Page 91 of The Pumpkin Bride

She pulled a face. “I still can’t look at the stuff.”

“As far as alcohols to ruin for yourself, you could have done worse than pear cider. Sparkling wine—that would be a loss.”

“I can’t believe I told you all that and have no memory of it.” She placed her palms on his chest. “I promise I will never touch orc-strength cider again. I prefer to retain control of myself and memories. And thank you for being a gentleman that night.”

For a moment, he was confused, thinking she referenced the pear-cider night. On that birthday, years ago, he’d helped her up the secret stairwell through the kitchens, tucked her in, and left a mug of water by her bedside. But she meant the orc-cider night, when he’d done the same.

“I’m nothing if not a gentleman,” he said. “Now, go upstairs. I need to ready the surprises I have. I wasn’t expecting you back so soon.”

“Okay.” She bounced on her toes a bit. “Have I ever told you how much I like surprises?”

Many, many times.

“Once,” he said. “I’ll call you down when everything’s ready.”

Chapter 26

In the loft, Marigold changed into her blue dress. The sleeves were dotted with soap stains, but she didn’t care. In Jask’s eyes, she felt pretty in everything. But in this, she felt magnetic.

She held up her looking glass.

Her hair was wild, as usual. And the sparkle in her eyes was back. Roses bloomed in her cheeks from the sun and running home from the forest. This was a happiness she’d not known in years. She inspected her feelings, turned them over like rocks. There was no sadness.

No guilt.

Everything she’d told Jask about her numbness, her grief—that had all been true. But she’d been the only one to know the depths to which she carried that burden, couldn’t share her troubles with anyone without revealing her true relationship with Bram. She’d played the sunny, bubbly princess Thornwick expected when forced into public.

Here, with Jask, she’d been able to be herself.

Let someone else, for once, see her tears.

“Marigold, you can come down now.” Jask’s voice rumbled up the stairs.

Eagerly, she descended. As she rounded the turn on the stairs, her heart skipped a beat. Perfect pumpkins of varying sizes lay scattered across the kitchen table. The hearth oven’s flames lent the kitchen a lovely glow, and something aromatic—cottage pie, her favorite—baked in its warm embrace.

“Happy birthday,” he said. “Besides the gazebo, jack-o’-lanterns were the last thing on your list. Ready to learn?”

She applauded and skipped toward the table. “Show me everything.”

“Start by selecting a pumpkin.” He lifted one and contemplated it. “I stare at it for a bit to allow the shape to inspire me.”

“I like this one.” She picked a medium pumpkin with some bumpy spots along its crown. “It reminds me of you.”

“I’m not sure I feel flattered.”

“Because of this side.” She rotated it. “See? A green patch.”

“What is it you want to carve?”

“A portrait of you.”

He groaned. “That is very complicated.”

“Why? On the night I arrived, one of the pumpkins had a realistic rendering of an apple tree. You can’t be more complicated than that.”

“Then I’ll render you.” He selected the largest pumpkin.

“Hey,” she said. “Now who is not feeling flattered?”