Page 167 of Pumpkin Spice Promises

“No.”

“I’ve made you lunch three times.”

“Fence isn’t finished.”

She shook her head. Then I noticed the orange paint on her arm again.

“You have paint on you.”

“Where?”

I touched her elbow. “There.”

She twisted her arm. “I can’t see it.”

“Because you’re bending the wrong way.” She tried again, but I caught her wrist. “Stop.”

“I can get it.”

“Carson.”

“What?”

“You’re going to dislocate your shoulder trying to see your elbow.”

“Then I’ll blame you.”

“For paint Clover put on you?”

“How do you know Clover did it?”

“Because she painted Hunter.”

That made her laugh. I rubbed my thumb over the orange streak, but it didn’t budge.

“I guess it’s permanent.” I shrugged, fighting to keep a straight face.

Her eyes widened. “You’re kidding.”

“No. Could be washable.”

“You just said permanent.”

“I wanted to see your face, sweetheart.” I grinned just as she shoved me. Hard. I caught her wrist again. This time neither of us moved. The laughter faded. Her hand stayed inside mine. There had been moments like this all week.

My hand at her waist when I passed behind her.

Her fingers brushing mine when she handed me something.

Standing shoulder-to-shoulder while looking at festival plans.

Carson looked down at our joined hands. Then up at me, her green eyes fanned by long dark lashes, the freckles on her cheeks illuminated from the lights. I loosened my grip, but she didn’t pull away. That was all the permission I needed to stay.

Her fingers shifted slightly against mine. “You’re doing it again.” Her voice was quiet.

“What?”

“Looking.”