The next morning, I spend extra time on my eyeliner.
And immediately regret it when the wind slaps my face in the parking lot. By the time I reach the office, my “effortless” look requires actual effort—fingers, lip balm, and a date with the mirror
Lanie glances up from her laptop and smirks.
“Well hey there, Cover Girl. You look awfully nice for a Sunday at the pumpkin patch.”
Heat climbs my neck. “It’s laundry day.”
“Uh-huh.” She props a hip against the counter. “Laundry day comes with perfume now?”
I bury my nose in the clipboard.
“It’s cinnamon roll body spray. It’s seasonal.”
She presses her lips together like she’s trying not to smile.
“You do you, babe. Huck’s teacher says he can help with face painting next weekend if you want an assistant.”
“I’d love that.” I click through the morning ticket list like it’s the most compelling thing I’ve ever seen. “We have two birthday parties and a scout troop at ten.”
Lanie leans closer, voice lowering. “If—hypothetically—you had plans tonight, I can cover the last hour.”
“I don’t have plans,” I say too fast.
“Then I didn’t offer.” She returns to her ledger.
I’m still smiling at the computer screen when the door opens and Quinn steps in. My stomach does the embarrassingly buoyant thing it’s been doing since the truck.
“Morning,” he says, easy and casual, Which is frankly rude, because I am not easy or casual on the inside. “How’s the large group booking list look?”
“Green across the board. I scheduled an extra hay-rack run for the scout troop.”
“Good call.” His gaze lingers a fraction too long. He clears his throat. “Uh, the new chalkboard by the cannons looks great.”
“I’ll be sure to pass your compliments to… myself.”
“Right.” He tries not to smile and fails. He tips two fingers off his cap to Lanie and disappears like he didn’t just light my entire vascular system on fire.
“Really smooth, guys,” Lanie murmurs, not looking up. “Not suspicious at all.”
“Work,” I tell the screen. “We’re at work.”
“Sure are.”
The rest of the day drags as my body thrums in anticipation of what’s to come.
I give out wristbands. I make change. I help a toddler choose a pumpkin that is definitely too big for him.
By closing, I’m vibrating with nerves. A dash of fear. A whole bucket of anticipation.
In the employee lot, I sit in my car and pretend to scroll my phone until the last car pulls out of the employee lot.
There’s a soft thump on my door. Pumpkin’s nose appears against the window, breath fogging the glass. I giggle, but taper off as I look beyond him.
Quinn stands there, hands in his pockets, trying to look casual and looking entirely too attractive.
“Ready?” he asks, taking my hand as I step out.
