“Live it up, Cara,” I mumble under my breath, the vibration of my voice echoing in the shell of the pumpkin. A young family examines a pumpkin down our row and the mom spots me, a grin sneaking across her face.
“Honey, look,” she says to the blonde toddler at her feet. His big green eyes look at me before he takes off, his little feet slipping on the dirt. His mom catches him before he falls, setting him upright and grabbing his hand. “Excuse me,” she says as they approach, “would you mind if my son takes a picture with you? He loves jack-o'-lanterns.”
Cara chuckles behind me. “He’d love that,” she jumps in before I can answer. “Why don’t all three of you squeeze in for a family photo? I’d be happy to take it for you.”
How did I know she was going to say that?
“The more the merrier,” I say as the family gathers around me, the little boy looking over his shoulder at me every chance he gets.
One photo bleeds into another as more people gather around us. Cara’s living it up, giggling every time she takes another photo of me surrounded by teenagers or when a little kid knocks on my pumpkin.
The crowd has finally died down, and I turn to Cara. “Has it been long enough?” I ask, desperate. We’ve been walking around for what feels like an hour. “It’s getting hot and stuffy in here. Surely I’ve fulfilled my part of the bargain.”
She rubs her hand along her chin, eyeing me as she sucks her teeth. “I’ll admit you did go above and beyond the call of duty. I guess I’ll take pity on you.”
I breathe a sigh of relief and cradle the heavy pumpkin in my hands before lifting it. Except it doesn’t move. “Um, Cara,” I say through the rising panic building in my chest. “Care, it’s not moving.” I try to remove my head to no avail. “I think I’m stuck.”
“Don’t be a baby,” she chides. “Here, let me try.” She reaches up, replacing my hands with hers on either side of my pumpkin head and pulls. The hole I deemed large enough to get my headintois somehow magically too small to get my headoutof.
“How is this even possible?” she asks through gritted teeth as she tries and fails to free me of my confines. Cara lets go and leans forward, examining the hole resting on my shoulders, the smell of her perfume wrapping around me, breaking through my panic. “Okay, big guy.” She grabs my hand and leads me after her. “I have an idea.”
The feeling of her hand holding mine sends a thrill through me. Her hand fits perfectly inside my own and I revel in its embrace as she leads me through the fields, her steps confident and sure. People still glance my way, but thankfully no one stops as she leads me over to a hay bale.
“Wait here,” she orders, pushing my shoulder down until I sit on a makeshift chair. “I’ll be right back.”
With nothing better to do, I watch the sway of her hips through my poor excuse for eyeholes. I find myself tilting my head inside my orange prison trying to follow her movements. Polly smiles broadly at her, but all I can make out are small gestures between the two of them. Bursts of laughter trickle over to where I’m perched, barely audible through the pumpkin. Cara slips from my view momentarily before she comes back into sight, her hand wrapped around a knife.
I’m struck again by her beauty as she carefully carries the knife over to where I’m sitting. My eyes linger on the graceful way she moves, the bounce of her chest with each step, the way her long hair swirls in the breeze.
What did I ever do to deserve this second chance? From where I’m sitting, she’s far too good for the likes of me.
“Okay, so don’t freak out, but I’m going to cut you free,” she says when she gets close enough. “I’ll have you know I have impeccable knife skills and that you’re in safe hands. We’ll get you out of here faster than you can saySleepy Hollow.”
Her eyes meet mine through distorted triangles. “I trust you.” Simple enough words, but the truth in them rings loud between us. “I always have.”
Cara pauses and I watch the pulse in her neck pick up speed. The urge to lean forward and place my lips over the thrumming there is overwhelming. I know she wouldn’t want that though, and thankfully, or not-so thankfully, the giant pumpkin on my head stops me from making any move.
“Um, just hold still.” I don’t move a muscle as she carefully slides the serrated blade into the gap between my neck and shoulder. Very slowly, she starts to work the blade into the pulp of the pumpkin. “How’s your article coming?”
The whole reason for me being in this town in the first place has been overshadowed by my need to be near Cara. “I’ve managed to learn a lot about what draws people here. I can see why you came back. It’s a special place.” Her sawing slows to a halt, her eyes sliding to mine.
“I didn’t want to come back,” she whispers so soft it barely reaches my ears. “I wanted to stay with you.”
Each word is the twist of a knife, the void in my chest growing larger with each passing second. Without thought, my hands reach out to rest on her hips, needing the contact to ground me. “Then why did you leave, Cara? What did I do wrong? For years I’ve been wracking my brain to pinpoint what happened—where wewent wrong—but I feel just as clueless now as I did six years ago.”
Cara shakes her head, her ponytail swishing behind her. She focuses back on the knife, the slow and steady sawing continuing. “I think,” she says after several quiet moments, “I can cut a straight line to the mouth and then we can pry it open that way.” Her hips rock back and forth with her sawing motion, but I won’t dare let go, not when she’s letting me hold her in this way.
“Sounds good.” My voice is gruff in the hollow of the pumpkin that gets darker the longer I sit, the sun stuck behind dark clouds. She’s avoiding my question, but I know pressing her for an answer won’t get me anywhere. For six years she’s left me in the dark, what’s one more day?
“Can you turn your head for me? I don’t want to catch your jaw on the knife.” I do as I’m told, turning my head to the right. “Almost got it.” With a quiet pop, the knife juts through the gaping mouth and I fight the urge to look at her handiwork. There’s a cracking sound as Cara pulls the bottom portion of the mouth away and lifts my prison from my shoulders. “There ya go, free as a bird.”
Just as I’m enjoying the fresh air on my now-exposed face, Cara snorts out a laugh. “What is it now?” I ask. Her hands grip my shoulder as she laughs, her hair falling in my face. Having her so close, in my arms, smelling her shampoo feels as close to right as I’ve been in a long time.
“There’s,” she huffs, “pumpkin. In your hair.” Cara straightens, her hands sliding up my shoulders and into my hair. She giggles as her fingers run through the dark strands, the sensation of having my hair played with drawing my eyes closed. My muscles relax under her touch and I tip my head back. On reflex, I pull Cara closer to me, her breath hitting my face, her mouth inches from mine. Her fingers no longer scrape along my scalp, looking for pieces of pumpkin. Instead, it feels more like agentle caress. Soft hands glide over my temples, her feather-light touches drawing a moan from deep in my throat.
“Smith,” she whispers, her forehead lowering to rest against mine. My eyes slide open meeting with the soft honey-gold of hers. I’m too scared to move, to breathe, as we gaze at one another. My hands travel up her sides, one hand coming to cup her jaw.
“Cara,” I whisper back as I pull her lips to mine.
