much of her since the spell with Kat. Now, after Kat’s passing, I wasn’t sure she’d be here at all.”

Brom continued to nod, his hands still in the soapy water, and his nose began to sting as he could hear Matilda’s mom choke up.

“I’ve been so worried about her—and you—but I was so relieved that you both wanted to be here for the holidays. And to see you together—I don’t think I need to worry much anymore.” 

“Gee, I don’t think I’m doing that much,” Brom admitted, his throat tight as his emotions continued to build. “Matty’s the strongest person I know.”

Rosamund pursed her lips and took a breath. “She is. Which means she needs someone just as strong to lean on. And I know that’s not always an easy task,” she added with a chuckle, and Brom let out a chuckle of his own, thick with emotion.

“I also know you two are still… settling into things, but I want you to know I’m happy for you both. And whatever happens, you’re always welcome here.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Brom exclaimed, his heart full. Without thinking, he threw his arms around her in a bear hug, realizing too late that his hands were sopping wet. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry!”

“It’s fine!” Rosamund insisted, holding him close. “I’m just glad to have another hugger in the family.” 

“Yeah,” Brom choked out over her shoulder, unable to keep a couple of tears from escaping. “Who doesn’t like hugs?”

Brom and Rosamund made quick work of the dishes once they managed to collect themselves, and soon they gathered with Paul and Matilda by the fireplace. Matilda handed out pieces of paper and pens, and Brom remembered his words to her earlier that day. 

“So, before we add the Yule log to the fire, we each write down a hope for the new year,” Rosamund explained. “It can be nice to talk about our dreams, but I think this year it will be best to keep them to ourselves.” 

Relief washed over Brom that he wouldn’t have to reveal anything aloud, though his heart sank when he realized that meant he wouldn’t know what Matilda was thinking. He watched her tap the end of her pen to her lip as she studied the blank piece of paper on the coffee table, and while there were times he could read her like an open book, this was not one of them.

“Keep your eyes on your own paper, Bones,” Matilda whispered.

“Yes, Dear.”

Brom licked his lips as he hovered his pen over the sheet. He knew what he wanted, to an extent, but he was also very aware that his ideal future involved another person who may or may not want the same thing. It was also strange to know that this time last year he would have wished for something stupid with Kat, or maybe his dad.

Now, everything had changed.

He wasn’t entirely sure how this Yule log magic worked. He didn’t want to overstep any boundaries, and so he wondered how best to describe his hope. With a deep breath, he connected the pen to paper and wrote out in his best handwriting, I want to move forward with Matilda .

It sounded a little flat, to convey everything that rose within him when he thought of the woman beside him, but he hoped it left enough room for whatever that might look like—whatever she might want.

What do you want, Matty?

He absentmindedly fiddled with his wedding ring while Matilda wrote down her hope, and it took every ounce of his willpower not to lean over to peek at her paper. Instead, his eyes flitted around the room to anywhere that wasn’t the coffee table, and he locked eyes with Rosamund. She offered him a soft smile, and he smiled back, his muscles relaxing once more. 

“Done,” Matilda said as she dropped her pen to the table. She looked around at the three of them, eyes widening as her focus came back to the present. “You’re all done?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Now, we find a place to tuck our notes in before the log is placed on the fire,” Rosamund explained.

Brom bit his lip as he searched for any kind of opening. He spotted a strand of twine near the bottom and stuck his folded note in with a piece of greenery he didn’t recognize that had white berries and thin, rounded leaves.

As he sat back, he instinctively looked at Matilda, whose eyes widened. He froze, mirroring her expression. “What? Did I do something wrong? Am I cursed?”

Her expression softened only slightly, and she shook her head. “No. Nothing’s wrong.”

“You sure? 

