Page 29 of The Heart Shot
Thankfully, the crowd in the patch had dwindled, most of the younger kids leaving for the night, and only a few couples lingering here and there. Soon the sun would fully set, and the patch would be completely silent. It was my favorite time to be here. When the symphony of nature filled the air and the stars winked into the sky one by one. Carving pumpkins was only a ruse to pass more time until the light of day was gone. Until the night revealed the patch’s true magic.
Then we could go out to the corn maze, and she would have to stick close to me to make it out of there in the dark.
I wanted her to need me, to press close and grip my arm for safety. I had been out of the dating scene for a long time, but my inner romantic wasted no time making an appearance once more.
“How about this one?” Elsie asked, kneeling to pick up a small pumpkin and tipping it over to look at the price. “It’s less expensive than the others.”
The way she bit her lip made me wonder if Elsie was worried about money.
I shook my head, brushing my fingers over her hands as I took the pumpkin and set it back on the ground. I smiled at her. “I think that’s too small. Besides, I already took care of the cost, so don’t worry about that. Pick a bigger one.”
Her lips pursed as she glared at me, and it was clear she wanted to argue. Maya’s termgrumpy firecrackercame to mind again. Eventually, Elsie let out a huff and grabbed the next closest pumpkin. It was onlyslightlybigger than the last one. The back was flattened, but the front would work for carving, even if it was a little small.
Wanting to wipe the scowl from her face, I said, “It’s perfect,” took the pumpkin from her hands, and headed toward the table.
I was particularly proud of the station I set up next to the shop. At first, Aunt Jo was hesitant because she didn’t want little kids getting into the carving supplies, but I agreed to tuck the table out of sight and put a “Reserved for Private Event”sign on it to turn people away. That seemed to satisfy my aunt.
I pointed at the booklet sitting on the end. “Designs are in there. Pick whichever one speaks to you.”
She arched her brow. “Not whatstrikes my fancy?”
I huffed a laugh. “Definitely sounded cooler in my head.”
A rare, full smile spread across her face, so infectious I couldn’t help but grin back. It slid from her face a moment later, as though she remembered she wasn’t supposed to enjoy our date. Returning her attention to the booklet, Elsie flipped through several pages before she landed on a design of a snowman.
“Let’s do this one.”
I set the paper towel I had been using to wipe the dirt off the pumpkin down, and made quick work of sawing the stem off the top. When I saw which design she chose, I had to cover my mouth to keep from laughing. Any other person would have chosen something spooky or fall-themed, since that’s what was expected when carving pumpkins. But no. Elsie, this beautiful woman, chose a snowman.
“Perfect,” I said through a laugh, and her cheeks reddened further.
Elsie stared at the page, her shoulders creeping up to her ears. “I can choose something else.” She started to flip through the designs again, but I put my hand on top of hers.
People could say what they wanted about characters in movies and books feeling a shock when they touched their love interest, saying it was fake all they wanted. The fact of the matter was, when I touched Elsie, sparks absolutely ran through my fingers, up my arms, and into my heart.
“Do the snowman, Elsie. It’ll be great.”
A moment passed before she finally agreed, ripping the snowman out of the book and handing it to me. I taped down all four corners and gave her a permanent marker.
“Use this to put a little dot in all the holes on the stencil. It’ll tell us where to carve,” I explained, and she completed the task in less than a minute.
“Now we carve?”
I picked the pumpkin up, pointing to where I had cut the top off.
“Guts first, then we carve.”
Her nose scrunched at the idea of pulling out the squishy innards, and it might have been the cutest thing I had ever seen.
“I’ll hold it for you while you scoop out the inside.” I handed her a giant spoon. “You want it to be nice and smooth, with no seeds or stringy bits.”
Elsie hesitated. “Maybe you should do this part.”
“Scared of slimy pumpkin guts?”
A glint flashed in her eyes, accepting my challenge.
“I’m not scared,” she said, crossing her arms awkwardly with the spoon still in hand.
