Chapter 10
BLOSSOM
A tie. Damn it. I thought I could clinch my win, but now, we’re back on equal ground.
As the sun dips behind the horizon, anticipation of the final challenge grows to a palpable hum in the tipsy collection of witches and werewolves.
Ever since my loss at apple bobbing earlier, I’ve avoided Manny, not sure how to feel about the conclusion of this festival. These two days were supposed to be a lighthearted seasonal celebration. But with the bet, there’s so much more weighing on this outcome.
What happens if I win?
What happens if I lose?
One thing for sure is, I know I want to be the one making the big decisions in my life.
I should never had made that bet with Manny. Never have given him the possible power to demand I stay in Folk Haven. The wager never would have happened if I’d admitted an extremely obvious fact to myself.
I like having to kiss Manny good-bye every time I see him.
If only I’d acknowledged that, sometimes, when I visit town, I drag my feet while leaving to give him an extra moment or two to arrive. Because my lips crave the familiar warmth of his cheek, paired with the rich wine scent of his skin.
And my heart longs for a moment when I matter to him more than anyone else.
I could have kissed him good-bye for years and not minded. Not really. All the animosity I imbued those partings with had been born from frustration. From anger and upset that he never saw me as anything other than his friend’s little sister to tease.
“I’ve always wanted to be yours.”
That’s what he said. Is it the truth?
Anxiously, I fiddle with the ring on my middle finger and watch my father chatting with the mayor so I don’t stare at the wolf who hovers near my side. Close enough that I can feel the heat of his body.
“Will you still stay?”
I want to decide that on my own. For myself. But now, because I’ve played the I loathe Manny role with such dedication, I’m stuck on the verge of being forced to move back to Folk Haven based on my pride alone.
Would that be so bad? To live in this place again?
“Gather round, everybody!” Papa hollers, and voices hush as we all surround two stumps of wood with sheets draped over them.
With a dramatic flourish, Root Fernmore tugs away the white cloth, revealing …
Pumpkins.
Two of them. One for me and one for Manny.
“The final task is a carve off!” The glee is apparent in his voice.
Nothing gets people more excited about visiting The Patch than the idea of pumpkin carving.
“You’ll have to fashion an image that pleases our illustrious judge, Mayor Nightson.
” My father waves the woman forward as he sets out a range of tools beside each gourd.
“If you would be so kind, Mayor, please tell our contestants what image you would like them to carve into their pumpkins.”
Belinda shares a smile between Manny and me, then addresses the spectators.
“As I’m sure everyone here knows, one of my greatest loves is this town.
” Her focus returns to us. “What I would like for you both to carve today is what you most love about Folk Haven. I think that would be the perfect way to ring in this fall season.” She claps her hands together, the sound a punctuation on the challenge.
Goddess, it’s like the griffin can divine the turmoil in my heart. It’s obvious which way she would vote on stay versus leave.
“That’s a fantastic theme!” Papa slaps his thigh and grins wide. “Can’t wait to see what the pumpkin royalty come up with. You both have an hour, starting … now!”
The crowd cheers and calls out suggestions for the first few moments as Manny and I snatch up our gourds, but everyone soon refocuses on the booze and food. Folk Haven’s places and events they offer rattle in my head.
Lake Galen … Main Street … The Halloween Ball … the Gauntlet … Ramla University … Coffee & Claws … Local Brew … Marlin’s Marina … the Public Mythic Library …
The list goes on.
And yet none of them ring true for me. They’re all wonderful things about this small town.
But they’re not what I love most. They aren’t what had me staring at my soon-to-end lease agreement and wondering if I should let the claim on my townhouse lapse.
They aren’t what set my pulse thrumming and my breath quickening every time I drive past the Welcome to Folk Haven town sign.
Hugging the pumpkin to my chest, I close my eyes and let my mind soften around the simple question …
What draws me home?
The answers come slowly, but they live in vibrant color once I let them free from my heart.
The forest.
Papa’s cottage.
My family.
Him.
With a deep sigh, I allow a silhouetted image to form in my mind. It’s simple yet detailed. If I start now, I should be able to fashion what I want in an hour.
When I set my pumpkin on the ground in front of me and snatch up my knife, I spare a glance Manny’s way.
He’s staring at me.
My heart beats hard, my cheeks heat, and old defenses slip into place.
“No cheating,” I hiss to cover the way his unwavering attention affects every cell in my body.
The wolf grins, undaunted by my feigned animosity, then drops his eyes to his own vegetable canvas.
We both set to work.
If this had been the first task assigned to us, laid out for me yesterday morning, when I still set Manny in the Enemy category in my brain, I would’ve hacked away at this pumpkin frantically, desperate to create an image that far surpassed any the wolf could contemplate.
But now, I ease into the task. After I scoop out the innards, the pumpkin ends up cradled in my lap as I slip my sharp tool into the soft rind. My fingers grow sticky, the nail beds staining orange. But slowly, the picture in my head translates.
“One more minute!” My father’s booming voice tugs me out of an almost-meditative state.
When I jerk my head up, I realize the crowd has finished their eating, and they’re all watching us with held breath.
I set my pumpkin in the grass and wipe off specks of pulp before reaching for the short, thick candle left for me. With the strike of a match, the teasing scent of smoke fills the air. I light the wick, then carefully set the candle inside my creation.
“Time’s up!” Papa claps his hands, and when I meet his gaze, I share his grin.
I’ve missed this. Being immersed in his fun. The past few years, I haven’t even attended the Pumpkin Wars as a spectator. Now, I’m part of the silly tradition, and I find that I love it.
Even with the bet looming over my head.
“Pumpkin Princess, if you would be so kind as to show your creation to Mayor Nightson.”
I stand and set my pumpkin on the wood stump where it first rested, turning the gourd so the crowd can take in all the details, though some might need to come closer to get the full effect.
“I call it Home,” I say, keeping it simple, not looking to sell my creation to the judge. Either she gets it and she likes it or she doesn’t. But I’m proud of what I made.
My pumpkin shows a small rendition of my father’s house and trees towering above it.
The windows flicker with the warmth of the candlelight, revealing silhouettes of people, and though they’re indistinct, to me, I see my father and sister.
A half-moon hovers above my carved forest, which resembles the pines and oaks that surround my childhood home.
Tucked in between the tree trunks—so small, almost impossible to see—is a set of eyes.
Wolfish eyes, though I might be the only one who knows that.
“Beautiful, Blossom,” Mayor Nightson offers, tracing a finger over my image, and I can hear the sincerity in her voice.
Witches call out compliments, and I drop my eyes and fiddle with my ring, feeling exposed yet pleased.
“Pumpkin Prince,” Papa prompts, “if you could show us yours.”
Manny nods.
“I call it Home,” he says, and I roll my eyes at his taunt.
Then, the wolf turns his creation to face the crowd.
His pumpkin is covered in flowers.