Chapter 30
SHADE
“I’ve got the tablecloth!” Daisy announces, diving over the folding table in my living room.
She slides an orange-and-black, Halloween-themed tablecloth over it and then nods at me.
I drop the two heavy-as-fuck pumpkins on one end of the table while Bryce leaves another two on the opposite end.
Hers and Daisy’s are smaller, more aesthetically pleasing, while mine and Millie’s are ugly. There’s no way around that.
Millie hasn’t minded. She’s fawned over them this past week like they’re her fucking babies or something. She spent an hour last night researching the best way to make a pumpkin last outside in the cold, and I swear I saw her reading the ingredient list on my body spray after.
“Do you think there’s a difference between these, or is it just the brands?” she asks the group, holding four sets of carving tools.
Bryce deadpans, staring at the packages. “They’re all blades, aren’t they?”
“Yes, but do you think one set works better than the other? I don’t want to use bad carving tools.”
I take one of the sets from her and place it on the table. “Just sit and start carving, princess. If your set sucks, I’ll trade you.”
“Fine.” With a sigh, she tosses the other two packs to where Bryce and Daisy are sitting. “I’ll be watching.”
There’s a stubborn warmth in my chest as I pop open both of our packages and set Millie’s on the table in front of her. Then, I shuffle her giant pumpkin over and grab mine.
“Did you print out stencils or something?” Bryce asks roughly, glaring at her pumpkin.
I laugh under my breath. “Me?”
“Yeah, you. This is your place.”
“It wasn’t my idea to carve pumpkins.”
“So why are you so eager to do it?” she rebuts.
I narrow my eyes at her. “You’re an artist. Go without a stencil.”
“You’re the one person I know who can fucking freehand—as if you need anything else to be arrogant about. This feels like your attempt at cheating,” she mutters.
“Freehand?” Millie asks, rolling two black markers down the table for the other couple. “Like for tattoos?”
Bryce hands the first marker to Daisy, who takes it eagerly and bites the cap off before starting to draw on her pumpkin. Millie’s gaze sinks into the side of my head as I take the last marker.
“I don’t do it often. And not on regular clients. Family and friends only so I know I can ignore their moaning and groaning if I fuck up,” I answer.
“That sounds ridiculously stupid,” Millie says bluntly.
I watch as she takes the cap off her marker and starts drawing a pair of triangle-shaped eyes on the lumpy front of her pumpkin.
Strands of blonde hair curve around her face, not tied back in the low, messy bun the rest of it’s in, and I squeeze my marker before I do something stupid and tuck them behind her ear or something.
Bryce’s snort cuts across the table, and I let my eyes linger on Millie for a beat longer before glaring at the dark-haired devil again. She makes a show of smirking before Daisy jabs the rounded edge of her marker into the back of her hand.
“I bet you fifty bucks my pumpkin will look better than yours,” I say.
“You’re fucking on,” Bryce tosses back before zoning in.
She scoots her chair closer to the table and brings her face a few inches from the pumpkin before lifting her marker and starting to draw on it. I stifle a laugh and glance at Millie. The pumpkin’s eyes have been drawn uneven, with the right settling at least an inch below where the left is.
“I can see why you focus on logo designs,” I murmur, subtly dragging my chair closer to hers.
Millie snaps her head to the side, our eyes meeting instantly. “Is that an insult or a compliment?”
“Both, I think.”
“Well, you keep stalling, so maybe you’re an even worse pumpkin carver than the rest of us.”
“Impossible.”
Her laugh is soft, nothing more than a fast push of air. “You are arrogant.”
“You’re just learning that now? It’s been weeks.”
“Oh, I’ve known it since the night we met. I’m just reminding you in case you’ve forgotten in the last two minutes.”
“It’s a wonder I have an ego at all with you and Bryce in my life,” I mutter, finally bringing the marker to my pumpkin.
The bumpy shell of it makes drawing anything difficult. My lines are squiggly, and there’s no goddamn chance of making a real shape. Millie’s pumpkin might have mismatched eyes, but the grin she sketches is big enough that I nearly ask her why she chose that size.
“We keep you humble,” she confirms, flicking her wrist to add what I think are dimples to the pumpkin.
“Amongst other things.”
Her attention shifts slightly, falling on my terrible fucking drawing. “Are those its eyes?”
“Maybe,” I grunt.
“Maybe? They so are. And you were giving mine a weird look.”
“I was not.”
“You were,” Daisy pipes in without looking away from her pumpkin.
I point my marker at her. “And how do you know? You haven’t looked away from that thing once since you started.”
“That’s what you think.”
“You’re all trying to distract me so I’ll mess up,” I grumble.
Bryce lets loose a laugh that’s far too amused. “That’s not necessary when you’re doing that all on your own.”
“You’re going to eat your words,” I warn.
The competitive streak in me flares, heating my chest as I try to tune out the rest of the table and get to work.
I use the opportunity to show off, sensing the curiosity beating into me from the woman in the chair next to mine.
It’s shameless, but I can’t help it. I’m unable to control myself half the time around Millie.
