Page 34 of Not For Keeps
“Exactly. It has character!”
Andres leans over. “I swear you pick the worst pumpkins on purpose.”
“Hey!” Seb says, offended. “The pumpkins I pick tell a story. A story of the journey they had to go on to get to this patch. We want those stories!”
Andres barks out a laugh. “Riiiight. You keep telling yourself that. You’re definitely not just a bad picker.”
Farther down the row, Maya points at a massive pumpkin halfway buried under vines. “That’s it! That’s the one!”
Mateo crouches beside it, inspecting it. “That’s a good one, princesa. You’ve got a good eye.”
“I want it. Can I pleeeease have it, Mateo?”
“Of course,” he says, lifting it easily.
Maya gasps, hands over her mouth. “See! I told you, Mami! He’s so strong! He can lift a car with one arm, I know it!”
Mateo chuckles, adjusting the pumpkin in his arms. “Don’t let Andres here you say that.”
Too late.
“I heard that!” Andres calls out from a few rows over. “And I can totally lift a car!”
I quirk an eyebrow at him.
“If the car is a toy. And plastic. And hollow.” He continues.
Seb barks out a laugh and nearly drops the very sad-looking pumpkin he’s carrying. Really. A truly unfortunate gourd that looks like it tells the story of constant emotional stress. Seriously. What did it have to go through to get here?
“She’s just speaking facts,” Mariana says, giving Maya a high five. “Mateo does have strong arms. Very visually verified.”
I nearly choke on air. Mateo just grins.
Seb blinks at Mariana, hand to his chest. “Excuse me? Visually verified. Wow. Just wow. Should I just go home now, or…?”
Mariana pats his cheek. “You’re strong, too, mi amor. The strongest.”
He narrows his eyes. “That felt like a participation trophy.”
Anna chuckles. “It was. But a sweet one.”
Seb lets out a long, dramatic sigh and gently sets his tragic pumpkin into the wagon. “You hear that, buddy? We’re nothing but a pity pair.”
Maya leans over and gives the pumpkin a gentle pat. “It’s okay. You can sit next to ours.”
Mateo laughs, the sound soft and low beside me. “Our girl is too pure for this group.”
Our girl. He says it so easily. Our girl. I try to retrace every conversation we’ve ever had since Maya was born. Has he always called her his girl, our girl? Maybe. I can’t remember. But for some reason, right now, as he says it, the words settle differently. I can’t help the butterflies it causes in my stomach.
I glance over at him, and he’s still watching Maya, staring at her in awe. The awe I thought I only could have. As her mom. It tugs something deep in me.
Anna interrupts my thoughts, spinning around. “Alright, my fall queens and emotional support himbos—are we donut bound or what?”
“YES!” Maya yells. “Donuts! And the apple juice!”
“Cider,” I correct automatically, but she’s already grabbing Mateo’s hand and tugging him toward the food stand.
And he lets her, of course. I have a little feeling he’d follow her anywhere she led.
