Chapter Twenty-One
OLIVIA
“You know, for someone who claims not to be good at relationships, you're doing pretty well so far.”
Carter laughed, pulling me closer. Our footsteps crunched softly in the fallen leaves as we approached the local orchard. It was their annual fall festival, complete with corn maze, pumpkin picking, hot apple cider—the whole shebang.
“Don't jinx it. I might still screw this up spectacularly.”
“Oh, please. You're crushing it, and you know it. Now come on, I want to find the perfect pumpkin!”
We strolled through the trees, surrounded by a sea of orange.
The scent of apples and cinnamon made me feel warm despite the chill.
I wasn’t smiling, I was beaming. If someone told me a few months ago that I’d be strolling through the fall festival on the well-muscled arm of my grumpy boss, I’d think they’d gone insane.
“Ooh, look at this one!” I pointed to a large, perfectly round pumpkin. “It's so smooth and symmetrical. Bet you love it, Mr. Perfectionist.”
Carter chuckled, running his free hand over the orange surface. “It is rather nice. But where's the character? The personality?”
I gasped in mock offense. “Are you saying my taste in pumpkins is boring?”
“Not at all. I'm saying you have excellent taste in everything... except pumpkins.”
I swatted his chest. “Rude! Alright then, show me what you've got. Find me a pumpkin with 'character.'”
“Challenge accepted.”
He led me through the patch, eventually stopping in front of a misshapen gourd. Its surface was covered in bumps and warts.
“Now this,” he said, gesturing dramatically, “is a pumpkin with personality.”
I wrinkled my nose. “I think it has some kind of pumpkin pox.”
“Exactly! It's unique. One of a kind.”
“It's hideous,” I laughed.
We continued our search, debating the merits of the various squash. Carter preferred the oddly shaped ones, while I was a pumpkin purist.
It was amazing how comfortable I was with him. The man who once seemed so intimidating and closed-off now held my hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. He laughed freely and looked at me with an open affection that turned my insides to mush.
Suddenly, a flash of orange caught my eye. “Oh my God, Carter! Look at that one!”
I tugged him towards a pumpkin that was slightly lopsided but had a beautiful, deep orange color. It was the perfect mix of quirky and classic—just right for both of us.
“This is it,” I declared, bending down to pick it up. “Our perfect pumpkin.”
Feeling Carter's eyes on me, I glanced over my shoulder, catching him red-handed as he stared at my ass.
I hefted my chosen pumpkin, grinning at him as he clutched his warty monstrosity. “Ready to head out?”
“Lead the way,” he said, his free hand finding the small of my back. We weaved through the pumpkin patch, bumping hips and stealing quick kisses.
“You know,” I said, stopping to catch my breath, “a few months ago, I never would've imagined us here.”
Carter's brow furrowed. “Having second thoughts?”
“God, no.” I reached up to smooth away the crease between his eyes. “I'm saying it's better than I could've imagined.”
His face melted into a smile, and he leaned down and kissed my nose. “Took the words right out of my mouth.”
Having made sure our pumpkins were safely nestled in the trunk, we got into the car, our cold breath fogging the windows. As he pulled out of the parking lot, I fiddled with the radio.
“Any requests?”
“You pick.”
I settled on a pop station then reached over to crack open the sunroof. The crisp autumn air rushed in, carrying the scent of fallen leaves and wood-smoke. As we cruised down the highway, I threw my head back, letting the wind tousle my hair. The music washed over me, and I hummed along.
Suddenly, a familiar beat filled the car. My eyes flew open as the opening notes of “Shake It Off” blared through the speakers.
I was half convinced I was dreaming when Carter's voice rang out, clear and strong: “I stay out too late, got nothin' in my brain...”
My jaw dropped. I stared at him, unable to process what I was seeing. Carter Cassidy, the man who once fired an assistant for bringing him the wrong coffee, was belting out Taylor Swift like his life depended on it.
“But I keep cruisin'. Can't stop, won't stop movin'.”
He turned to me, wiggling his eyebrows as he sang. I burst out laughing, the sound mixing with the music and the rush of the wind.
“Come on, Sunny,” he said during the brief instrumental. “Don't leave me hanging.”
I was still giggling, but I joined in for the chorus: “Cause the players gonna play, play, play, play, play...”
We sang at the top of our lungs, not caring how off-key we sounded. Carter drummed on the steering wheel while I danced in my seat, our voices carrying out into the open air.
As the song faded out, we dissolved into laughter. I wiped tears from my eyes, my cheeks aching from smiling so hard.
