"Jack-o'-lanterns and jack-o'-lanterns are poisonous."
She stared down at the large spread of orange fungi. "Oh."
My heart was pounding. It didn't make any sense, not really, since these weren't lethally poisonous. Unpleasantly poisonous, yeah, but that was it. She wouldn't even get sick from touching them. She'd have to eat them before things turned hairy. But I should've warned her not to touch anything. Should've told her what to avoid. What the actual fuck was wrong with me?
I relaxed my hold on her elbow, smoothed a hand up her arm and over her shoulders. "Here's a quick rule for you. Don't touch anything until you've confirmed its identity from two sources."
"Okay but"—she had an indignant set to her jaw, like she objected to me calling foul on her find—"these look exactly like the photos you showed me."
"They do look similar but they're different, babe. These are growing in clumps, see? And they're directly on the base of this oak. Chanterelles don't grow on wood and they tend to pop up without friends nearby." I bent down, grabbed a stick, and angled up one side of the orange caps, pointed to its underside. "See here? These little wrinkles that stop at the base of the stem? They're called gills. Chanterelles have fine ridges that cover the underside and stem."
"You know, I thought we were just wandering around and looking for little orangey things in the forest. I didn't realize this was going to be so complicated."
I looked up at her. I didn't realize it was going to be complicated either.
I pushed to my feet, looped my arm around her waist. "Do me a favor and don't touch anything. Okay?"
She shoved her hands in her pockets. "Under most circumstances, I'd argue with you about that kind of limitation but I'm going to let this one slide."
"Good plan," I said. "Let's turn back, okay? It's probably too late in the season for chanterelles anyway."
I didn't lie to Jasper when I said I wasn't concerned about introducing her to my family today. It wasn't as though I was bringing her home in some significant way. This wasn't like the time Magnolia brought her now-husband Rob home and that was it, the real deal, thethis is happeningannouncement. This wasn't like the time Ash brought Zelda home and they nearly set the backyard on fire with all the sexual tension sparking between them.
This wasn't like any of that. This wasn't permanent and it wasn't complicated either. It didn't have to be. Even if I had a whole lot of fun with Jasper and I was getting pretty good at saving her from herself, this had an expiration date.
* * *
"Okay,let me give you some advice." I pulled in behind my brother's Porsche and killed the engine. "My mother is a collector. She picks up broken furniture off the side of the road and takes hand-me-downs from everyone. She'll try to collect you too."
Jasper laced her fingers together and dropped them to her creamy white skirt. It was one of those full skirts, the kind that fell just past her knees and seemed like it would flare out if she twirled. The wool fabric was slightly rough to the touch, but on the drive down here some pawing helped me discover it had a silky lining. I'd happily spend time on my knees if I could do it with my head under that skirt.
"Do I want to be collected?"
"Unless you want to help her organize a quilt raffle down at the church or get in on a meal train for someone's sister's cousin's best friend, probably not. My recommendation is to—"
"Linden."
"What's up?"
She fluffed her hair over her shoulders, letting it fall against her dark green sweater. The neck was high and there wasn't a stitch of skin showing but that sweater was devastating. It just…it killed me.
"I know how to handle just about everyone." She gave me a pointed look. "Just about."
I gestured to the house because we could not talk about how thoroughly she could handle me while parked in my parents' driveway. Couldnot. "Then don't let me slow you down, babe."
She tucked her hair over her ear and gave me one of her sinful smiles, the ones that made all her forced, fake smiles look like a low-quality inkjet printout of her, a loose replica but nowhere near the real thing.
"As if you could."
I reached for the door handle, saying, "Stay there. I'll come around."
But she already had her door open and climbed out before I could get halfway there, the enormous bouquet of flowers she'd insisted on bringing cradled in her arm along with a small basket loaded with something called pimento cheese, olives, and a variety of crackers. "I see we're still ignoring simple requests."
"Did you really expect that to change?"
I reached into the back for the beer and wine I'd brought along. My mother didn't stock either. She didn't need it with all the weed she consumed. "Not sure what I expected from you." I didn't give her a chance to volley back, saying, "Stay with me, would you? There are no fewer than forty pumpkins on the walkway and I don't want you tripping over any of them in those shoes."
"These shoes have managed through more than a couple of pumpkins," she replied with a motion toward her fancy heels. "You need not worry about me tripping over anything."
