Page 191 of Pumpkin Spice Promises

Meme pointed toward one of the stools. “Sit.” There was no point arguing when she used that voice.

I lowered myself onto the stool, and the relief was immediate enough to piss me off.

Meme noticed that too.

“How long has it been hurting?”

“It’s not bad.”

“That wasn’t what I asked.”

I bit my lip. “Since yesterday.”

“Carson.” Her expression tightened.

“I know,” I sighed.

“You know better than this.”

“I said I know.”

The irritation in my voice wasn’t really meant for her, but Meme absorbed it without reacting. She had survived my teenage years, my accident, months of rehabilitation, grief, and five years of me insisting I was fine when both of us knew I wasn’t. A little attitude wasn’t going to scare her.

She came around the island and lowered herself onto the stool beside mine. “You can’t keep pushing until your body makes the decision for you.”

“I have two days.”

“You have two days until the festival starts. Then you have four weeks of festival.”

“I’ll rest afterward.”

Meme gave me the same look she’d probably given Pops every time he said something equally stupid.

I looked away first.

The kitchen window overlooked the front portion of the property, and from where I sat, I could see Rosie directing two men carrying folding tables while June rearranged pumpkins someone else had already arranged that morning. Walter’s truck was parked beside the barn. Jax’s wasn’t there yet.

Neither was Beau’s.

He wouldn’t arrive until after the shop closed.

My stomach tightened at the thought.

I’d spent most of the morning trying not to think about six o’clock. It wasn’t working.

Meme followed my gaze toward the driveway before looking back at me. “You’re nervous.”

“Of course, the festival is in two days and I don’t feel ready.”

“No,” she corrected me. “About Beau.”

I picked up my phone. “I’m going back outside.”

Her hand landed over mine before I could stand. “Sit your butt down.”

“Meme.”

“You’ve been chewing your nails since breakfast, and every time a truck comes down that driveway, you look like somebody’s about to deliver your execution papers. Don’t tell me this is about pumpkins.”