“I’m sure.” As if to prove her point, she reached for his hand and laced her fingers with his. Brom instantly relaxed at her touch, and he figured things couldn’t be too bad. (Or, if the offered sign of affection was only out of pity in his final minutes, he figured he’d take that, too.) It was by by no means the first time, but his pulse quickened that little bit more whenever Matilda took his hand.

“Brom? Would you do us the honour of placing the log in the fire?”

“Me?” Brom sat up as he processed the request. “Shouldn’t that be Mr. Bishop?”

Matilda leaned closer. “It’s not really that big of a deal,” she assured him. “It’s not a head-of-the-household thing or anything.”

Brom shook his head. “I didn’t think that, exactly.” When it came to that subject, Brom doubted that there really was a head of the Bishop household, at least in the traditional sense. 

“I’d be honoured,” he said with drawn-out looks at his in-laws. He stood up from the rug and studied the decorated piece of wood before he wrapped his arms around it and hoisted it up.

With a bit of huffing and puffing that he hoped wasn’t noticeable, he made the short journey to the fireplace and carefully lowered the log to the bed of hot embers that they had created throughout the day. Matilda picked up some pieces of flowers and greens and fruit that had dropped to the floor, and she threw them in. He blew on the embers, and they lit from deep red to a bright orange, causing some hot yellow flames to burst to life, and the sweet aroma of flowers and citrus and pine rose in the air while the cracks and pops echoed their cheerful chorus.

“That’ll last awhile,” Matilda, her face alight in the same glow that had seen her ancestors through countless celebrations before, and Brom was struck with a sense of deeper meaning to the holiday—to his time here with Matilda and her family. She gazed absentmindedly into the fire, and Brom couldn’t help but drink in the sight of how the warm glow lit up her features and highlighted her large, dark eyes. His breath caught in his throat, and he jumped when she finally looked back at him.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Fine.” He rubbed the back of his neck and felt an unfamiliar heat flush his cheeks. He shook his head, shrugging off the sensation as some sort of effect of the magic of the Yule log. Or, maybe he could just blame it on being in the ancestral home of a long line of powerful witches. 

“Brom, are you ready for another Bishop tradition?”

“Yes!” Brom said a little too eagerly as he turned to his in-laws. “What is it?” Even as he looked at Rosamund, he couldn’t quite pull his focus from his wife beside him, whom he regretted was no longer within arms’ reach now that he had shifted his position. 

“Mulled wine and games.”

“Sounds fun!” Brom replied. “What kind of games?”

Matilda tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. “Well, having four of us could be perfect for card games, but then we’d probably be limited to ‘Go, Fish’, given the present company’s skill level.”

“Matilda!”

Brom chuckled. “It’s fine.” In all honesty, Matilda’s teasing made him feel the most at home, and he enjoyed the dare he saw in her eyes. “I agree—it’d be a shame to beat you too badly, and I’d hate to embarrass you in front of your parents.”

“Matilda, we’d already decided on ‘charades’.”

Matilda shrugged and gave Brom an innocent look, instantly setting his pulse thumping at the challenge. 

Soon, Brom found himself in a competitive game of pantomime, and he realized he had greatly underestimated all three members of the Bishop family. Then again, he was glad they hadn’t decided on any strategy games—he was generally better at the physical—and he thoroughly enjoyed the excuse to focus on Matilda when it was her turn, or have her attention on him.

He grabbed his piece of paper from the bowl and exchanged places with Rosamund in front of the fire as she returned to the couch. He unfolded the paper and frowned at the phrase. 

“You doing okay over there?” Matilda asked from the couch. “There’s no shame in forfeiting.”

“In your dreams, Babe,” he replied with a smirk. He took a deep breath and shoved the paper into his pocket. He began by holding his hands up and pretending to struggle, as if he was holding up the sky. 

“Atlas!” Rosamund cried. “Atlas Rising! Atlas Shrugged!”

Brom shook his head, maintaining his position, unfamiliar with any of her answers.

“Brom, you didn’t say if it’s a movie or a song or what?”