Page 58
It means the Fall Festival in Shadowvale—and the annual Harvest Pie Bake-Off.
“Vincent! Babe, where are you?”
Kate’s panicked voice floats up the stairs.
I glance at the clock. She shooed me away while she was closing up, and I sprawled out on the couch, waiting for her to tell me it was time to go. I guess I must have dozed off while musing how I’m the luckiest bastard in Shadowvale because it’s way later than I thought it would be—and she sounds like she might’ve been calling my name more than once.
I hop off the couch.
Shit.
“Coming!”
“Hurry! We’re going to be late!”
“We live one street away from Main Street!” I howl back. Oof. I clear my throat so that I get rid of some lingering ‘cat’ in my voice. “Don’t worry, pumpkin. I’ll be right down!”
Slipping my feet into my shoes, running my fingers through my hair, I sneak a grin at the mirror, then scurry down the stairs. I find Kate waiting near the back door of The Pie Chart with the pie box holding this year’s entry balanced carefully in her hands.
I breathe it in. Sugar. Cinnamon. Halloween—
No. Wait. That’s my delicious mate’s scent going straight to my cock. Even after a year, it doesn’t take much to turn me on. I’m intensely attracted to Kate, and I spent most of last year’s Halloween in a state of arousal. If I thought I could convince her to dash upstairs for a good luck quickie before we head over to the festival, I might try, but I know Kate and I know better.
Bake-off first. Sex later.
Besides, I know that she’s holding tightly to a caramel apple pie she spent the last week perfecting.
It’s been an entire year since Cindy Hargrove beat Kate with a pumpkin pie made from a recipe she stole out of Kate’s missing notebook. Cindy’s humiliation the next day, when I took the notebook from her table and then Kate challenged her to bake without it, must have left a lasting impression. Either that or she decided to bow out when the schedule said the Bake-Off would be on Halloween instead of the day before. It doesn’t matter. Either way, Kate is hoping for the orange ribbon this year.
She looks nervous, though I know she has nothing to be nervous about. At her request, I didn’t use any magic on her pie—not that she needed it in the first place—but I’ve tasted every iteration of this recipe.
She’s got that ribbon in the bag.
Still, she’s nibbling nervously on her bottom lip as she waits for me. I lean in and kiss the corner of her mouth, hoping she knows how much faith I have in her.
I rub my thumb along the edge of her jaw. “Ready, Pumpkin?”
A nod to psych herself up, and then, “Yeah. I’m ready.”
You know. We do have about fifteen minutes. I’m already halfway hard. Kate looks like she needs to relax…
I take the box from her, easing it out of her hands, placing it on the counter.
“Vince—”
I silence her with a kiss that’s way deeper than the peck I gave her a moment ago. Like usual, Kate falls into my arms, and I savor the taste of my delicious mate. Groaning into her mouth, I begin to slip my hand under her orange, pumpkin-themed sweater.
She breaks the kiss. Breathless, she asks, “What are you doing?”
I give her my favorite cat-like grin. “Helping you relax before the big contest?”
Her eyes go wide. A moment later, she slaps at my hand, dancing out of my reach. “Don’t you ever get tired?”
My grin widens. “When I have you as my mate? As my wife? Never, pumpkin.”
“Well, keep it in your pants, Vincent. Don’t go offering to show your penis to anyone at the festival.”
“Once,” I yowl. “I did that once and it was to you.”
