Page 74 of A Love Like Pumpkin Spice
“That’s good. Right?” Kieran asks, eyes darting between Lauren and Nic.
“I can’t believe they went ahead with it,” Nic whispers. Her face turns from hurt to angry within moments. “You mentioned pitchforks?”
“Let’s try a nonviolent way to get rid of them first,” Lauren suggests, glancing at all of us with determination in her eyes.
“That smile scares me,” Nic points out, but then leans closer. “I’m all ears.”
“We need to be one step ahead,” Lauren starts, and cracks her knuckles. “So. I think it’s fair to say they’re planning something for the fair. Knowing them, it’s something that would embarrass Nic and what they perceive would ruin her reputation. Maybe they will call paparazzi, or maybe they will drive their car into a booth—we need to be prepared, friends!”
“I don’t think they’d drive their car into anything,” Nic says contemplatively. “Jay is too proud of that ugly thing to risk scratching it.”
“The paparazzi sound likely though,” I point out. “Maybe they’ll crash one of the evening performances?”
“It does sound more likely,” Nic admits, worry etching a crease between her eyebrows.
“Then we’ll turn the tables on them.” Lauren might as well have a light bulb over her head. “Here’s what we’ll do …”
Chapter 30
Nic
“God, I feel like a teenager on a date,” I joke, staring lovingly up at Henry.
We’re walking over to the autumn fair hand in hand, and I have to say—it is way more adorable than I thought it would be. Lauren and I might have lent a hand with the decorations, but what makes the atmosphere are the vendors showing off their crafts and goods, and the people.
I’m eating a still-warm churro with cinnamon, while Henry is sticking to a caramel apple. Jensen curiously trots beside us, eyes darting everywhere, overwhelmed about what to focus on first.
“Come to think of it,” he says with a lovestruck grin playing on his lips, “this is our first real date, sweetheart.”
“Oh my God, you’re right.” I come to a halt. “I didn’t even think about that!”
I’m more than content with our staying-in-and-cuddling dates. Cinnamon gets angry with me if I’m away too often, and Pumpkin is gnaws on furniture—and I love spending time with Henry no matter what we’re doing. I never needed big dates or gestures—being with him is all I need.
“Want me to shoot you a plush toy?” he grins, nodding to our left.
I turn to follow his gaze, and my eyes widen when I spot the stand. It’s tucked between a booth selling homemade pumpkin pies and one with spiced apple cider, all adorned in warm autumn colors. Wooden signs hang above it with hand-painted prices, and strings of little felt leaves and fairy lights frame the edges of the canopy.
Plush pumpkins, owls, and foxes with goofy faces dangle from clothespins, waiting for someone to take them home. And that someone could be me, apparently.
Lauren and I haven’t been back here since we set up decorations, so we completely missed the vendors moving in and claiming their spots. Seeing it all finished is like walking into a little pocket of autumn, much more magical than I thought this would turn out.
“Are you trying to woo me with your shooting skills?” I try to sound nonchalant as I glance back at him, cheeks flushed with heat. I might not be one for clichés, but him winning me a toy would honestly make my day.
“If it works, I’ll clear the whole booth.” He grins, throwing the core of his apple in the bin as we make our way to the stand. “It might take a while, though. I don’t have the best aim.”
“Then it’s a good thing my affection can be bought for the low, low price of one low-quality stuffed animal.” I pat his back playfully, then step aside to let him do his thing, taking Jensen’s leash out of his hand.
I can’t say I’m overly fond of guns. Do I still have one because I’m a woman who lives alone in the middle of nowhere? Obviously. But I’ve never considered them hot.
Yet there’s something about the way he handles the little plastic shotgun—the way he braces it against his shoulder, that little crease between his eyebrows as he focuses, the way he squints his eyes in concentration as he aims it … it’s sexy as hell.
Fuck, I’m such a goner for this man. It’s not even funny anymore.
There’s something about him that settles me. As if my heart finally knows how to beat in the right rhythm when he’s around. His hugs are home, more cozy than fleece blankets and soft music on a rainy autumn afternoon. And every time he looks at me as if I’m something special, my stomach flips so fast it’s giving Olympic gymnasts a run for their medals. His kisses? As addictive as that first swirl of pumpkin spice syrup in my coffee: comforting, exciting, a little bit magic.
I used to think I knew what love was. But wow, I was way off.
Love isn’t sticking it out for the sake of it. It’s looking into someone’s eyes and thinking—yeah, that’s home.
