Page 27 of The Pumpkin Pact
“Excuse me?”
“Optics,” Eleanor says firmly, her voice carrying the weight of someone used to running both kitchens and campaigns. “A united front is powerful. And romantic. Everyone loves alove story—especially one framed by twinkle lights. The council members are still people, Harper, and people melt for romance.”
“Mrs. Rowan?—”
She ignores me, brushing off my protest with a knowing smile. “Tonight, when you two walk into the square, just… act natural. Natural like two people head-over-heels in love, sneaking kisses behind pumpkin stacks and making the whole town sigh into their cider.”
I sputter, but before I can object further, Dex appears with a bale of hay slung over one shoulder like some kind of Viking delivery service, Dex Ex, if you will. His flannel stretches across broad shoulders while half the volunteers stop to admire the view.
“Yes,” Eleanor says approvingly, her eyes twinkling like she’s orchestrating a chess move. “That’s the teamwork that convinces people. Keep it up and no one will question a thing.” She smiles at her son. "Remember what I said. Everyone loves a love story." Then, in one fluid motion, she snaps her clipboard open. “New orders,” she announces to Dolly, Beatrice, and three volunteers within earshot. “Hydration station moves closer to the kids’ zone. The lost-and-found table shifts to the information booth—visibility matters. And every QR donation sign gets laminated and tied down. If they want to evaluate safety, we’ll give them OSHA in twinkle lights.”
Dolly salutes with a roll of duct tape. Beatrice mutters about needing more zip ties. And just like that, Eleanor has turned rumors into redeployment.
Dex frowns. “What’s happening right now?”
“Festival logistics,” his mother singsongs, then winks at me and floats away, leaving a trail of chaos.
I press my clipboard to my chest, sighing like a heroine trapped in a melodrama. “This town is completely unhinged—and we're somehow starring in their favorite soap opera.”
Dex adjusts the hay bale, smirking. “She’s not wrong, though.”
I blink. “About what?”
“Everyone does love a love story.” His eyes meet mine, warm and steady, and for one dizzy moment I forget how to breathe. My pulse skips, heat climbs into my cheeks, and I have to look away before the whole square sees exactly how undone one look from Dex can make me.
By evening, lanterns glow over Main Street, casting everything in soft amber light. The town council gathers for a walk-through of the festival grounds. Vernon lurks near the gazebo, shaking hands with two council members, laughing like he owns the place instead of someone who only appeared a few months ago. My stomach knots.
Dex must notice the way my shoulders tense. Without a word, he slides his hand into mine, fingers strong and sure, the gesture both protective and possessive. Electricity arcs up my arm, stealing my breath and making it impossible to pretend this is only an act.
“It's okay. Just play along,” he murmurs, voice low.
I nod, heart hammering. We weave through the crowd hand-in-hand, people parting around us with knowing smiles. Whispers follow—look at them, finally, about time—and my cheeks burn, but I don’t let go. I can't because I don't want to.
At the gazebo, Vernon turns, eyebrows arched. His smile falters for the briefest second when he sees our joined hands, and the flicker of surprise in his eyes is almost as satisfying as the warmth of Dex’s palm in mine. Almost. Then his face smooths into something worse: satisfaction. He murmurs toCouncilman Riggs, just loud enough for me to catch, “We’ll see if they pass inspection.”
Dex takes it one step further. He dips his head, and before I can even gasp, his mouth brushes mine—stealing the air from my lungs. Heat zips straight through me, leaving my knees a little weak, right there in front of everyone.
It’s just optics, Harper,I chant silently, trying to convince myself while my lips are still tingling.Only optics. Nothing more.
Gasps ripple. Applause breaks out like fireworks. Someone wolf-whistles, and my brain short-circuits under the weight of it all.
When Dex finally pulls back, his eyes are darker, intense, like he’s holding back a storm. “That should keep them talking,” he murmurs, his breath still warm against my lips.
I can barely manage words. “You think?”
Vernon’s smile curdles. The council members look intrigued. And me? I’m left standing in the lantern-light, hand in Dex’s, heart racing so fast I’m sure the whole town can hear it.
He pulls me behind the florist’s delivery van to avoid Mrs. Henderson’s camera, and he kisses me again—two counts longer than we should—and when we resurface, we’re both smiling like we’ve gotten away with something.
“You know at least one person saw us,” I say. “Maybe even half the town.”
“Good,” he says cocky as hell.
The council will vote next week after the festival. We've bought ourselves time. But as I walk away beside Dex, his hand still warm around mine, I know time might be the most dangerous thing of all. Because the longer we fake this… the less fake it feels. And that kiss? It may have been for show, but the way my pulse is still stumbling tells me I’m in more trouble than I realized. Especially now that the council isn’t just watching us—they’re grading us and Vernon’s the one holding the red pen. If pretending feels this real, what happens when the pretending stops?
Chapter 8
Dex
