Page 15 of Fixing the Grumpy Pumpkin King
“I’m a deity.”
“You’re a deity who makes really good French toast.” Locke took another bite. “I’m allowed to mock you a little.”
That crooked grin. Jack looked away, pretending to adjust his robes. Definitely not charmed. Definitely.
Chapter Five
Bynoon,Jackwasbored out of his mind.
The shop was small. Too small for the throne he’d conjured from his castle, but he’d made it fit anyway, shoving aside shelves and displays until the massive chair sat behind the counter like it belonged there. Dark wood carved with autumn leaves and acorns, the back rising high enough to be properly imposing, cushions in deep burgundy.
He sprawled in it now, one leg hooked over the armrest, watching Locke help customers.
Tourists, mostly. Halloween brought them in droves, looking for “authentic witchy vibes” and crystals they’d never use and candles they thought were decorative rather than functional. Locke handled them with endless patience, smiling and explaining and ringing up purchases while Jack sat on his throne and tried not to die of boredom.
He’d wanted to be in charge of the festival. Offered his services to the mayor, explaining that as an actual harvest deity, he was uniquely qualified to ensure proper seasonal celebration.
The mayor looked at his carved head, said “That’s a great costume, son,” and suggested he help with the children’s craft table instead.
Insulting.
So Jack retreated to the shop, conjured his throne, and now spent his days watching Locke work.
Not because he wanted to watch Locke specifically. Just because there was nothing else to do. Obviously.
Locke moved between customers, restocking shelves during the lulls. He was rehearsing lines under his breath, Jack realized. For the play. The one where Locke played a warlock summoning an autumn deity.
The irony was not lost on either of them.
Jack watched him reach for a high shelf, his t-shirt riding up slightly. Watched the way he tucked his hair behind his ear when he was thinking. Watched the small furrow that appeared between his eyebrows when he was trying to remember something.
He’d been watching for a week now. Couldn’t seem to stop.
Locke glanced over and caught him staring. Something flickered across his face, awareness, maybe. Interest. He held Jack’s gaze for a moment, then looked away, a faint flush creeping up his neck.
Jack’s carved expression shifted without his permission, something almost predatory. He forced it back to neutral boredom.
He wondered, not for the first time, what Locke saw when he looked at the carved pumpkin. If he was curious about what was underneath. If he’d kept trying to remove it because he wanted to see Jack’s actual face, or just because he didn’t like mysteries.
Probably the latter. Locke didn’t seem like someone who tolerated unanswered questions well.
A tourist approached Jack’s throne, phone out, grinning. “Dude, sick decoration! Can I get a picture?”
Jack didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just stared.
The tourist leaned closer. “Damn this looks almost real!”
Jack’s carved mouth stretched into a too-wide grin, the expression shifting from neutral to menacing in half a second. His eyes blazed brighter.
“BOO.”
The tourist yelped and stumbled backward, knocking into a display of empty decorative potion vials. They clattered to the floor, scattering across the wood.
“Shit! Sorry!” The tourist scrambled for the door.
Locke sighed from behind the counter. “Jack.”
“They touched my throne without permission.”
