Page 33 of Red Hot Roaster

See, I should’ve been helping Mateo and his mom fill the carafes with hot cider and coffee or putting out the boxes of applesauce doughnuts we got every Halloween from our favorite fruit orchard.

But was I? Nope.

I was perving on Rafe as he flexed his biceps and hoisted our big boy pumpkins from my garden wheelbarrow onto the café tables.

Worse yet, I was putting it out there for anybody with twenty-twenty to see.

Since my previous disasters, I’d kept any yearning, dreaming,hungeringfor love a secret from everyone except Mom.

Get a grip, girl. Was I so starved for love that I’d mistake a short-term friendship with benefits for the real thing? Would I trash my resolution never to trust a man again in favor of my promise to fight for my dream?

I ripped my gaze from Rafe and grabbed my phone to take more snaps to post. We’d spent the time since we’d closed early turning the café into the kid-friendly-not-frightening setting for our annual Howl-o-ween Pumpkin Carving Contest.

Sparkling strings of white dog-bone lights and black cat-head lights ran rampant around the walls. Glow-in-the-dark dog skeletons—at least two dozen—crowded every corner of space, from a tiny Chihuahua to a jowly bulldog to an enormous Great Dane. Even a few cat and rat skeletons tip-toed around the place—I suspected Katt’s influence there.

Old Chocolate Lab aprons waited on a side table for those who wanted to protect their clothes from pumpkin innards. Behind the counter, I’d tucked a box full of little prizes and gift cards for the winners of our contest.

And by winners, I meant every contestant—young or old—won a prize. We had umpteen categories for pumpkin originality, and our grand—in age—judges had fun deciding who got which award.

Friends and their families would start rolling in the side door soon, toting their own knives, pumpkin-pulp scoopers, fancy sculpting tools and all manner of embellishments. Jen’s twins even bedazzled their pumpkin with beads and sequins last year.

This was the first Halloween without Mom and Finn, and I missed them. Yet at the same time, I was distracted by my hunger—yes, I’d admit it—for Rafe.

Too soon, the angel on one shoulder advised me.You just met him a month ago.Seize the day, the devil on the other shoulder urged me.He’ll be gone before you know it.

The friendship zone could be fantabulous, don’t get me wrong. I was already basking in his kindnesses at home and in the café, our long talks about everything under the rain clouds on our dog walks—even our frank exchanges about our mothers.

If you addedbenefits,then I could give in to those cravings that consumed me. I’d start by yanking off his tight T-shirt and stroking my palms down his sides, over to his flat abs and back up his chest. I’d hook my arms around his neck, press close to all that heat, and pull his head down for a kiss. Not the semi-innocent ones we’d shared a couple of times this past week—no, nothing innocent about the wet kisses I had in mind.

And in this daydream,myT-shirt had disappeared too, along with my bra.

Just then, our Halloween mixtape cued up “Devil in Disguise.” Rafe must have felt my eyes back on him because he lifted his head and pierced me with his cobalt gaze. He didn’t smile, and neither did I—we stared at each other.

Was he the devil, or was I? And what were we hiding from each other?

I startled and wrenched my eyes away when Ana came up and slipped her arm around my waist for a hug.

“Tía Rose, Tía Rose, do you want to guess what Mateo and I are doing for my pumpkin?” she demanded. I was lucky enough to be an honorary aunt to Mateo’s little sister.

“Hmmm,” I said, tapping my chin and squinting off into the distance. “Is it a tyrannosaurus rex?”

“No,” she giggled. “Way too big!”

“How about a giraffe?” I countered.

“How would I carve the neck?” she demanded.

“An elephant is kinda round like a pumpkin,” I suggested.

“Where would I get the trunkandthe ears?” she quizzed me.

“Oh, I’ve got it—a Sasquatch,” I declared.

“Too bigandhairy! You’re not even warm, Tía Rose,” she chortled.

“I’m fresh out of guesses—you’ll have to surprise me!” I surrendered.

I suspected I already knew though. In the manner of chatterbox ten-year-olds everywhere, Ana had been talking of nothing but kittens for the past few months. Which was hilarious, since they already had a humongous husky named Perrito—who, in the manner of huskies everywhere, talked all the time. But I also happened to know that Liliana had asked Katt for places to adopt a kitten and for tips on all things feline.

---