Page 14 of Fall Surprises
"Then it's all about aesthetics." I stood and gestured to the field. "Shape, color, how it'll look in your overall design."
We spent the next hour wandering the field, loading pumpkins into a small cart the farm provided for hauling, and I enjoyed myself more than I'd expected. Sam approached pumpkin selection with the same intensity she brought toeverything else, evaluating the pros and cons of each one like it was a critical business decision. But there was joy in it too, the kind of enthusiasm people usually reserved for childhood activities they'd forgotten as adults.
"This one," she declared, pointing to a medium-sized gourd with a perfect stem and vibrant hue. "For the entryway."
"Good choice. What about that one?" I nodded toward a tall, narrow pumpkin with unusual ridges.
"Ooh, interesting. For the dining room mantel?"
"See? You're getting the hang of it."
She bent to examine another one, and I took the opportunity to study her properly. The way she bit her lower lip when concentrating. The unconscious grace in her movements. The fact that she'd forgotten about her phone again—I could see it in her jacket pocket, thankfully silent and ignored.
"Tell me something," I said as we added several more to our cart. "How does someone who loves autumn festivals this much end up spending all her time behind a desk?"
She was quiet for a moment, straightening to meet my gaze. "My ex-fiancé, actually. He was in finance, all about climbing the corporate ladder. Started making comments about my work being frivolous, about how I spent too much time on 'other people's happiness' instead of focusing on our future. I guess I started believing him. After he left me for a client two years ago, I doubled down on work. Figured if I just succeeded enough, proved myself enough, then—" She stopped, shaking her head. "Sorry. That was a lot of information you didn't ask for."
"No, I—" I wanted to tell her I understood. That I knew what it was like to lose yourself trying to prove something to someone who didn't deserve the effort. But before I could find the words, she turned away.
"How much knowledge does cooking require?" she asked, clearly changing the subject as she ran her hand over anotherpumpkin. "Sorry, that was a weird question. I mean, you knew everything about those apples this morning, and now you're teaching me about pumpkins. It seems like so much more than just following recipes."
"Cooking is really about understanding Mother Nature and the bounty she produces. The gifts of the seasons." I picked up a small pie pumpkin, showing her the difference in texture from the larger carving variety. "Every ingredient has a season when it's at its peak. Tomatoes in summer, root vegetables in winter, asparagus in spring. If you understand the natural cycles, you can create better food."
"I never thought about it that way." She looked around the field, a wistful look crossing her face.
After our cart was full, we headed back toward the barn. The sun was starting to sink lower and by the time we loaded everything into my truck, dusk was settling over the mountains.
"Thank you," Sam said as we drove back toward the inn. "For today. I'm glad I had the opportunity to visit these beautiful places—even if I was sort of forced into going."
"Rory and Cass have good instincts about people."
"Still. You could have said no, made me feel like a burden. But you didn't."
"You're not a burden, Sam."
The words came out rougher than I'd intended, loaded with more meaning than I should have allowed. She looked at me, but I couldn't read her in the fading light.
Back at the inn, we brought the pumpkins into the kitchen.
"So," Sam said, surveying our haul. "What's the plan for these?"
"Thought we could carve a few for the inn's entrance. Unless you have better ideas for them?"
"Actually, a carving competition sounds perfect." That competitive gleam returned. "Best jack-o'-lantern wins."
"Wins what?"
"Bragging rights. Isn't that enough?"
I grinned. "You're on."
We spread newspapers across the counter and got to work. I flipped on the overhead lights—the kitchen's big windows had quickly gone dark. Sam chose a medium-sized pumpkin with a round shape while I selected one with a flat face, ideal for intricate carving. She started sketching an elaborate design on the surface—what looked like autumn leaves and vines.
"Ambitious," I observed, starting on my own simpler design.
"Go big or go home, right?" She stuck her tongue out slightly in concentration, and I had to look away before I did something stupid like tell her how cute that was.
After a few minutes, I could hear the soft click of nails on tile. Bramble trotted in from somewhere in the inn, made a beeline for Sam and collapsed at her feet with a contented sigh.
