Page 25 of Pumpkin to Talk About

“So, what’s the problem?” he asks, as if he can’t see the airport behind me in a clear signal that I’m about to be a thousand miles away from her.

I laugh humorlessly. “She’s here. I’m there. Seems pretty self-explanatory.”

Trevor scoffs. “You’re both adults with jobs, I’m assuming.” When I nod, he continues. “You work for a friend who lets you work remotely whenever you want. Get on a plane every so often and see her until you’re sure this thing can work out, and then move.”

“She doesn’t want to do a long-distance relationship.”

“Did you ask her that?”

“No,” I say. “But we’re in our forties. No one wants to do long distance. It never works.”

Something on the other side of the screen catches his attention, and his eyes light up. There’s only one person who can make his face look like that, and it’s Emery. She must have walked into the room.

I’ve never been one to settle down. I briefly entertained the idea of finding The One after college but gave it up in favor of work and play. Until now, I haven’t regretted that at all. But seeing Trevor make heart eyes at her makes me realize that I want that. Maybe he’s right. Maybe it isn’t out of reach.

He turns his attention back to me and regards me, considering. “Sometimes it works. You could be the exception to the rule. You never know until you try.”

I huff, shaking my head. “Are you always this unfailingly optimistic?”

Trevor smiles. “It’s something I’ve been accused of now and again.” He pauses, then asks, “What are you going to do?”

I eye the woman standing behind the ticket counter. She looks bored. I guess I might as well give her something to do.

“I’m not sure yet, but I won’t need a ride today. I’ll call you when I figure it out.”

He nods, looking proud. “Good luck, man.”

“Thanks,” I say, my heart beating hard in my chest. “I’m going to need it.”

Chapter 16

Belle

I’m idly wiping down tables at The Broken Spur when Old Man Peña comes in. The place is otherwise empty, but he takes his usual seat at the end of the bar, nonetheless.

I grab his beer from where I had set it on the counter. He prefers it closer to room temperature than it would be if it were straight from the fridge, so I always leave the first one out for him for a while before he arrives.

“What happened to you?” His voice is raspy, and his beard twitches with concern.

“Nothing,” I say.

“You look lower than a gopher hole,” he insists.

I can almost hear Mike saying, “God, you’re so Texan,” and I laugh wetly. I can’t be surprised that he left. That was always the plan from the beginning. So why am I so sad?

“Is this about that man everyone saw you with at the festival?”

“How did you know?” I ask, moving behind the bar to stack the glasses out of the dishwasher.

Old Man Peña juts his chin at my shirt. Or, rather, Mike’s shirt. He left his flannel at my house the first night we spent together, and I’m wearing it now. It still smells like him.

“He left?” he guesses.

I sigh. “Yeah. Back to Indiana, where he has a life and a job and friends and probably a million women just waiting to be with him.”

He hums noncommittally and takes a sip of his beer. Swallowing loudly, he says, “Do you love him?”

I practically choke on my own saliva. I cough a few times, thumping my chest to clear it. “What the fuck? Where did that even come from?”