Page 16 of There's Pumpkin About You
Interesting.
By the time I leave the café for the second time, I am once again the object of people’s stares and conversations. Jamie tries to tell all of them to get back to their “old people chats” about bingo and the next town hall meeting, but the smell of fresh meat is too tempting for their small-town noses to bear.
Just like the day before, I grab the three cups of coffee and start the drive to Goldleaf Farm, my head filled with even more questions about August Finch.
* * *
GUS
She came at 8:40 in the morning the day before, so when 8:45 came and went, I realized that she wasn’t showing up, and after mentally chastising myself for being disappointed by that, I got back to the shit I had to do.
At nine o’clock, it was time to check the vines.
Eleven a.m. meant a late breakfast and now, at midday, it’s time for?—
“Knock, knock.”
That light, slightly raspy feminine voice I’ve already memorized floats towards me from the door. She’s leaning against the door frame, everything about her posture screaming that she is entirely at ease in this moment. How, I’m not sure, especially when the mere sound of her voice has my muscles locking up.
She has on skinny jeans and knee-high boots which could give even old man Smith a heart attack. Pair them with the turtleneck that stretches itself across her breasts like a second skin and I’m a man on the edge. I found it distracting enough the first time I met her—hair a wild bush of mahogany curls atop her head and those almost hazel eyes wild and frantic. Now, they spark with fire and her curls sit along her back as the dim light of my office reflects off of each strand.
“So, when you handed me your number and said ‘call me when you’ve made a decision’… that was just bullshit, wasn’t it?” I mumble as I lean back in my chair. Her eyes flick down to my chest and back up, not quite quick enough to escape my notice.
She shrugs after pushing herself off of the door frame.
“Why aren’t you staying in Eaglewood?”
It throws her off, but she hides it well. I let my smirk show as she lowers her head, and it’s gone by the time she lets her gaze meet mine once more.
“It’s just easier,” she eventually grumbles.
“Easier for who?”
“For my bank account,” she snaps. “Like you said to me, I don’t have money to fork out on renting an apartment hereandpaying a mortgage.”
“Then why keep coming here?”
“What can I say? I’m an eager beaver.”
“What exactly is it about beavers that makes them eager?”
Her shoulders lift in a silent laugh. “It’s just a phrase. I’m pretty sure it’s just because the words rhyme.”
That’s stupid. “Right.”
She places a coffee in front of me and sits down. Once again it has my name written on the top.
“You brought this at eight forty yesterday.”
I see the pause of her hand as she brings her own drink to her lips. She tries to take a sip normally, and I refrain from asking the purpose for such a reaction.
“Did I? I didn’t even check the time before I brought it over.”
“So, for all you know, it could have been five in the morning?”
“That’s an exaggeration and you know it.”
“It isn’t actually. It’s an accurate interpretation of the information you just gave me.”
