Page 37 of The Pumpkin Spice Spell
“Just a memory passing through,” I reply, picking up a carving knife and spinning it idly between my fingers. “Remember when I used to carve way better pumpkins than you?”
She smirks. “Yeah, right. I’ve had years of practice since you left.”
That last word hangs in the air for a beat too long, but she doesn’t seem angry tonight. Just…teasing. Comfortable.
I can work with that.
I lean in a little, lowering my voice so only she can hear. “Careful. You keep looking at me like that, and people are going to start talking.”
Her eyes flash, but she doesn’t back down. “People are already talking, Tate.”
God, she’s good at this. At banter, at keeping me just slightly off-balance, at making it feel like we’re right back where we left off, and yet somehow on brand-new ground.
Junie plops a pumpkin in front of me, nearly knocking over a thermos of cider. “Here! This one is for you, Tate. I picked it special.”
I grin and move it closer, “What makes this one special?”
“It’s big and bumpy like a pirate’s face,” she says proudly.
Willa lets out a snort beside me that’s sharp, unexpected, completely unfiltered and it hits me like a damn sucker punch. That laugh. I swear, it does more damage to my heartbeat than a storm on the open water.
She leans in, close enough that her shoulder brushes mine, her voice low and warm against my ear.
“She’s adorable,” she whispers.
And just like that, I’m wrecked.The scent of her wraps around me with the familiar cinnamon and vanilla, soft and sweet, like home if home ever felt safe. It fills the small space between us, and I breathe it in for a second, just to stay in the moment.
God help me, I don’t think she even knows what she does to me. Luckily, Junie fills the table with laughter and jokes, and we get to work, the three of us squeezed together on the bench, pumpkin guts flying, tools clattering, cider steaming. The clearing fills with chatter and laughter, with the occasional burst of applause as someone finishes an impressive jack-o’-lantern.
Junie insists that I carve “the scariest face ever” on mine, but I’m hopeless, as usual. Willa leans over at one point, eyebrowraised. “You call that scary? Junie, you should have just given him a Sharpie. He probably could have handled that better.”
Her shoulder brushes mine, warm and solid, and suddenly the air feels different. Charged.
I smirk. “Want to help me out, expert?”
She leans in, fingers guiding mine as I carve. She’s so close I could tilt my head just slightly and brush my lips against her temple.
Dangerous.But I don’t pull away.
“I think you secretly like being terrible at this,” she murmurs, smiling.
“Maybe I just needed an excuse to have you this close,” I murmur back, watching the flush creep into her cheeks.
Before she can answer, Junie yells, “Piggyback ride! Captain Tate! Please!”tugging on my sleeve, her face alight with excitement. “Please? Please-please-please?”
I glance at Willa, who’s watching me with amusement, arms folded as if she’s trying not to look too pleased. “Guess I have duties to attend to,” I say, rising and swinging Junie onto my shoulders.
She squeals in delight, and I jog a quick lap around the fire pit while she waves dramatically at all the other kids like she’s queen of the world.
When I circle back to our table, Willa is watching me with a soft and thoughtful look that nearly undoes me. Her eyes trace every move like she’s seeing me for the first time.
I set Junie down gently and meet Willa’s gaze.
“What?” I ask, teasing.
She shakes her head, but that smile lingers, tugging at the corners of her mouth in a way that feels dangerous and promising all at once.
“Nothing,” she says lightly. “Just…didn’t expect you to be so good at this.”
