Page 10 of There's Pumpkin About You
The clouds threaten a heavy spout of rain by the time I get to Goldleaf Farm, their dark gray tint hovering over the barn I ache to see both one more time and never again.
“Well, look who it is!” a cheery, low voice calls. Bash walks towards me with a mischievous smile and a glint in his bright green eyes. “I was hoping you’d come back.”
“Oh?” I ask, my eyebrow raising. “And why is that?”
“Because my brother Sam didn’t believe me when I told him about the woman who stood up to the infamously grumpy August Finch. I needed you to come back so that when it happens again, I can record it.”
I let out a genuine laugh, one that ricochets off of the main building and back to us.
“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint but today I intend on going back to nice, kind, patient Wren. I do have a potential deal on the line here after all.”
“Is nice, kind, patient Wren just as interesting as sassy, witty Wren?”
I shrug and turn to grab his coffee. “I’m not sure, but she does come with coffee.”
His lips twitch when he sees his name written on the top of the cup. “A woman after my own heart. If it didn’t already belong to someone else, it would be yours by now.”
We both stand in a comfortable silence, him admiring the roasted, slightly caramel taste of his black coffee with vanilla syrup, me taking in the tummy-twisting feel of nature and simplicity that surrounds me. I’ve always known I’d have been perfectly content living a life like this—a life filled with a complex simplicity. It’s quiet here, comforting and frugal all on its own. I love it. I admire it.
“Oh, before you go and see him,” Bash begins, pulling me from my thoughts. I turn to him expectantly, my hands tightening on my own cup of coffee. “I know he can be difficult. Auggie is blunt and self-assertive and, most of the time, just way too honest.” He lets out a breathy laugh. “Buthe’s a good guy. It’s not easy for him to live in a town that isn’t the most open-minded.”
I offer Bash a small smile.
“All I’m trying to say is that the spectrum is different for everyone on it. The things which usually just have one meaning to us can have several to him, and vice versa. He’s not always aware of how he says things because to him it’s a predictable response, so pull him up on it. You’ll find he becomes a lot easier to talk to after that.”
It makes me smile to see a brother’s love so abundant in Bash. It’s clear that he cares for August, so much so that he wants to give his brother the chance to be understood before being judged.
I put a comforting hand on his shoulder as I pass by him towards the office. I’ve only known the man for not even half a day and I can already see that Jamie’s description of him is bang on. The man really is a unicorn.
* * *
As I let myself into August’s office, his coffee in my free hand, I make a promise to myself to be more patient with him just as Bash has asked me to.
He’s at his desk, one hand stuck gripping his brown locks to the point that it looks painful, the other still bound in a nauseatingly orange cast and black sling. His head is down and I can tell by the sharp cut of his jaw and the tense set of his shoulders that he’s not having a good time. I tilt my head as I take in the sight of him—plaid shirtsleeves rolled up to the elbows showing the slightly tanned skin that covers toned muscle and undeniable strength.
“If you’ve come back in here to badger me about the girl from yesterday, Bash, then allow me to tell you to fuck off now and save you the time it would take to tell me how you think I like her and want to marry her or whatever the hell it is you think,” he says without looking up, his hand releasing its hold on his hair and moving to cup his forehead instead.
I almost laugh.
“Oh, man, that’s a shame, I was planning on sending out wedding invites today. Whatever will I tell the family?”
He jolts, head zipping up as he pins me in place with wide brown eyes that are dull with lack of sleep. Purple bags are beginning to form under his eyes which are almost blocked by his mop of blonde chocolate waves atop his head. Good thing I’ve brought coffee.
“What are you doing here?” he asks with that tone that tells me he doesn’t actually care about the answer.
I step further into the office and place the coffee on the only clear part of his desk. “I come bearing gifts.”
He stares at the paper cup as if he can smell poison. His eyes skim over his name written in black marker on the top and his face scrunches up.
“You don’t even know what coffee I like.”
I hold back an eyeroll. “That’s the beauty of a small town, the people who work in the coffee shop do.”
He picks up the cup and sniffs the steam that escapes through the hole in the lid. A single eyebrow shoots up.
“What can I say, I’m amazing.”
He takes a tentative sip and when it has his approval, he sits back in his seat, his unbuttoned shirt sliding off him to reveal the plain black tee that stretches itself across a broad chest and wide shoulders. I avert my gaze.
