“I always open the door for you, babe,” he growls quietly in my ear.
“Not necessary, as I’ve told you, many times.” I wave him off and begin making my way to the porch. As I take the top step, Sam is nipping at my heels. He places his free hand around my waist, halting my trek.
“Do you want to give Mabel a reason to meddle?” he asks, lips grazing the shell of my ear.
“N-no, thank you,” I whisper, breathlessly. My body is heating up from his closeness. If we don’t get in this house soon, we’ll never make it inside.
“Then please just let me be a gentleman. I like opening doors for you. Chivalry and all.” Sam moves around me, grasping thedoor handle and pushing his way inside, only to glance back at me and wink.Holy hell! I’m pretty sure my panties just melted off.
“Ma! We’re here,” Sam shouts.
“In the kitchen, come on in,” Mabel replies.
It smells amazing in his parents’ home. Scents of cinnamon and nutmeg waft in the air mixed with something a bit more rustic. Maybe cedar or spruce. The house itself is pretty large, but the small cozy rooms of the historic place warm my heart. I can picture Sam and his siblings dawdling down the halls as babies.
Sam and I walk into the kitchen where Nora, her boyfriend Charlie, and Max are hanging out with Sam’s parents. They each have an apple cider in their hands, and the rosiness of their cheeks clues me in that maybe it’s paired with something stronger.
“Would you two like some cider?” Mabel asks, already ladling two mugs full.
“Yes, please. It’s nice to see you again,” I say, reaching out to give her a small hug and handing her the bottle of cabernet Sam said she loves most.
“Oh, you too, Olive. This is so kind. I’m so glad you came to carve pumpkins with us. Although I should warn you, it gets a little competitive.” Mabel hands me a mug of steamy cider as I glare at Sam. How could he not have warned me? I’m not experienced at this. I’m definitely going to make a fool of myself.
“Actually, Ma . . . It’s Olive’s first time. I thought we’d maybe dial down the competition this year,” Sam says. I know he’s not doing it to embarrass me, but I am embarrassed anyway.
“Oh, uh, okay. Well, Olive, how would you feel about being the judge?” Mabel looks at me, a hint of curiosity and pity mixed in her expression.
“Yes! Let me do that. Oh, and congratulations all, Sam is going to lose this year,” I remark, while elbowing him in the ribs lightly.
“He loses every year, that’s not really saying much,” Max chimes in before stealing a pumpkin cookie off of a cooling rack and promptly getting his hand smacked by Mabel.
“Olive, don’t listen to them. I’m the winner every year, and I expect it won’t be changing anytime soon,” Sam’s dad whispers conspiratorially as he walks past me to refill his cider.
“I guess we’ll have to see . . .” I start to tell them that I’m a tough judge and they won’t be able to sway me, but then Bridget rolls in with a tray of biscuits that smell like heaven and rightfully distracts the group.
“Sorry, I was waiting for these to finish baking. What did I miss?” she asks, setting the pan on the counter and sloughing off her coat.
“Nothing. Olive is judging this year because she’s never carved a pumpkin before,” Nora announces nonchalantly as my stomach drops. They must think I’m so ridiculous.
“Oh, cool. Wait . . . why not?” Bridget asks, turning to look at me.
“Uh, it’s just not something I was ever—”
“It’s none of your business.” Sam jumps in to save me from having to answer. “Should we get started before we lose all daylight, or does someone want to lose a finger?” I’m grateful that I don’t have to explain my mother to his perfectly normal family.
“Yes, let’s do that.” Mabel takes off her apron and makes her way out back, the rest of us filing out after her.
Everyone takes their place at their respective pumpkins and begins the process of removing the stems and scooping guts. Peering into the backyard, I see what every family I’ve ever dreamed up looks like.
“Come on, Olive. Don’t you want to learn?” Sam asks, winking at me.
I approach him and look into the hole he’s made. It’s a web of orange slime mixed with seeds. My arm tingles, and I can only imagine what’s being displayed. Sam grabs my hand and sticks it inside, gooey wet mush coats my fingers. I sort of love it. We take turns scooping. Sam takes over once I reach the point of needing to roll up my sweater, which we both know I can’t do.
“You’re carving this one, just for fun.” He hands me a small serrated knife with a fluorescent orange handle. I glance between the knife and the pumpkin, unsure what to do. When he notices he wraps his hand around mine and helps me jam the knife into the gourd.
“What now?”
“Just seesaw it back and forth to make whatever shape you want for the eyes.”
