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“Gemma?” a woman asks, standing over us. I push away, and Gemma sits up, trying to fix her hair. The woman zeroes in on us.
“Where’s Robert?” she questions, wearing an accusing expression.
Gemma clears her throat, tucking loose strands of her hair behind her ears. “I’m not sure. We’re not together anymore. Clearly.” Just by the tone in Gemma’s voice, it’s obvious she’s annoyed.
“Oh.” She looks at me again, then back at Gemma. “Sorry to hear that.”
“I’m not,” Gemma snaps, and the woman makes small talk about the weather before scurrying off.
“Bitch,” Gemma whispers under her breath.
“Who was she?” I ask curiously, considering she felt the need to confront Gemma as if she was an adulteress or something.
“One of Robert’s secretaries. I swear she’s always had a thing for him. Honestly, though, she can have him. He’s available now so go get him!” Gemma waves her hand, then laughs before leaning over and capturing my lips. “I haven’t seen your side yet,” she says when we break apart.
Moving around to what I painted, Gemma smiles wide when her gaze lands on it. “Tyler…”
“What?” I smirk.
“You drew a heart with our initials inside. That’s so damn thoughtful.” Leaning forward, Gemma places her palms on my cheeks and kisses me. “I love it. Way better than my blob.”
I run my fingers through her hair. “Well, we all know cats can’t paint.”
She snorts. “You’re right.”
Standing, I hold my hand out for her, and she takes it. When she’s eye level with me, she grins. “So what’re we gonna do with Big Daddy?”
“Several painted ones are placed at the entrance of the pumpkin patch. Maybe we should put it there until we leave? Then we can pick it up on the way out,” I say, and she nods.
“You’re so smart,” she says as I bend over to lift him, careful not to touch the paint. Carrying him to the front, I place it with the spider side showing.
“Oh no, turn it around.” She twirls her finger. “I want everyone in this damn town to see what you did.”
With a wink, I do what she says, making sure our initials are on full display.
“Best damn pumpkin ever.” She claps her hands together, and I stand beside her, smiling.
“I agree.”
We look over the other decorated ones, then we head back to the square. Members of the city council give the announcement that the bonfire will be lit in ten minutes. In the meanwhile, they pass out metal skewers and set up a table with ingredients for s’mores. I can’t remember the last time I had one.
Once the crowd disperses, Gemma and I head over and stuff fluffy marshmallows on the ends of our sticks. After the fire is roaring and the kids have gotten their fill, we step up and roast our mallows.
“The trick is not to let it catch on fire,” she explains, twirling hers carefully as I hold a plate with graham crackers and chocolate stacked. When it’s to her specification, she puts the gooey whiteness between and squishes it together. “You eat this one.”
“No, you go first,” I insist.
“How about we share? They always seem like a great idea until you eat half and realize it’s too much.” She chuckles, and I agree, taking the other side.
We sit on a bench and eat our messy dessert. “You might not be able to cook grilled cheese, but you’re the queen of s’mores,” I say around a mouthful.
When Gemma looks at me, there’s a bit of marshmallow on the corner of her mouth. I smirk.
“It’s on my face, isn’t it?”
Nodding, I lean over and scoop it off with my thumb, then lick it from my finger. She watches me intensely as the underlying current streaming between us nearly takes me under. “I’ll get some napkins.”
Gemma keeps her eyes on me as I get up and stalk across the way to grab a few, then bring them back. Once finished, we sit enjoying the evening breeze until the band begins and the twinkle lights come on. Couples move to the dance floor, and I stand and hold out my hand.
“Will you dance with me?”
She nods, and I lead her to the middle, then wrap my arms around her waist, pulling her close. Our bodies move fluidly together as we rock back and forth. I’m ready to swoop her into my arms and carry her home. Gemma hums the melody of the song, and it tugs at my heartstrings listening to her. This woman is everything I’ve ever wanted, and I can’t believe she’s actually mine.
The beat picks up, and I twirl her around, then dip her down. When she’s face-to-face with me, she moves forward, allowing her lips to crash against mine. We lose ourselves in the music, and she’s so ravenous for me that my control slips when she tugs on the hem of my shirt. The song fades off and “Cotton Eye Joe” starts playing, which is a crowd pleaser. Children rush to the center as we laugh and get out of the way.
