Page 11 of The Pumpkin Pact
“Spoken like a true heroine,” Mrs. Henderson sighs.
Dex shifts, leans forward. “Speaking of numbers—we need to finalize vendor placement before Gary drops the spider boxes tomorrow. Families should flow toward the bookstore. Harper, you good with the cider press placement?”
“Yes,” I say, then pause. “Wait. If we put the magician near the gazebo, we can funnel kids past the author table. Parents with wallets open—BAM—books sold.”
“Strategic,” he says, scribbling notes. His eyes meet mine, warm with approval, and my stomach does a little backflip. Rude. I want to yell at the whole diner to stop staring and let us plan in peace, but at the same time I secretly love the way his gaze lingers like I’m more than just a co--chair with too many spreadsheets.
Before I can recover, Beatrice leans in. “So when are you telling people?"
"Tell people what?" Dex asks with confusion in his voice.
"That you’re dating, of course?”
I nearly fling my fork at her. “We’re not?—”
“Sure,” Dolly says knowingly, wagging her brows again and leaning forward on her elbows like she’s narrating a soap opera. “Tell that to the way you look at each other. Harper, you’re practically broadcasting heart -eyes across the table, and Dex, you can’t stop staring back at her.”
Dex clears his throat. “We look at each other like coworkers, Dolly, nothing more.”
“With sexual tension. It’s called sexual tension,” Mrs. Henderson declares, nodding like she’s an expert. “I’ve seen it on all those Sex and the City shows—you know, with Mr. Big.” She punctuates the declaration with an awkward little butt wiggle right there in the middle of the diner, as if to physically demonstrate her point.
I bury my face in my hands. I just can't with these ladies anymore. “This town is impossible.”
“Embrace it,” Eleanor advises. “Better they gossip about you two than dissect my pie crust.”
“Which is divine, by the way,” Dolly says.
“Thank you, dear.” Eleanor beams, then pins me with a look that saysplay along or perish.
I sigh, dramatic enough to win an award, throwing my head back and flopping my hands onto the table like a stage actress who’s had it with her script. “Fine. Dex and I are madly in love, secretly planning a life together, and this entire festival is just a ruse to spend more time together. You’ve found us out. Happy now?” Play the plan, Harper. Do it for the annex fund.
The table goes silent for a hot minute, every eye fixed on me as my exasperated words hang in the air. I grip my fork like aweapon, cheeks burning, and then—like the crack of a starter’s pistol—the whole diner erupts.
“See!” Mrs. Henderson crows. "I knew it!"
Beatrice claps. Dolly fans herself with her clipboard. Even the short--order cook at the grill yells, “Called it!”
Dex coughs into his coffee, eyes wide as if to say,‘Did you really just say that?’, then dances with amusement. “Well,” he says, “glad that’s settled and out in the open.”
I kick him under the table. He doesn’t flinch. Of course he doesn’t; he’s built like a Vermont barn.
“Moving on,” I bellow. “We need volunteers for set-up. Mrs. Henderson, you’re on floral arch duty. Dolly, coordinate with the school jazz band. Beatrice, please do not set anything on fire like last year. The bank is still rebuilding its sign in the parking lot.”
“I make no promises,” she mutters.
Eleanor materializes with a legal pad. “Let’s make a list. We need: extension cords, power strips, trash corrals, recycle bins, a lost -and -found table, and a hydration station near the kids’ zone.”
“Hydration station,” I echo, writing. “Add a QR code there. People are emotionally open when they’re thirsty.”
“Same goes for caramel,” Dolly says. “Speaking of which , I secured the caramel fountain.”
I raise my hand, exasperated. “Are we sure that’s a good idea? Kids and caramel fountains sounds… sticky.”
Beatrice lifts a brow. “That’s why we made Dex order three extra cases of napkins to babysit Dolly’s caramel fountain.”
“Great,” I say. “Put the fountain near the pumpkin -carving demo so the sugar highs and knife supervision are all in one quadrant.”
“Practical,” Eleanor approves. “I raised you right.”
