Page 18 of Pumpkin to Talk About

It’s as if the mention of Indiana douses cold water on us. Belle lowers her eyes, then sits at the kitchen table, cupping her hands around her mug. I take my own latte and sit next to her, close enough to smell her spiced shampoo, but far enough away that we’re not touching.

She doesn’t take her eyes off her mug. “This is… complicated.”

“Yeah.” I nod, swallowing hard. “I like you, Bonnie Bluebell.”

Her gaze slides to mine, and she smiles sadly. “I like you too, Indy.”

“That’s not enough, is it?” I ask, knowing full well that the answer is no.

Blue-violet eyes sparkling, she shakes her head slowly. “It was fun though.”

The suggestion that we could continue just having fun for the rest of the week is on the tip of my tongue, but even I know that’s not a good idea. She’s trying to let me down easy, and I should let her.

“It was,” I say instead. We hold each other’s eye contact, and I study her features as if committing them to memory. If I thought she was gorgeous before, she’s absolutely breathtaking now. In the early morning light, stripped of her makeup, she’s stunning. Those curves filling out my shirt should be illegal.

She’s funny, beautiful, and we had the hottest sex I’ve ever had in my life last night among the trees.

Two realizations hit me like a ton of bricks. The first is that the only thing I want in the world is to stay here with her. The second is that if I don’t leave right now, I’m never going to.

I slap my thighs and stand slowly. “I should probably get going. Annie has a few more things for me to do in her nail studio before she can start seeing clients again.”

“Oh.” Belle sounds surprised, but she shakes her head quickly as if to dislodge whatever thoughts were sticking there before she stands, too. “Right. Let me change so you can have your shirt back.”

“Keep it.” I let myself trail a finger down her jawline and soak up the softness of her skin one more time. “It looks better on you, anyway.”

Because I can’t help it, I press my lips to hers. It’s a sweet kiss, if not a little sad. I pull away too soon and silently go back to the bedroom to find my t-shirt and jeans.

Once dressed, I come back out to the kitchen, where Belle is gazing out the window and still clutching her mug. She looks at me blankly when I throw back the dregs of my coffee and set the mug in her sink.

“Do you want a ride back to Annie’s?” she asks.

As much as I want to spend more time with her, I know that wouldn’t be a good idea. I shake my head. “It’s only a little over a mile. I think I’ll walk, if that’s okay?”

She puts on the best smile she can. “Sure. See you around, Mike.”

And then, without any room to second-guess myself, I leave out her front door and start walking home. But the whole way there, I can’t get Belle out of my head.

If this is for the best, then why does it feel so wrong?

Chapter 12

Belle

Halloween in Ironwood Flats is a big deal. Every year, after the school finishes their celebrations, practically the entire population gathers downtown to start setting the stage for the next weekend’s festivities. It’s never been an official thing. There are no social media invitations or even word-of-mouth. The Sunday before Halloween, we all just know to gather in the town square at ten in the morning and await instructions. The downtown businesses all participate in window-decorating contests, so some of us help the owners. The kids will trick-or-treat at each storefront next weekend, so some organize candy and small prizes. And the town square itself is transformed into a Halloween spook fest, complete with flying witches and ghosts hanging from the branches of trees, animatronic skeletons popping out from unexpected places, streamers, orange fairy lights, and giant blow-up yard decorations.

Years ago, it used to be that the townspeople would gather just before ten, the clock in the town square would chime, and everyone would randomly group together and find something to do. Now, it’s a whole event in and of itself, with a greeting from the mayor, food tents from the downtown restaurants, and pumpkin everything. Coffee, pastries, pies—you name it. If someone has figured out how to put pumpkin in it, it’s available for purchase. There are, of course, apple cider items, too. But everyone knows that the real star of the show is the pumpkin.

So, when I wake up Sunday after a long shift at The Broken Spur last night and without Mike in my bed this morning, I’m at least grateful I’ll have something to do to take my mind off his absence.

I get dressed quickly and walk the short distance to the town square. The café is open, so I grab a pumpkin latte and a slice of pumpkin bread before making my way toward the center of town. People are milling around the fountain and chatting. A few of the elementary school teachers give me curious side eyes, and I’m sure I’ll have some explaining to do on Monday for my hasty disappearance from the bonfire.

Tipping my head back and forth, I try to release some of the tension that’s crept into my neck and shoulders over the past twenty-four hours. This feeling that has been plaguing me since Mike left my house is unpleasant, to say the least. I think I might miss him. Or, at least, I miss the way his body fit with mine. How his hands felt on my skin. The way his smoked cedar scent lingered in my hair long after he had gone.

I finish my pumpkin bread and move on to my latte. Unfortunately, when I take a sip, I cringe. It’s fine, but it’s not nearly as good as Mike’s was.

Dammit. That man has ruined lattes for me now, too.

Grumbling internally, I take a look at where people are starting to congregate. There seems to be the fewest people outside the toy store, so I head over there. But I stop in my tracks when someone suddenly comes up beside me and loops their arm through mine. I catch a glimpse of bottle-blonde hair piled high on a woman’s head, and then my grumble turns into an external one.