Page 17 of The Pumpkin Spice Romance
THERE'S PUMPKIN BETWEEN US
By Kathryn LeBlanc
(Non-Paranormal)
1
Autumn
The muted rumble of tires over loose stones shattered the serene stillness of the pumpkin patch. Autumn peered up from her display of pumpkins, the sound pulling her focus toward the driveway. A sleek black Tesla glided into view, its glossy finish catching the mid-morning sun and gleaming like a polished gemstone.
Straightening, Autumn wiped dirt-streaked hands on the thighs of her overalls. An October breeze tugged at the loose strands of her hair, making her aware of how messy she must look.
Autumn squinted, her breath puffing, and waited.The Tesla rolled to a smooth stop beside the old tractor, its quiet hum fading into silence. A tall figure stepped out with an air of effortless confidence. The sunlight glinted off his white-blond hair, and Autumn’s stomach tightened.
Graham Oakley.
Time stood still and her heart gave an involuntary lurch. Time seemed to fold in on itself.
Taller than she remembered, his posture straighter, there was no mistaking the crisp lines of his charcoal suit or the casual confidence he wore like a second skin.
Of course, it would be him driving a Tesla.
He looked the same, yet different. The boyish charm had faded, replaced by a man with a sharper, more commanding presence. His tailored clothes hugged his frame, the crisp lines of the jacket accentuating his broad shoulders and long legs. He moved with the quiet assurance of a man accustomed to being noticed; his polished shoes scuffed on the gravel as he stepped away from the car.
Against the farm’s rustic charm, he was as out of place as a chandelier in a chicken coop.
Her black-and-white pygmy goat lifted his head, his ears twitching. His coat’s unique markings—a stark white “bow tie” against black fur—gave him the appearance of being perpetually dressed for a formal event. “No, Mr. Buttercup. Stay,” Autumn murmured, shooting a glance at the mischievous animal a few feet away.
The goat’s attention locked onto Graham.
“Don’t even think about it,” she hissed, as if her words could deter the goat’s inevitable mischief.
Graham surveyed the pumpkin patch with a faint smile.
“We’re closed for lunch,” she called, but the bright red “Open” sign swayed gently in the breeze, betraying her.
His smile deepened, and he approached. “My dad mentioned you carry the best hay for Halloween displays. Thought I’d see for myself.”
Graham’s voice was as warm and rich as she remembered, but it was different now—a weight, a maturity that hadn’t been there before.
Her fingers curled around a pumpkin’s stem. A decade had passed since Graham abandoned their relationship, yet the sight of him stirred a deep, unsteady pull within her—a mix of nostalgia and unease.
Dirt clung to her nails, and she adjusted the straps of her overalls, suddenly self-conscious of her appearance again. A blush crept into her cheeks... she probably looked every bit the part of the messy farm girl she was.
What on earth is he doing here? And why now, after all this time?
As Autumn gathered herself again, a low bleat broke the silence. She turned to see Mr. Buttercup trotting toward Graham, his black-and-white coat gleaming. The goat’s tail flicked in what might have been mistaken for a friendly greeting, but Autumn recognized the mischief in his step.
“No, Mr. Buttercup. Stay.”
The goat ignored her. His little hooves tapped against the ground as he closed the distance with alarming speed. Autumn’s gut churned. This would not end well.
“Friendly little guy, isn’t he?” Crouching, Graham reached out a hand, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes.
“Wait, don’t—” Autumn’s words came too late.
In one swift, practiced motion, Mr. Buttercup had lunged, clamping his teeth onto the edge of Graham’s sleeve. The sharp sound of fabric tearing pierced the air, followed by a startled yelp as Graham stumbled backward. His feet slid out from under him on the loose rocks, sending him sprawling into a nearby pile of pumpkins.
