Page 95 of Touch the Sky
I scan the trees behind Jacinthe and try to determine if there’s a chance we could make a break for it.
Then comes a delighted squeal of greeting.
“Jacinthe!” Brooke calls out. “What are you doing here?”
Jacinthe’s face goes pale. I turn around and find Brooke striding towards us, arms still laden with the tiny pumpkins.
“Oh! Hi, Tess!” she adds. “Wow. Natalie said this place would be empty. We didn’t even know if it would be open this late. You’re the last people I would have expected to see.”
“Same to you, Brooke,” Jacinthe quips.
I can hear the strain in her voice, but Brooke doesn’t seem to notice.
“Mind if we join you?”
She takes a few steps closer before faltering, a doubtful look crossing her face.
“Or would you rather be alone?” Her gaze darts between the two of us. “You look, uh, cozy over there.”
Jacinthe slides right off her stool, dropping onto her feet and taking a step back from the barrel like even sitting at the same table as me would be scandal-worthy.
“No. Nope. Not cozy,” she barks. “Just having a drink.”
Brooke only slightly raises her eyebrows, but I still feel my face heating up.
“Sit,” Jacinthe orders. “You should join. I will help Natalie with the drinks. No way are they going to give Tremblay cider to an anglo like her.”
She marches off, arms swinging like she’s heading into battle. Brooke and I are left staring at each other.
“Uh, let me help you with those,” I say, gesturing at the pumpkins.
I get to my feet, and the two of us settle the pumpkins on top of the barrel next to ours. Jacinthe wasn’t lying; it really does look like the only options left were the absolute dregs of the season. The pumpkins are barely any bigger than grapefruits, and they all have big dents and scaly patches.
“Don’t judge me, okay?” Brooke jokes. “This is all they had in the patch. Besides, I kind of think they have character.”
I tap my chin and pretend to be appraising her selections. “You know, I think you’re right.”
We’re joined by Jacinthe, whose face still looks like a storm cloud as she carries over another couple pints, and Natalie, who deposits her load of similarly afflicted pumpkins next to Brooke’s.
“Pathetic,” Jacinthe says, clucking her tongue as she looks the pile over.
“Don’t be mean,” Natalie chides. “We haven’t even carved them yet.”
Jacinthe scoffs. “Do you even have room to carve them? There is space for, like, one eye on those things.”
I hold my hands up. “Ladies, please. Let us live in peace about the pumpkins and enjoy our fine ciders together.”
Brooke, who’s already seated at the table, leans over and snatches her pint from Jacinthe.
“Hear, hear!” she cheers.
We all get settled, and I make the mistake of asking Brooke and Natalie what they’re doing at the pumpkin patch so late on aTuesday night before realizing that means opening myself up to the exact same question.
“We’ve been meaning to go for weeks,” Brooke explains. “We were going to come this afternoon after Natalie finished her shift at the inn, but then…”
She trails off and shares a sidelong glance with Natalie that gets the two of them grinning like schoolyard crushes all over again.
“But then we, um, lost track of time,” Natalie finishes.
