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“It could always come back,” I say.
“What could?”
“Your crush.”
“Oh. I don’t think so.”
“What if I help it come back?”
She reaches for another pumpkin. It’s too bad she’s not wearing those embroidered pants again.
“Why would you want to do that?” she asks, tossing another.
This one veers to the left, and I barely manage to catch it. “Because I may or may not be developing a crush on you.”
With wide eyes, she throws the next pumpkin over my head so I have no hope of catching it.
“I thought you said you had no upper body strength,” I say, retrieving the pumpkin from where she tossed it and placing it in the truck bed.
She doesn’t respond, struck silent at my words. What I said is true though. I am falling for her—harder and faster than I’ve ever fallen off any bull.
It should be alarming. Unsettling, even. But the thrill of the challenge was what pulled me into bull-riding in the first place. The thrill of liking someone this special puts a spur in my side that pushes me out of my hesitation once and for all.
“Are you trying to trick me?” she asks with narrowed eyes.
“Why would I do that?”
“Because you like the thrill of the chase or something.”
She’s astute. But I’m not going to let her believe for one minute that I’m using her because I’m not. Most of it has to do with her spunk and confidence. Then, of course, there’s the fact that she looks just as good in a cowgirl hat as she does planking across a horse.
“I do love a chase,” I begin, “but not one that ends in a shallow, one-sided relationship. I ain’t tricking you.”
“Then what’s changed between now and our horse ride?”
“Nothing. I felt the same then, I just didn’t have the courage to speak it. I tried a few days ago, if you remember. The difference is that now you’re responding to me. I didn’t appreciate being ghosted, by the way.”
I give a condemning raise of my brows, though I harbor no real resentment.
She looks away. “I wasn’t ghosting you. I’ve just...been busy.”
“With the festival, I know. Which is why I’m here now.”
She huffs out a scoff. “Look, I’ll accept your help today because I really don’t want to be carting pumpkins for the next fifteen hours by myself. But you need to understand that this”—she stops, waving her forefinger between us—“isn’t going to happen. Ever. You’re welcome to help me so long as you promise to keep strictly business professional and leave as soon as the pumpkins are done. Deal?”
She just bestowed me another few hours to whittle away at her resolve. Excellent. “Deal.”
I must have looked too pleased. Her suspicious gaze increases before she tosses another pumpkin at me. I have to lunge to the right to catch it. Her aim is terrible, but imperfect pumpkins make the best pie.
If that isn’t a saying, it should be.
Still, the constant lunging isn’t helping us. “Maybe I should do the tossing,” I suggest.
She pulls in her lips. “Fine.”
We swap places. “So, what do you like to do for fun, Juliet?”
She shakes her head, catching one of the pumpkins I toss to her. “Don’t you try to get to know me, Archer Kade. I’m not stupid.”
