Page 124 of Picture Perfect

I want to believe him. I do. I’m just too scared to.

"Addy, come on, you have to see this one!" Gen's voice breaks through my reverie, her enthusiasm infectious as she points to a particularly lopsided pumpkin sitting among its plumper companions.

I manage a smile, letting the simple joy of the moment seep into the cracks of my doubt. "That one looks like it has character," I say, crouching down to inspect it.

"Exactly!" Gen beams. "It's perfect for you."

"Hey, it's got nothing on this behemoth," calls out one of the boys, hoisting up a massive pumpkin. Its weight is evident even in his steady grip. The air around us is filled with the earthy scent of autumn, the sound of dry leaves rustling in the breeze acting as a backdrop to our laughter.

"Found the one!" I declare, wrapping my arms around a large, lopsided pumpkin that's full of character. Its imperfections make it endearing, much like the people I've somehow come to consider friends.

"Nice choice, Addy," Gen approves, and the others echo her praise, lifting my spirits.

We make our way back to the farm's entrance, our arms laden with pumpkins of all shapes and sizes, the cool breeze nipping at our cheeks. As we load up the car, I chance a glance back at Chess. He meets my gaze, the unspoken words hanging heavy between us. For a fleeting moment, I see a vulnerability in his expression that mirrors my own. Then he looks away, focusing on securing the pumpkins in the trunk, and the moment passes.

Chapter fifty-five

Addy

Back at the Whitmore house, the carving begins. I'm awkward at first, unsure of how to turn my chosen pumpkin into the masterpiece I envision. But Gen is right beside me, guiding my hand, showing me how to saw through the thick flesh without slipping.

"Like this, see?" Her fingers are warm against mine, her confidence bolstering my own.

"Got it." I find my rhythm, and the pumpkin slowly transforms under my hands. Around us, the others are deep in their work, the sound of scraping and laughter merging into a melody of camaraderie.

The minutes fly by in a flurry of pumpkin shavings until we both step back, hands raised in surrender. All of theirs are amazing. Mine? Mine is more whimsical with lopsided eyes and a crooked grin. A surge of warmth fills me. It's not about winning; it's about this moment, right here, with them.

When we're all done, Gen stands, brushing pumpkin guts from her jeans. "Okay, now for the grand finale!"

Curious, I follow her into the den, where blankets, pillows, and string lights are scattered across the floor. My heart warms at the sight.

It seems so silly, childish even. But, at the same time, it’s everything I never knew I wanted.

Saint and Dre are there, setting another pile of blankets and pillows down with smiles on their faces.

"Let's get building," Gen declares with a grin that could outshine the fairy lights.

I laugh, unable to contain the bubbling joy. "You serious?"

"Deadly." She tosses me a pillow as if to punctuate her point.

We dive into the task, and it's not long before Saint, Dre, and Chess join the fray. I catch Saint carefully draping a blanket over two chairs, his usual stoic demeanor replaced by a focus so intense you'd think he was strategizing a battle plan. It's endearing, seeing him this way, and I can't help but smile.

There's something about the way they all come together, the way the air feels charged with love and laughter, that makes my heart swell.

The loft transforms under our collective effort, and as we step back to survey our creation, I realize that this ragtag group of souls has done more than build a fort. They've built a home, a sanctuary made of laughter, shared secrets, and the promise that, even if just for tonight, we are all exactly where we're meant to be.

The air is thick with the scent of buttery popcorn, and the sweet tang of candy mixes with the musk of the boys' cologne. It's an odd combination, but it feels right, like all these elements were meant to coalesce into this single moment of happiness.

"Horror first or Disney?" Dre asks, peering at the stack of movies by the laptop set up at the edge of our fort.

"Let's start with a scare and end on a song," Gen decides, and nobody argues.

The flicker of the movie screen lights up our faces, casting shadows on the walls of our blanket fortress. I'm nestled between a pile of pillows, a bowl of popcorn on my lap, and despite everything, it's hard not to be swept up in this moment of pure, unadulterated fun.

"Pass the gummy bears?" I whisper, trying not to disturb the film's dialogue.

"Here." Chess hands me the bag, his fingers brushing mine in the exchange. There's a charge in that simple touch, an electric current that speaks of things unsaid, tensions unresolved.

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