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She took her time inspecting all the pumpkins while I stood there and stared like an idiot. Her process—whatever it was—was thorough. Her brows came together, and her mouth moved while she silently talked her way through it. She was kind of cute like this, all focused on something.
“This one!” Ginny announced proudly as she grabbed one. She rolled and wiggled it free from the rest of the lineup before squatting to pick it up. Her whole back bent backward as she braced the weight of a pumpkin that barely fit in her arms.
But the smile on her face was huge, full of excitement at finding the perfect pumpkin. And then for God only knew why, I put the straw crown on her head.
“There,” I said, quite proud of myself. “Now you’re the pumpkin princess.”
Her smile grew wider. I liked her smile. Or maybe I just liked that she smiled for me.
“I can’t carry the pumpkin, Killian,” Ginny told me, her voice straining. “Too heavy!”
Oh, right. That was my entire job. I rushed to grab it, grunting at the weight. Good God, she’d picked the heaviest one. And I still had to walk her home. I’d never make it.
This was it.
Pumpkins would be the end of me.
Well, this massive pumpkin and the walk to the Goodwin house.
Maybe this was Ginny’s plan all along: death by pumpkin.
“Do you like donuts?” Ginny asked. Her voice tore me from my own thoughts. “Mrs. Waverly has the best apple cider donuts.”
“I could go for donuts,” I said as I tried to sound casual. I loved Mrs. Waverly’s apple cider donuts. It was where my money kept going—much to Declan’s dismay. He’d given me a whole speech on savings and being fiscally responsible. Apparently, just wanting donuts wasn’t a good reason to spend all the money I made.
“I’m going to buy donuts, and then you can walk me home,” she told me with so much authority I knew I’d do whatever she wanted me to do. So I smiled because God only knew what was happening. I just followed her, struggling to support her massive pumpkin and listening to her prattle on about the importance of pumpkins.
I massaged my fingers to soothe the ache in them. Building calluses sucked, but I was determined to learn to play the guitar. Okay, Mom said I needed a good hobby I couldn’t capitalize on. Music was about the only thing that spoke to me. Declan tried to teach me photography—boring. Sam tried to get me into art—any art—and it wasn’t for me. Mom suggested I learn an instrument because getting lost in my portable CD player wasn’t quite a hobby either.
“You’re sounding good,” Mom said, poking her head in the doorway.
“I sound awful.” I sighed as I glanced up at her. Her gray eyes softened as she smiled. Mom looked tired, but I could tell she was gearing up for a long night of work. She only ever put her dark hair up and wore one of Dad’s old flannel shirts when she planned to be up all night. “I’m not good, and my fingers hurt.”
“Not all hurt is bad hurt. It takes time for anything to be good, Killian,” she replied. “The best thing you can do is be dedicated to trying, even through the hurt. Keep doing that, and you’ll get there.”
“Yeah,” I muttered. Except I sucked. I didn’t want to keep trying.
“How was work?” she asked. I just shrugged. “I heard you walked Ginny home. That was nice of you.”
“I got paid to do it,” I said. She didn’t need to know that I’d actually enjoyed walking Ginny home. Which was weird. We’d laughed and talked the whole way while she fed me pieces of donuts. In the twenty-five-minute walk to her house, we’d demolished half a dozen donuts. Ginny showed me where she planned to put her pumpkin and the reason why—it was the only spot everyone driving by could see it. She told me all about how she planned to carve it and how she planned to use the seeds for birds and squirrels.
And at the end of it all, I realized I wanted to stay and carve that stupid pumpkin with her. Which was dumb, considering how mean she usually was. But dang it, there was something about how she lit up talking about something she loved that did inexplicable things to my heart. Things I didn’t like but couldn’t deny.
“It was nothing special,” I continued when I realized Mom was still staring at me. She nodded, smiling as if she knew I was lying. “What? I said it was nothing special.”
“I know, baby boy,” Mom said softly as she padded across the room. Taking my cheeks in her hands, she kissed my forehead. “Don’t stay up too late, okay?”
“I won’t.”
“I love you.”
“Yeah, I love you too,” I whispered. After one more kiss on my forehead, she left, closing the door behind her. I set my guitar aside and flopped back on the bed. Thoughts of Ginny tumbled through my head. Confused thoughts. Frustrated thoughts.
All of them bothered me. How could someone so annoying be so adorable? And why did I like her?
I cringed. Even thinking it bothered me. Ginny had done nothing but make my life miserable every moment she could. Fighting her had become a sport—one I mildly excelled at. She was mean and smart, witty and clever.
I hated her.
