Page 14 of The Pumpkin Pact
Hollow Creek looks like a postcard someone spilled cinnamon on. The morning is crisp enough to bite, sunlight catching on the last of the maple leaves, and the air smells like pine forests and apples. I’m twenty minutes early to Mel’s because I promised Harper I'd buy her a coffee and because if I show up late, Mrs. Henderson will start telling people I overslept in a barn like a hay bale with feelings. Again.
Mom slides a to--go cup across the counter without looking up. “For Harper,” she says. “And for you.” A second cup follows, and a paper bag that crinkles like a secret. “Hand pie. Don’t let the cat see it.”
“I’d like to see Mr. Darcy try to take my breakfast,” I mutter, and my mother gives me a look that says I will lose that fight and she will not be bailing me out of the emergency room when a tuxedo cat rearranges my arterial system.
The bell jingles again, and a wall of energy comes in wearing a leather jacket and a grin. “Rowen!” he yells, like we’re still twenty--two and it’s normal to announce yourself at full volume by last name first thing in the morning.
“Cole,” I say, and he slams into me with a hug that knocks air from my lungs and nostalgia into my ribs. He smells of jet fuel and spearmint gum, same as always.
He leans back, eyes scanning my face with giddy assessment. “You look the same. Bigger beard. Same tragic fashion sense.”
“Fashion is cyclical,” I deadpan. “You look like you slept at an airport.”
“Correct,” he says cheerfully, dropping onto a stool. “Burlington’s baggage claim and I are in a codependent relationship.” He swivels toward my mother with an expression that could charm federal agents. “Ma’am, I’m Cole Morales. I’ve seen many pictures of you and heard legends of your pie. I would like to be adopted.”
Mom's mouth curves the way it does when she approves. “Eat first. We’ll discuss adoption later if you can lift pumpkins without complaining.”
“I was Army, ma'am,” Cole says. “I can lift a tank and ask for seconds.” Then to me, lower, “So this is the mecca. Hollow Creek. Home of your mysterious bookstore friend.”
I stare into my coffee as if it holds an escape hatch. “We’re not doing this here.”
“Oh, we’re absolutely doing this,” he says, delighted. “You texted me three separate times that she weaponizes clipboards and smells like citrus. I brought my investigative hat to get verification of these claims.”
Mom sets a plate of eggs and bacon in front of him. “Harper’s stopping by,” she says casually, which in my mother’s language is a grenade with the pin removed. “Be respectful.”
Cole salutes with a fork. “Always, ma'am.” He glances at my left leg, a quick professional flick of the eyes that only another soldier notices. “How’s the knee?”
“Fine,” I say too fast.
Mom drifts away to refill coffees around the diner. Cole waits a beat, then softens his voice. “And how’s your head?”
I blow out a breath. The diner is a steady hum around us. “Better when it’s busy.”
He nods like he gets it—because he does. “Medical discharge or not, you still run toward fires.”
“Old habits,” I say. The word medical sits between us with a weight I pretend not to feel. Paperwork and doctors’ signatures for my head and a knee that throbs in November when the storms roll in. “I’m getting good at planning stuff and fixing squeaky doors.”
He grins. “Truly a warrior’s path.”
The bell rings again, and my warrior’s path ceases to exist. Harper steps in with her cardigan and a notebook tucked casually under one arm. She looks like a librarian out of a perfume ad, and my nervous system immediately lodges a formal complaint.
“Morning,” she says, bright as the brass bell. Her eyes land on Cole, then me. “Oh. A new human.”
“Old human,” Cole corrects, sliding off his stool so fast he nearly launches the eggs across the room. He wipes his hand on a napkin and offers it with an earnestness that would win over dictators. “Cole Morales. Dex’s bad influence from a past life.”
“Harper Venn,” she says, shaking. “Dex’s current bad influence.”
Cole’s grin goes supernova. “Oh, I like you.”
“I’m very likable for exactly four hours a day,” Harper says. “The rest of the time I need snacks and caffeine to keep me going.”
Mom appears with the extra coffee like she conjured it from the ether. “For you, Harper, since Cole just drank yours.”
“Bless you,” Harper says sincerely, inhaling the lid like its oxygen. “If I don’t drink this, I’ll start writing emails with onlyexclamation points.” She turns back to Cole. “Visiting for the festival?”
“Visiting for Dex,” Cole says, then adds quickly, “and the festival. Also, your bookstore. I like a good indie shop where the cat judges everyone.”
“Oh, so you’ve heard of Mr. Darcy, have you?” Harper smirks at me. “Dex isn’t exactly his favorite human.”