Every day this week has been a reminder of that.
My hand slips when I get another flash of a memory from when I was above her, my cock pressing—
The black line that drags across the middle of my pumpkin draws an almost animalistic sound up my throat.
I slowly lower my marker and look beside me, unable to ignore the impulse this time.
Millie’s watching me already, her brows furrowed and lip pinned beneath her fucking teeth again.
I have half a mind to use my thumb to pull it free and rub the imprint that’ll be left behind.
My groin tightens for the thousandth time today alone as I shift on the chair and bite my tongue to keep from telling her to drop her marker and go to the bedroom.
I’ve been a tense motherfucker since that day in her room, and my entire body is taking the lack of further sexual encounters as a punishment rather than what it is: the end of our lessons.
I’m not even going to acknowledge the restlessness that’s starting to plague me goddamn everywhere I go.
In the studio while I’m working, or in my apartment while I’m trying to work out, where instead of seeing the pin-up posters on the wall, I have to stare at the shirtless firefighter calendar that she put up in their place.
Without having to ask, I know Shelly gave that to her.
I’ve debated taking it down, but I haven’t been able to. It’s one of the small changes she’s made to this place, and discarding it feels like I’m discarding her. That’s the last thing I want to do.
“Are you okay?” she asks, her voice dropping so the question is just for me.
I tap the back of my teeth with my tongue before replying, “Yeah. Just peachy.”
“You look like you want to punch the pumpkin.”
“I’m just ready to carve it.”
“Already?” Her doubt is obvious. “Like that?”
A laugh explodes from me. “Yeah, Millie. I’m going to freehand it. Have a bit of faith, eh?”
“Alright, alright.” She hands me the carving tool and takes a long look at my sketch.
“It’s too bumpy,” I explain.
“It gives them some originality.”
“Sure it does.”
“Don’t hate on them. They’re just children,” she scolds lightly, a smirk toying with her mouth.
“You have the eye of a mother who believes their newborn is the cutest one in the history of newborns when it’s absolutely not.”
Her head falls forward as she giggles, setting her marker down in exchange for her carving tool. “Fine. If you want to freehand, then so will I.”
“You’ve already drawn almost all of his face.”
“We both know it’s ugly as hell,” she says, lifting her head to stare at her pumpkin with a grimace. “I’ll restart.”
“Alright. We’ll start from scratch.”
She points her orange-handled carver at me and smiles. “May the best pumpkin carver win.”
“Good luck,” I drawl, all fake confidence.
“You’ll need it.”
And then she’s turning away from me and stabbing the blade into the top of her pumpkin.
I stand back and stand at the pumpkins we’ve placed at the front of the studio and crack, my laugh booming through the snowy night.
Daisy follows suit, dropping to a crouch and poking the goopy eye socket on Bryce’s pumpkin before shaking her head. I hover close to Millie, staring at the heavy black jacket draped over her shoulders and the way she’s grinning so damn wide before looking back to the pumpkins.
“They’re so fucking bad,” Bryce states.
I grunt in agreement. “Nobody won here.”
“At least we can only get better from here,” Daisy suggests.
Bryce palms her waist and pulls her close. “There’s no silver lining here, baby. These are god-awful. We can’t keep them here. We’ll turn customers away.”
It sounds dramatic, but . . . they’re really that bad.
Millie’s still has guts hanging out of the top that’s been cut somewhere too small for the hole and sinks an inch inside.
Its eyes are so wide they take up three-quarters of the entire pumpkin, and its smile looks like something out of a horror film.
Bryce’s is worse, somehow. While the top was cut perfectly, the rest of it looks like she just plowed her fist right through it. Mine started good but somehow morphed from an intricate skull design to a lopsided dick with balls the size of my hands.
Daisy’s is the best, and even saying that doesn’t carry the same meaning as it should. It’s the most pumpkin-looking, with triangle eyes and a small nose. But its mouth is jagged yet somehow so thin you can tell she didn’t push the blade the entire way through the pumpkin.
“I think it gives the place personality,” Millie says, tilting her head at the pumpkin display. “Plus, it’s snowing. It’s only a matter of time before they get covered.”
Bryce chews on that. “They’re going to get covered in snow or go rotten and look even worse.”
“We’ll keep an eye on them, then.” Millie turns to look up at me with a wide, pleading gaze. “I’ll watch them. Let’s just leave them out here for as long as we can.”
I ignore Bryce’s huff of defeat and focus on the bright blue eyes in front of me.
Millie doesn’t risk me looking away. She reaches out and takes my hand, pulling it beneath the side of my jacket she’s wearing and squeezing my fingers.
My decision was made from the moment she looked at me, but this?
This is dirty work. She could ask me to sleep naked out here in the snow tonight, and I’d agree when she’s touching me like it’s all she wants to do.
Like she doesn’t have to think twice about it.
“They’ll stay,” I mutter, brushing my thumb across her knuckles.
Her lips curl around a bright smile, and that’s fucking that.
Maybe sleeping out in the snow is exactly what I need after all.