Page 103 of Show Me How
“Yes, but do you think one set works better than the other? I don’t want to use bad carving tools.”
I take one of the sets from her and place it on the table. “Just sit and start carving, princess. If your set sucks, I’ll trade you.”
“Fine.” With a sigh, she tosses the other two packs to where Bryce and Daisy are sitting. “I’ll be watching.”
There’s a stubborn warmth in my chest as I pop open both of our packages and set Millie’s on the table in front of her. Then, I shuffle her giant pumpkin over and grab mine.
“Did you print out stencils or something?” Bryce asks roughly, glaring at her pumpkin.
I laugh under my breath. “Me?”
“Yeah, you. This is your place.”
“It wasn’t my idea to carve pumpkins.”
“So why are you so eager to do it?” she rebuts.
I narrow my eyes at her. “You’re an artist. Go without a stencil.”
“You’re the one person I know who can fucking freehand—as if you need anything else to be arrogant about. This feels like your attempt at cheating,” she mutters.
“Freehand?” Millie asks, rolling two black markers down the table for the other couple. “Like for tattoos?”
Bryce hands the first marker to Daisy, who takes it eagerly and bites the cap off before starting to draw on her pumpkin. Millie’s gaze sinks into the side of my head as I take the last marker.
“I don’t do it often. And not on regular clients. Family and friends only so I know I can ignore their moaning and groaning if I fuck up,” I answer.
“That sounds ridiculously stupid,” Millie says bluntly.
I watch as she takes the cap off her marker and starts drawing a pair of triangle-shaped eyes on the lumpy front of her pumpkin. Strands of blonde hair curve around her face, not tied back in the low, messy bun the rest of it’s in, and I squeeze mymarker before I do something stupid and tuck them behind her ear or something.
Bryce’s snort cuts across the table, and I let my eyes linger on Millie for a beat longer before glaring at the dark-haired devil again. She makes a show of smirking before Daisy jabs the rounded edge of her marker into the back of her hand.
“I bet you fifty bucks my pumpkin will look better than yours,” I say.
“You’re fucking on,” Bryce tosses back before zoning in.
She scoots her chair closer to the table and brings her face a few inches from the pumpkin before lifting her marker and starting to draw on it. I stifle a laugh and glance at Millie. The pumpkin’s eyes have been drawn uneven, with the right settling at least an inch below where the left is.
“I can see why you focus on logo designs,” I murmur, subtly dragging my chair closer to hers.
Millie snaps her head to the side, our eyes meeting instantly. “Is that an insult or a compliment?”
“Both, I think.”
“Well, you keep stalling, so maybe you’re an even worse pumpkin carver than the rest of us.”
“Impossible.”
Her laugh is soft, nothing more than a fast push of air. “Youarearrogant.”
“You’re just learning that now? It’s been weeks.”
“Oh, I’ve known it since the night we met. I’m just reminding you in case you’ve forgotten in the last two minutes.”
“It’s a wonder I have an ego at all with you and Bryce in my life,” I mutter, finally bringing the marker to my pumpkin.
The bumpy shell of it makes drawing anything difficult. My lines are squiggly, and there’s no goddamn chance of making a real shape. Millie’s pumpkin might have mismatched eyes, butthe grin she sketches is big enough that I nearly ask her why she chose that size.
