Page 32 of Bittersweet

Confused, I jog to catch up. What is she playing at? We can’t lift this giant hunk ofvegetable.

When we reach Coco’s side, Romy’s already on the ground, studying the pumpkin as if she’s an expert. “Hmm. Good width. And I like thecolor.”

“I wike the cowor too,” Coco agrees. She links her hand with mine andsqueezes.

“But . . .” Romystarts.

“But what?” Cocoasks.

“I think we’re going to have a problem.” Romy bites herlip.

“What? What’s the pwobwem?” Coco’s griptightens.

“We could take that pumpkin, but see this one here?” Romy points to another. It’s the size of my foot—manageable. Definitely awinner.

“Yesh.” Coconods.

“It’s only a baby. It needs someone special to care for it. To look after it.” Romy runs a hand over the top of the pumpkin as if it truly is somethingunique.

“Punkins don’t have mommies or daddies.” Coco shakes her head, then looks to me for confirmation. “Do punkins have mommies ordaddies?”

“No, theydon’t.”

“Which is why it’s so sad that this baby pumpkin is going to be left here in the field, so lonely after we take this big one away.” Romysighs.

Coco’s jaw drops. Her eyes turn to saucers. “We could take the smallpunkin!”

“Oh, no. We don't want to do that. Do we?” Romy says, shaking her head as if she hasn’t just laid the perfecttrap.

“YES!” Coco’s curls dance around her face. “Small punkin. Wanna take the smallpunkin.”

“Are you sure?” I prompt. Because hell, as difficult as it would be, I’ll work out a way to get the big pumpkin home if she needs me to. I’d do anything for her, give her anything if it made hersmile.

“I’m sure.” Coconods.

We walk back to our cars, me carrying the small pumpkin, and Coco with her hand linked in Romy’s as she tells her all about her plans for itscarving.

“Thanks for inviting me,” Romy says to Coco when we’re stopped beside hercar.

“S’okay.” Coco smiles sweetly. “You pick goodpunkin.”

“Thank you. That’s quite the compliment coming from such an esteemed pumpkin picker.” Romy smiles. She straightens and gives me an awkward wave. Her tone changes, and any spark I felt rebuilding between us winks out. “I’ll see youaround.”

“Yeah. See you.” I buckle Coco into the car. She’s still buzzing with excitement about the afternoon’s events. “And then Womy found the perfect one!” She lets out a sweet little breath and sighs. “Daddy, I’m gonna be the punkin’smommy.”

My heartaches.

Seems that’s the one thing I’ll never be able to giveher.

14

Romy

Avoidingthe man who runs a business underneath you ishard.

Avoiding the man who supplied your addiction to coffee and sugar isharder.

After the pumpkin-picking incident—also known as The Day My Ovaries Caused A Revolt because of how cute little Coco is—I’ve taken extra steps to stay out of Elio’s way, and Coco’s, and B’s. I rush down the stairs, oversized sunglasses in place and a scarf around my head, like a celebrity trying to avoid getting papped. When I reach the front door to the building, I check the street—nope, no meddling sister here—then turn right instead of left, head down, determined not to look, not to be seen by the man I’ve come to rely upon. I don’t need him. I don’t need him, or his stupid, perfectfamily.

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