Page 202 of Pumpkin Spice Promises

“Yeah.”

“You remembered.”

“I’ve been bringing you the same coffee for weeks.”

“That doesn’t mean remembering stops being impressive.” She winked. I wanted to kiss her. That had become a nearly constant reaction whenever she stood close enough.

I settled for brushing my knuckles along her cheek.

“What do you need from me?”

“Nothing.”

I looked around. “It’s six in the morning. Something needs fixing.”

“Rosie hasn’t arrived yet.”

“Ah.”

A laugh escaped her. Then someone shouted from the vendor field. Carson closed her eyes. “There it is.”

Opening day had begun.

By eight fifteen, Willow Creek had descended on Marigold Ranch. There was no other way to describe it. Cars filled the first rows of the north pasture almost immediately after the gates opened. Families came through the entrance carrying toddlers, tote bags, cameras, and enough enthusiasm to make me question whether people had hobbies before pumpkin season.

The vendor field filled with striped tents and wooden displays; Sugar and Pine had the largest booth near the barn, mostly because June had thoroughly threatened anyone who argued with her about access to electricity. By nine, her line stretched halfway toward the pumpkin patch.

Clover stood behind the counter wearing an orange apron covered in tiny white ghosts while Hunter handled the register beside her. He had shown up, despite his nerves, to support his wife.

I’d wondered whether he would change his mind once he saw the traffic lined up along the road. Instead, he stayed close to Clover, quiet but relaxed enough that I stopped checking on him after the first hour.

Every now and then, a stranger looked too long at his scars or prosthetic arm.

Hunter noticed, but he didn’t leave.

Clover treated him exactly like she always did, which apparently meant ordering him around with enough confidence that he had no choice but to participate.

I’d caught Carson watching them twice.

Then she looked at me. That strange softness returned to her gaze.

I still didn’t know exactly what happened at their dinner, but after everything Carson told me two nights ago, I had a pretty good guess.

Clover knew.

Probably Hunter too.

Oddly, that didn’t bother me. If anything, I was relieved she’d had someone besides Meme before she told me.

Rosie had established herself near the center of the festival with a clipboard, a radio, and a volunteer badge that read event director, although I was almost certain she had printed it herself.

Jax claimed she was drunk on power.

Rosie claimed he was jealous because his badge only said mechanical support.

Their argument continued for twenty minutes.

Dad had found a folding chair near the equipment barn and declared himself retired at approximately nine fifteen. By nine thirty he was under the hood of the old tractor.