Page 15 of Pumpkin
Petra
Islide the pie base into the oven to blind bake in preparation of the filling. It’s not the same as the pies mom makes, but it’s close enough that it still tastes great.
Fin dips his finger in the mixture for the filling then tastes it with an appreciative sound. “You need to make this every year.”
“Every year, hey?” I can’t help my smile.
“Yeah. Every year. You’re mine now, sugar. There ain’t nothing gonna keep us apart.”
“That makes me very happy.”
He hooks his arm around my waist. “You might not think I’ve seen you over the years. But I have. I’ve seen the way you sit back and let your friend have the light. I’ve seen the way you bolster her confidence and listen to her woes. After our parents passed, Claire was lost. But your friendship pulled her out of it. She didn’t have a mother in her life, but somehow, you made up for that, and you were just a girl the same as she was. I’ve always thought you were so amazing. So much more mature than your years. I think the moment I fell hard for you was when the night of junior prom. You were supposed to get ready together at your place, but she had a dress emergency and you came rushing over, sewing kit in hand and sat there soothing a crying Claire while you repaired her dress. I remember feeling so fucking helpless, but you, you knew exactly what to do, even though you were only seventeen.”
“You’ve loved me since I was seventeen?”
He nods. “Does that make me a dirty old man?”
“Well, you didn’t act on it until now, and as you said, I was very mature…” I smile up at him, my heart so full because this is all I’ve ever wanted. Me and him. Him and me. Babies…
He leans down and kisses me, breathing me in before pulling back and saying, “I’ll be right back.”
“Where are you going?”
“Trash shoot.” He reaches behind me and takes the bag we’ve been dumping all our mess in.
“How romantic.”
He chuckles. “It’s the little things that make a relationship, Petra. And being able to wake up to an apartment that doesn’t smell like rancid turkey blood is one of them.” With a wink, he pulls away from me, heading out the front door and into the hall. I take a moment to twirl and hug myself. This is really happening.
He returns just as my twirl ends, and I do my best to stand like I wasn’t just reenacting the Sound of Music hill scene.
“Why don’t you sit?” he suggests, washing his hands. “I’ll finish up these sandwiches and bring one over to you.”
The lights flicker above us and I look up, wondering how long a generator can power a whole building for. “Storm’s getting closer,” he says, turning his back to me as he slices some tomato and places it on our sandwiches. It’s ham, cheese, salad and mayo on rye bread—his favorite. I like that I know these things about him, and I like that he knows me well enough to know I like the same. We’ve been quietly learning about each other for years.
“My lady,” he says, putting the plate in front of me with a flourish. He also offers me a can of Coke on his arm like the waiters at a fancy restaurant do. It makes me giggle.
“Why, thank you, Garson.”
He grins and steps back just as the lights flicker then shut off, plunging us into darkness.
“How long until the generator kicks in?” I ask, a little lost in the dark.
“About fifteen-twenty minutes. Depends on how fast the super gets to the basement. Never fear, I prepared for this.” I hear a click, then see a spark and a flame as a candle is lit and placed on the table between us.
“My man thinks of everything,” I say, clapping my hands.
“I love hearing you call me that, sugar.”
I smile. “My man.”
“Hmm, keep talking like that and I’ll spreadyouout on this table.”
“Promise?”
He chuckles. “Eat, sugar. You were untouched a few hours ago. We have to give your body some time to recover.”
He’s right; I do feel a slight swelling along with a dull ache between my thighs. But I don’t care if we made it worse, the rewards are too good.