“Okay,” I said, catching my breath, “who are you, and what have you done with the real Carter Cassidy?”
He grinned, shrugged, and reached over to take my hand. “I’m full of surprises, remember?”
I leaned over and gave him a peck on the cheek. “Well, consider me thoroughly surprised. And impressed. Your T-Swift game is strong.”
“High praise indeed.”
We lapsed into comfortable silence, the radio playing softly in the background.
Just a few months ago, I was struggling to get out of bed, weighed down by pain and heartbreak. Now, here I was, cruising down the highway with a man who looked at me like I hung the moon and sang Taylor Swift without caring who heard.
I glanced at Carter, taking in his profile. His jaw was relaxed, and a smile played at the corners of his mouth. He looked happy. Content.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked, catching me staring.
I gave his knee an affectionate squeeze. “Just how lucky I am. How good this feels.”
His smile widened. “I know exactly what you mean.”
As we neared my house, a thought struck me. “Hey, what are we going to do with these pumpkins anyway?”
“Carve them, of course.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You carve pumpkins?”
“I'm an architect, Sunny. I think I can handle a little pumpkin carving.”
I chortled, shaking my head. “Alright, Mr. Architect. Let's see what you've got.”
* * *
I couldn’t suppress my giggles as I watched Carter fight with his pumpkin. His eyebrows drew together, and his tongue peeked out between his lips as he struggled to carve a straight line. It was adorable. I leaned over to inspect his handiwork.
“You know, for an architect, your lines are surprisingly wobbly.”
Carter's eyes narrowed playfully. “Oh yeah? Let's see you do better.”
I’d just opened my mouth to retort when something cold and slimy hit my cheek. My jaw dropped as I realized he had just flicked pumpkin guts at me.
“You did not just do that,” I squeaked, wiping the stringy mess off my face.
His grin was downright wicked. “What are you gonna do about it?”
Oh, it is on. I scooped up a handful of pumpkin goop and lobbed it at him. It landed right on his chest with a satisfying splat.
Carter's mouth twisted into a feral grin. “Oh, you’re in trouble now.”
What followed was nothing short of chaos.
Pumpkin guts flew through the air as we chased each other around the kitchen, laughing like children.
Pete followed, barking like a loon. I ducked behind the island, using it as cover while I prepared my next attack.
Carter's deep chuckle echoed through the room as he tried to sneak up on me.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” he called in a singsong voice.
I popped up to ambush him, only to find him much closer than I'd anticipated. My handful of pumpkin smeared across his jaw as he wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me flush against him.
We were both breathing hard, covered in seeds and orange slime. I couldn't remember the last time I'd laughed this much. Carter's eyes crinkled at the corners as he grinned down at me, and my heart did a little flip.
“You've got a little something,” he murmured, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from my face. His touch was gentle as he tucked it behind my ear, his fingers lingering on my skin.
The laughter faded, replaced by something heavier, more electric. Carter's gaze dropped to my lips, then darted back to my eyes.
I sucked in a shaky breath, hyper-aware of every point of contact between us. Carter's arm around my waist, his chest pressed against mine, the warmth of his breath fanning across my face. My hands rested on his shoulders, and I felt the solid strength of him beneath my palms.
“Carter,” I whispered, not even sure what I wanted to say.
He leaned in closer, our noses almost touching. “Yeah?”
My heart thundered in my ears. I wanted to kiss him, to close that final bit of distance between us. But a part of me hesitated, still afraid of how quickly and deeply I was falling for this man.
Carter must have sensed my struggle because he didn't push. Instead, he smoothed his thumb across my cheek, wiping away a smear of pumpkin.
“You're beautiful,” he said. “Even covered in pumpkin guts.”
I snorted, relieved at the break in tension. “You sure know how to sweet-talk a girl.”
“What can I say? I'm a romantic at heart.”
“Is that so? And here I thought you were just a grumpy architect with a secret soft spot for dogs.”
Carter's eyes roamed my face, like he was trying to memorize every tiny feature. “I've got a soft spot for more than just dogs these days.”
I swear I stopped breathing. We'd been dancing around our feelings for weeks, neither of us quite ready to put a label on whatever was growing between us. But in that moment, with pumpkin in my hair and Carter's arms around me, I felt brave.
“Yeah?” I purred. “Tell me more about that.”
He tiled his head to one side, pretending to think. “Well, there's this amazing woman I know. She's got the biggest heart, the most infectious laugh. She talks to dogs in silly voices and makes the best apple pie I've ever tasted.”