Page 28 of There's Pumpkin About You
GUS
My feet cease their steps when I hear her stop.
When I face her, I’m faced with a confusing expression. She doesn’t look mad per se, more disbelieving mixed with frustration. Her eyebrows dip down just as her nose scrunches up and those full, brown lips of hers are ajar. She’s stuck in place, but I can’t quite grasp by what. Her black boots don’t even do that toe shuffle that she does.
“What?” I ask uncertainly.
“You risked your life to save a puppy?” Her voice is but a whisper she lets the wind carry over to me.
I look away and look back, my neck suddenly hot and itchy. “I’m starting to get a little insulted by how often you’re surprised by the good things I do.”
And I mean it. I understand that I’m difficult to talk to and that I’m stubborn even on my best days, but the one thing I know for sure is that I’m not a bad person. When I was younger, I started off wanting to always be there for others until I realized that the world was mostly going to see me as unreasonable and incapable. So, I hid that part of me and have continued to do so ever since.
So, yes, maybe her surprise at my good deeds is slightly warranted, but I didn’t think it would be impossible to imagine me doing something good for the hell of it. I’m not the fucking Antichrist.
Her eyes widen as she takes in my serious expression. “I didn’t mean to offend, it’s just…”
“Just what?” I ask, taking a step towards her. “It’s just that Gus Finch is so much of an asshole that he must surely kill baby animals for fun, or start fires for the hell of it, right? Surely, because he can be difficult to talk to at times, he must be some kind of sociopath in the making.”
She leans back and it’s only now that I realize I took a few more steps towards her and am now chest to chest with her, so close that I could count every freckle that cuts across the bridge of her nose even without my glasses. I’m so close that I can see the distress that flashes so brightly in those hazel eyes.
What the hell is she doing to me?
Just as I’m about to move away, she grabs the open part of my plaid shirt, making both my body and my breath halt.
No one moves. It feels like neither of us is even daring to breathe, so unsure by this moment that the only thing left to do is to do nothing at all. Her curls move as the wind picks up, just like my own hair that falls into my eyes. The breeze ruffles my shirt, but her hand holds it in place. She stares at her hand, just as confused by the action as I am. My glasses begin to fall down my nose, but I make no move to push them back.
Eventually, after what feels like an eternity, she slowly moves her thumb, feeling the worn-out cotton as it glides across her skin. There is no skin-to-skin contact, and yet I feel the heat from my neck travel down to my chest until it’s in line with her hand. She feels it, I think. Or, maybe that’s just the cold settling into her bones.
I move back. “I spoke to some people about your party.”
“Oh?” Surprise lights up her face.
“I spoke to Lori who has agreed to do some cakes and shit. And Mickey has said he’ll do the food for you if you want. Colin from The Locke and Key will also handle your drinks. I gave them your email address so you can discuss prices and options with them.”
It takes a second for her to reply. “You did that for me?”
Yes, my mind lies, whilst I say out loud, “No.”
“Okay?”
“I did it to speed things up. The more stuff that gets sorted now, the less you need to come here.”
She flinches, but any reply stays locked away, making me wonder I’ve spoken harshly.
“If you’re cold, you should go inside,” I mumble, my voice lower than usual.
Even with the wind blowing around us, I can hear the way she shakily exhales before she shakes her head.
Disappointment washes over me when the unavoidable clearing of my throat breaks the tension clean in two, leaving us to once again return to the Wren and Gus we were before. Our energies are no longer entwined and I let out a sigh of relief because I’m not sure what staying in that moment would have made me do.
I pull my glasses out of my pocket and put them on, pushing them to the bridge of my nose when there is once again some space between us. Wren looks flushed, the deep red of a blush visible underneath her light brown complexion. Her chest rises and falls with each subtle sway of her body and I have to stop myself from reaching out to steady her.
“I need to go and check the pumpkins. Harvest season starts tomorrow and it’s going to be a long one this year.”
Her gaze finds mine—mine a brown that sits in the shade, hers in the sun—and for the first time, there is no annoyance, no anger, just… nothing.
“Could I maybe come and help?” She asks.
