Page 55 of Love on the Waiver Wire

I get out after him, and when he grabs my hand to pull me along, my heart skips a beat.

We get to the main stand and he pulls out a fifty dollar bill, handing it to the woman in exchange for a bag. She goes to hand him back some change but she shakes his head, telling her to keep it.

She points us toward the best apples they still have, and we’re off.

“I’m sorry there’s not that many anymore,” he says looking around. “I should have thought about this sooner.”

“It’s fine, I should have thought about it too.”

We go around and pick a bunch, but at one point, they’re way too high for me to grab.

“Can you help?” I ask innocently, hoping he’ll step up and grab them so I can watch.

But instead of doing that, he dips down, lifting me easily on his shoulders. I let out a small scream as I try to gain balance—I’m not a short woman by any means—and he grabs my hips, keeping me stable.

“Can you get them now?” he asks, and although I can’t see it, I can tell he’s smiling.

“I think so?” I say, reaching up. His hands tighten around me as I go.

“You got this,” he encourages me. I grab a couple, tossing them into our bag on the ground.

“Everything looks so tiny from up here,” I tell him. “It’s crazy.”

“It’s definitely nice being tall.”

“I mean I’m tall too.”

“You’re tall for a woman, sure.”

I tap his head once, chuckling.

Keeping me on his shoulders, Own dips down and grabs our bag of apples, slowly moving us to another tree.

* * *

“Have you carved pumpkins before?” I ask him as I eye the patch across from us.

“I don’t think so actually,” he says, placing the bag of apples in the trunk of his car.

“Do you want to?”

He looks me over, almost unsure of the answer before grabbing my hand once more, pulling me to the patch. He takes out another fifty, handing it to another worker, still refusing the change.

“Now let’s find the biggest fucker here, shall we?” I ask, rubbing my hands together.

He laughs, helping me as we go from pumpkin to pumpkin, from row to row trying to find two of the most perfect pumpkins we can find.

Across the way a small child points to one, and his mother tells him they can’t carry it, it’s far too large.

I can tell that Owen really wants to help by the way I see him listening, glancing over at them every couple of seconds. But in the spirit of not being caught, we decided that we need to keep to ourselves this whole time.

And for good reason, considering his mustache is peeling off.

“Psst,” I hiss at him, trying hard to get his attention without getting other attention. “Mission Possible!”

He shoots me a weird look. “What?”

“I don’t want to stay your real name and I don’t have a nickname for you. Figured your fantasy team name would suffice.”

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