Page 14 of Fixing the Grumpy Pumpkin King
That had been yesterday. Day six. But it started bothering him on day three.
Day three. Locke was making himself toast, badly, as usual, when he said, “I can’t keep calling you Lord Mabon. It’s too formal for someone who makes me breakfast every morning. How about I just call you Mabon?”
Lord Mabon straightened, immediately offended. “My title is not negotiable.”
Locke grinned, that crooked, mischievous grin Lord Mabon was getting to know all too well, and said, “Fine. Jack.”
“That’s not my name.”
“Jack-o’-lantern. Jack. It fits.”
“It absolutely does not.”
“Morning, Jack!” Locke said brightly, taking his burnt toast and leaving the kitchen.
Lord Mabon sputtered. Complained. Insisted this was unacceptable.
Locke just kept calling him Jack.
By day four, Lord Mabon…Jack had stopped correcting him.
By day five, he stopped noticing.
Now, on day seven, Jack realized he’d actually started thinking of himself that way. Jack. Not Lord Mabon, King of the Equinox, Guardian of the Harvest, Master of Autumn. Perhaps this was a way to adapt as well.
Just... Jack.
It should have bothered him more than it did.
“Morning, Jack,” Locke said now, present day, shuffling to the table.
Jack. Not Lord Mabon. Just Jack.
He liked it. He shouldn’t, but he did.
“Good morning,” Jack said, setting the plate down. “The menu for this morning is apple cinnamon French toast with Candied bacon, and fresh pumpkin bread.”
Locke stopped mid-shuffle, blinking at the spread. Then that smile broke across his face, the genuine one that reached his eyes and made them crinkle at the corners.
Pride flickered through him. His food. His mortal enjoying it.
“You made all this? Again?” Locke sat, still looking half-asleep but delighted.
“Someone has to prevent you from burning down the kitchen.”
Locke took a bite and made a small sound of appreciation that Jack absolutely did not commit to memory. They ate in comfortable silence, something they’d fallen into easily. Jack had forgotten what it was like to share a meal with someone. Forgotten the simple pleasure of watching someone enjoy food he’d prepared.
“This is really good,” Locke said through a mouthful of French toast. “Like, seriously. Where’d you learn to cook like this?”
“I’ve existed since the first harvest,” Jack said. “Feasts are as natural to autumn as bees to summer.”
Locke paused, fork halfway to his mouth. Then grinned. “So... YouTube wasn’t an option then?”
Jack stared at him. Locke’s grin widened.
“You’re mocking me.”
“Little bit.”
