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"Why is that good?"

"Because if you didn't, I'd need a doctor."

"You might still need one."

"Rude."

The biggest pumpkin climbs another foot. I point at it, like pointing has ever worked on anything.

"Stop."

It keeps going.

"Seriously. Stop."

Nothing.

Lila grabs my arm. "Maren."

"I know."

"What did you do?"

"I don't know."

The pumpkins drop.

All three at once, like someone cut a string.

One bursts on the sidewalk in a wet orange splatter. One rolls into my flower bed. The third bounces once and settles in the grass next door, right at the foot of Gage's woodpile.

His axe stops mid-swing.

Wonderful.

He looks at the pumpkin. Then at me. Then back at the pumpkin, like it might explain itself if he stares long enough.

"He's coming over," Lila says.

"I can see that."

"He doesn't have a shirt on."

"I can see that too."

"You're staring."

"I'm assessing a threat."

"The threat has major abs."

"Be quiet."

I think back to six months ago when he caught me in his arms before I fell. I felt so drawn to him. It was strange. And I’ve had this strong feeling about him ever since and I can’t stop thinking about him. Especially when he has his tight, perfect abs on display.

Gage crosses the strip of grass between our yards. Jeans, boots, and no visible concern for the fact that it's forty degrees and half the street can see him. Ink covers his chest and both shoulders, moving with him. There's a scar along his shoulder I've never seen, pale and old, and I want to know how he got it before I've finished deciding I don't care.

I resent both feelings equally.