Page 27 of Pumpkin Spice Promises

We reached the diner first.

A hand-painted wooden sign hung above the front windows, framed by orange lights that looked dim beneath the storm-darkened sky. Pumpkins lined the walkway, and a six-foot scarecrow wearing a waitress’s apron leaned against the front door.

I parked beneath the awning beside the kitchen entrance. “You stay here,” I said.

Carson was already releasing her seat belt. “I’m more than capable of carrying milk.”

“I know.”

“Then why would I stay here?”

“Because your clothes are still wet, your lips were blue less than two hours ago, and I can carry six gallons without proving anything to anyone.”

Her hand froze on the door handle. The irritation that flashed through her eyes was immediate, but beneath it was something closer to embarrassment.

“You walked far enough today.” I softened my voice before she could mistake concern for pity. “Let me do this part.”

She studied my face as though trying to find the insult hidden inside the offer.

There wasn’t one.

Finally, she released the handle.

“The kitchen door sticks,” she said. “You have to lift it while you pull.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And talk to Rosie, not Frank. Frank will put the milk wherever there’s space, and then half of it will end up beside raw meat.”

“Lift the door. Find Rosie. Avoid Frank.”

“She’ll need the invoice.” Carson reached into the canvas bag at her feet, pulled out a folded sheet of paper, and handed it to me.

Our fingers brushed.

Nothing dramatic happened. Because this wasn’t a Hallmark movie.

No lightning bolt.

No sudden certainty that she was destined to alter the course of my life.

I only noticed that her hand was still cold.

“Lock the doors,” I told her.

“You know this is Willow Creek, right?”

“Crime still exists in Willow Creek.”

“Darlene Pike taking the last pumpkin muffin before June can save one for Meme does not count as crime.”

“Depends who you ask.”

A reluctant smile tugged at her lips.

I took the invoice and climbed out.

The delivery took less than ten minutes. Rosie met me at the kitchen entrance with a pen tucked through her dark hair and asked why I was delivering milk instead of repairing vehicles. When I told her Carson’s truck had broken down, she immediately tried to look through the rain-streaked window of mine.