Page 55 of Falling for You

She does and I almost groan when she moans at the taste and licks the stray crystals of sugar off her lips. Damn. Bad idea.

If I’m not careful, I’m going to get hard in the middle of a pumpkin patch meant for families.

Her eyes flare, as if she knows exactly what I’m thinking.

I throw some cash down on the counter, could be a couple fifty dollar bills for all I know, and grab our boxes while Chloe picks up the cups of cider. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Enjoy!”

“Oh, we will.”

She smirks and Chloe blushes.

“Ready?”

She’s stuffing her face with a doughnut she snuck out of one of the boxes so she mumbles a yes and something that sounds like “mmm, delicious.”

We carry our bounty to my pickup and place the boxes in the backseat while I keep hold of the fritters so we can munch on them on the way back to Liberty.

Just as we’re climbing in — she waved me off when I offered to open her door, saying that she was perfectly capable — she stops and cries out, “Oh no!”

“What? What is it?” I ask, alarmed.

“We didn’t get pumpkins!”

She’s truly horrified at the thought of leaving without picking out a couple of pumpkins so I do the only thing that makes sense. Slam my door shut, meet her at the tailgate, and march back where we just came from.

She’s not indecisive in the least when it comes to picking out her pumpkin. Not too big, not too small. One is tall and skinny, one is short and fat, and, apparently having three of something is a thing that’s quite important when it comes to decorating, so she picks another one that’s perfectly round on the front but has a wonky back that’s pretty flat.

Once we’ve paid, I carry two while she grabs the third and we bring them back to the pickup, put them on the floor of the backseat, and climb inside.

“Now are we ready?”

“Mm hmm. We are.”

We’ve only been on the road for five minutes when she turns to face me.

“Thank you.”

I answer immediately with, “You’re welcome.”

“I needed a distraction today and you gave it to me.” She takes a sip of her cider and sighs contentedly.

“Did you have fun?”

“I did. It’s been a long time since I’ve done anything like that.”

“Like what?”

“Spent the day outside. Left my phone at home, which I didn’t realize I’d done until just now. Made a new memory on my mom’s birthday — one that made me realize that remembering her doesn’t have to be sad.”

This woman is killing me. Her soft voice and appreciation for simple days. The kindness she showed to Valeria but thoughtfulness of asking her mother if it was okay first.

Throat thick, I nod, one hand gripping the steering wheel and the other sliding over the console to hold hers.

“Right,” I eventually say.

She digs into the bag of apple fritters and leans over, feeding me a bite then finishing it herself as if eating together and sharing food is completely normal for us.

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