“Ooh, look at this one!”I pointed to a large, perfectly round pumpkin.“It's so smooth and symmetrical.Bet you love it, Mr.Perfectionist.”
Carter chuckled, running his free hand over the orange surface.“It is rather nice.But where's the character?The personality?”
I gasped in mock offense.“Are you saying my taste in pumpkins is boring?”
“Not at all.I'm saying you have excellent taste in everything...except pumpkins.”
I swatted his chest.“Rude!Alright then, show me what you've got.Find me a pumpkin with 'character.'”
“Challenge accepted.”
He led me through the patch, eventually stopping in front of a misshapen gourd.Its surface was covered in bumps and warts.
“Now this,” he said, gesturing dramatically, “is a pumpkin with personality.”
I wrinkled my nose.“I think it has some kind of pumpkin pox.”
“Exactly!It's unique.One of a kind.”
“It's hideous,” I laughed.
We continued our search, debating the merits of the various squash.Carter preferred the oddly shaped ones, while I was a pumpkin purist.
It was amazing how comfortable I was with him.The man who once seemed so intimidating and closed-off now held my hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.He laughed freely and looked at me with an open affection that turned my insides to mush.
Suddenly, a flash of orange caught my eye.“Oh my God, Carter!Look at that one!”
I tugged him towards a pumpkin that was slightly lopsided but had a beautiful, deep orange color.It was the perfect mix of quirky and classic—just right for both of us.
“This is it,” I declared, bending down to pick it up.“Our perfect pumpkin.”
Feeling Carter's eyes on me, I glanced over my shoulder, catching him red-handed as he stared at my ass.
I hefted my chosen pumpkin, grinning at him as he clutched his warty monstrosity.“Ready to head out?”
“Lead the way,” he said, his free hand finding the small of my back.We weaved through the pumpkin patch, bumping hips and stealing quick kisses.
“You know,” I said, stopping to catch my breath, “a few months ago, I never would've imagined us here.”
Carter's brow furrowed.“Having second thoughts?”
“God, no.”I reached up to smooth away the crease between his eyes.“I'm saying it's better than I could've imagined.”
His face melted into a smile, and he leaned down and kissed my nose.“Took the words right out of my mouth.”
Having made sure our pumpkins were safely nestled in the trunk, we got into the car, our cold breath fogging the windows.As he pulled out of the parking lot, I fiddled with the radio.
“Any requests?”
“You pick.”
I settled on a pop station then reached over to crack open the sunroof.The crisp autumn air rushed in, carrying the scent of fallen leaves and wood-smoke.As we cruised down the highway, I threw my head back, letting the wind tousle my hair.The music washed over me, and I hummed along.
Suddenly, a familiar beat filled the car.My eyes flew open as the opening notes of “Shake It Off” blared through the speakers.
I was half convinced I was dreaming when Carter's voice rang out, clear and strong: “I stay out too late, got nothin' in my brain...”
My jaw dropped.I stared at him, unable to process what I was seeing.Carter Cassidy, the man who once fired an assistant for bringing him the wrong coffee, was belting out Taylor Swift like his life depended on it.
