Page 63 of Pumpkin Spice Promises

He moved differently than everyone else.

I had watched people stare at him enough times to recognize when someone was trying not to. The prosthetic arm and leg were visible tonight, since he wore a short-sleeved shirt and jeans that didn’t completely conceal the mechanics of the leg.

Hunter never acted ashamed.

He simply hated being observed.

And Clover always filled whatever silence followed him into a room.

“You’re late.”

“It’s six twenty-eight.” Jax locked the office and argued with my sister about being on time.

“Why do we need three boxes?” I asked interrupting their heated exchange.

“June made pumpkin bread, cinnamon cookies, and something she claims is a secret recipe.”

“What’s in it?” Even though I was full from dinner, anything June made usually was delicious.

“If I knew, it wouldn’t be secret, dummy.”

“What if I’m allergic?”

“You’ve eaten everything June has ever made.”

“That doesn’t answer the question Clov.”

Hunter took the third box from Clover before she dropped it. “Get in the truck before we are late.”

She looked at him, widening her eyes. “Whose side are you on?”

“Yours. Always.”

“Good answer, hubby.” She followed him, the only man on this planet she actually listened to.

Dad made a quiet sound of approval. “Smart man.” Mom elbowed him.

We took two vehicles into town. By the time we reached Willow Creek, the storm from the day before felt like it had never happened.

Main Street glowed.

Orange lights wrapped around every lamp post from the bakery to town hall. Pumpkins lined the sidewalks in uneven clusters, some painted, some carved, others stacked inside old wooden crates beneath signs welcoming visitors to the season.

Rosie’s tavern had already completed its transformation.

THE SPICY PUMPKIN TAVERN

The temporary sign stretched across the front beneath strings of amber lights. Someone, probably Rosie, had built an entire display around the entrance using hay bales, lanterns, dried corn stalks, and enough pumpkins to supply a grocery store.

People crowded the sidewalks, despite it being a weeknight. Children carried paper cups of cider. June stood outside the bakery handing out samples. And Darlene Pike had positioned herself near the town hall entrance with the strategic precision of someone determined to witness every arrival. Her dyed blonde hair had been teased high enough to survive wind, and bright orange earrings shaped like leaves hung nearly to her shoulders. She saw us before we reached the steps.

“Well,” she clapped, “look who came as a family.”

Jax muttered something inappropriate.

Darlene ignored him.

She hugged Mom. Then Clover. Then decided Hunter needed one too.