Page 16 of Pumpkins & Promises
I laugh despite myself. "Maybe that's appropriate. Identity crisis pumpkins might be the perfect decoration for this week."
Wesley grins and picks up his knife again. Below the wonky leaf, he starts carving letters. R-E-A-L-i-s-h.
"REAL-ish?" I read aloud.
"Yeah. Like our relationship." He holds up the pumpkin, admiring his handiwork. "Not quite real, but not entirely fake either."
Something about the way he says it makes my chest tight. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"I don't know." Wesley sets the pumpkin down and looks at me. "That's the problem. I came here thinking I knew exactly what this was, but now..."
"Now?"
"Now I'm sitting on your porch carving my first pumpkin and wondering when I started looking forward to seeing you every day."
My heart does that fluttering thing again. "Wesley..."
"I know," he says quickly. "I know this is supposed to be fake. But Emily, when I'm with you, it doesn't feel fake. It feels like the most real thing that's happened to me in years."
He's looking at me with such intensity that I forget to breathe.
Wesley shifts in his chair, turning to face me fully. "Tell me you don't feel it too. Tell me I'm imagining this connection."
I should tell him exactly that. I should remind him that this is temporary, that he'll go back to his real life in a few weeks and I'll still be here making apple cider donuts and organizing community events. I should protect myself.
Instead, I whisper, "You're not imagining it."
Something changes in Wesley's expression. He reaches over and touches my cheek, his thumb brushing away a smudge of pumpkin I didn't know was there.
"Emily," he says softly.
And then, somehow, we're kissing.
It's soft at first, tentative, like we're both testing whether this is real or just another part of our performance. But then Wesley's hand slides into my hair and I'm leaning into him, and suddenly there's nothing tentative about it.
The kiss is warm and sweet and charged with weeks of pretending that turns out to maybe not have been pretending at all. Wesley tastes like coffee and possibility, and when his other hand finds my waist, pulling me closer, I think I might be drowning in the best possible way.
When we finally break apart, I'm breathless and my heart is racing.
"Wow," Wesley says softly, his forehead resting against mine.
"Yeah," I whisper back. "Wow."
We stay like that for a moment, close enough that I can feel his breath on my cheek, both of us trying to process what just happened.
"So," Wesley says, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth, "that felt..."
"Real," I finish. "Really, really real."
"It did." His thumb traces along my cheek. "Emily, I know this started as pretend, but?—"
"But maybe it doesn't have to stay that way?" I find myself saying, surprising us both.
Wesley's smile grows wider. "Maybe it doesn't."
I lean back in my chair, picking up his REAL-ish pumpkin and turning it in my hands. "This is crazy, you know. We're supposed to be fake dating, and instead we're..."
"Actually dating?" Wesley suggests.
