Is she running? Cara moves like a gazelle and is already halfway to her car by the time my foot hits the pavement. “Cara,” I call after her, hoping she’ll slow her pace. My bag bounces on my shoulder as I jog to catch up to her right as she slams her car door shut. “Cara.” I try again, my knuckles bouncing off the solid window a little too hard. “Shit,” I curse, waving my throbbing hand in the air to dull the pain. “I was hoping to talk to you.” She snorts at my pain but rolls down her window.
“Don’t go hurting yourself, Smith. I wouldn’t want you injuring your writing hand.”
To show her how uninjured I am, I raise my middle finger towards her. “I think I’ll be fine.” She huffs out a laugh, her smile tugging at the corners, and for once, I wish she’d direct that smile at me.
“Did you come over here to flip me off or…” she gestures for me to continue. Right, this probably isn’t the best way to get her to loosen up.
“I’ve heard about the pumpkin patch down the road and thought I should check it out. Someone mentioned pumpkin carving and thought maybe you’d like to join me. You know, make a friendly competition out of it. If you have the time, that is.”Please say yes, I beg. If I could get some one-on-one time, and get her to let her guard down, then maybe I stand a chance.
Cara clicks her tongue, her eyes squinting up at me as she weighs my offer. The Cara I knew would never back down from a challenge, especially one that involved me. “Alright, Smith. Let’s see what you’re made of.” She flicks her chin to the right. “Get in.”
I waste no time and hop in the passenger seat before she can change her mind and speed away. Cara leans over and turns the radio up before I can utter a single word.
So much for getting her to talk to me.
The drive out of town into the farmlands doesn’t take long, but I use the time to study the woman next to me. How is she this stunning?
Wearing a magenta sweater and leggings, she looks like heaven. Even more, she looks like home. The sweater clings to her hips and chest like a glove showcasing her neck-breaking curves. Suddenly, my mouth is dry and my palm tingles as I fight the urge to reach over and caress her thigh. It had once been a reflex to reach across the expanse of the center console and runmy fingers along her inner thigh as she drives. Although it’s been six years without her, the longing is still there.
Perhaps she can sense the change in my thoughts because she glances my way, her eyebrow raised. The sun streaming through the windshield washes her in a golden ray, its beams like a beacon pointing directly at what—who—I want most. “Stop being a creeper,” she shouts over the stereo.
“I’m not creeping,” I argue, turning back to look at the sprawling country road. I was creeping, but that doesn’t mean I need to let her know that. “I thought I saw a deer on that side.” I’m not completely lying. I had seen a deer, but that was when I first drove into town.
“You’re such a liar,” she laughs, shaking her head.
We reach the turn-off I passed on my drive-in, the sign for the pumpkin patch pointing down the gravel drive. The rumble of tires on gravel drowns out all but the dinging hits of the rocks on the undercarriage. Cars leaving our destination pass us slowly and before long, rows and rows of pumpkins lie in fields on both sides of the road, families carefully searching for their perfect pumpkin.
Cara pulls into the dirt parking lot and wastes no time getting out of the car. I shake my head, smiling to myself as I step out of her car.
If it didn’t feel like fall before, it certainly does now. Somehow the air out here is more crisp and we’re only several miles outside of town. I can’t help but breathe deeply, letting the scent of fall settle my nerves. Cara waits for me outside the entry gates and I watch as she rolls her shoulders as I approach. Her eyes follow me until I come to a stop beside her.
Now who’s being a creeper?
“You ready to get your ass whooped?” Reaching into my wallet, I pay the attendant at the booth.
Cara walks past me, turning sharply on her heel, her arms spread out wide as she walks backward. “I think you’ve got that all wrong, mister. If I recall correctly, your knife skills are severely lacking.”
“Oh really? How much you wanna bet?”
She stops, narrowing her eyes. The space between us seems to electrify as she eyes me up and down, her gaze scrutinizing the challenge in my eyes. “Alright,” she clicks her tongue, “the loser has to wear their pumpkin on their head allSleepy Hollow-like.”
“Deal.” My hand stretches out between us. “But the loser has to walk around the pumpkin patch, it can’t be a quick on-off thing. Plus,” I add, “he never actually wore the jack-o'-lantern as his head.”
She shrugs her shoulders before her delicate hand slides into mine. “Semantics. It’s not going to really matter when you lose.”
Chapter Seven
Cara
Idon’t think Smith knows what he’s getting himself into. Doesn’t he remember that I grew up in this town, coming to this very same pumpkin patch year after year, and have carved many a pumpkin in my time?
This is going to be fantastic.
“Someone’s a little cocky today,” he murmurs as we hunt through the rows of pumpkins to find the perfect one. It has to be large enough to fit over our heads, or rather,hishead.
I bend down, grabbing the stem of the gigantic pumpkin, spinning it to see if it’s the perfect one. “Not cocky,” I amend, as I wrap my arms around the oversized orange gourd and attempt to lift it. “Confident.”
The smooth surface of the pumpkin does nothing to help me lift it, the fabric of my sweater gliding over it like it’s been greased before landing with a thump. “At least I didn’t get it off the ground, otherwise I would’ve ruined a perfectly good pumpkin,” I mumble to myself as I try again to wrap it in my arms and lift. Did someone come out here and slather this thing in Crisco? I push myself out of my crouch and stand, examining the stubborn ass gourd. “Oh no, you are not going to beat me,” I let the pumpkin know as I roll up my sleeves before crouching once more. With one final tug, the pumpkin lifts from the ground and into my arms. “Ha, victory.”
