Page 91 of Monochrome Without You
The man who once made me feel like I was the only person in the room.
Maybe he still does.
“I’m ready!” Tate announces with his hands raised high so we can see they’re clean.
“Let’s go, then,” Corbin returns with just as much enthusiasm.
Tate leads the way. And just to mess with Sarge—I’m sure that’s all it is—Corbin’s hand slides to the small of my back and I shamelessly inhale his cologne.
I’m in trouble.
So.
Much.
Trouble.
***
The pumpkin patch is alive with energy, buzzing with families of all sizes. Grandparents shuffle to keep pace with their excited grandkids. Toddlers toddle, bundled in puffy coats, their tinyhands reaching for pumpkins too big to carry. The air is thick with the crisp scent of fallen leaves, cider, and warm kettle corn drifting from the nearby food stalls.
Strings of orange lights crisscross overhead, glowing against the early evening sky, while a tractor-pulled hayride rumbles past, the laughter of its passengers floating through the cool autumn air.
We blend into the crowd, making our way toward the wooden fence that houses the petting zoo. Tate tugs Corbin’s hand, pulling him eagerly toward the animals. The enclosure smells of fresh hay and earthy warmth, and the soft bleats of sheep and playful nibbles from goats fill the air. A volunteer hands us a small paper cup filled with feed, the pellets rattling inside as Tate grabs his portion.
Tate takes his time, petting every single sheep and goat on the head, his giggles ringing out as their rough tongues tickle his palms. Corbin stands beside him, patient as ever, his broad shoulders relaxed, his eyes soft as he watches Tate.
Meanwhile, a determined little brown goat has taken a particular liking to me. He nudges my hand repeatedly, his floppy ears bouncing as he chews, demanding every last bit of food.
“You going to hog all the food?” I tease, scratching behind his ears as his stubby tail wags.
Corbin chuckles, stepping closer. “I think you’ve made a friend.”
“More like an entitled acquaintance,” I mutter as the goat nudges me again.
Tate looks up from the sheep he’s petting and grins. “Mom, I think he loves you.”
I laugh, feeding the little guy one last handful before brushing stray bits of hay off my coat. Around us, the sounds of the pumpkin patch continue. A mix of joyful screams from kidsbouncing on hay bales, the distant whistle of the cider stand, and the crunch of leaves underfoot as families navigate the winding rows of pumpkins.
And for the first time in a long time, everything feels… easy. Comfortable. Like the past isn’t a shadow hanging over us, but a memory blending into something softer, something that doesn’t hurt quite as much.
“Are you ready to go find your pumpkin?” I ask Tate as Corbin takes the empty feed cup from me. Our fingers graze—just the briefest touch—but it’s enough to send a jolt straight through me.
My eyes flick up to his, and he’s already watching me. Not just looking, watching. The way he used to, back when everything was effortless. Back when we were tangled in something we thought was unbreakable.
My breath catches as Corbin’s lips curve into a slow, knowing smile, one that feels like a secret between just the two of us.
“Can I please ride the rides first?” Tate dramatically pleads, breaking whatever spell Corbin has on me.
Corbin ruffles our son’s hair, his gaze lingering on mine for a fraction longer before turning to Tate. “Let’s go get some tickets.”
The lines are short, and Tate takes off at full speed toward the bumper cars, climbing into one and buckling himself in with a look of pure excitement.
Corbin and I lean against the metal railing, side by side, the air thick between us. We wave at Tate, but my pulse is too erratic to focus on anything other than the heat radiating off Corbin’s body.
“Are we going to talk about it?” he asks, low, careful.
I exhale slowly, knowing exactly what he means. The kiss after Tate’s birthday party. “We should.”
