Chapter 8 #3
“Is everyone here in town so cheery?”
“No, you’ve just met the good ones so far. Everybody else is a warty old hag.”
Liam doubles over with laughter, then meets my gaze with a wry grin, eyes sparkling. “Is that supposed to be a dirty witch joke?”
“Oh, I haven’t even started in on the dirty witch jokes yet.”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, I realize what I’ve said, so I clear my throat and turn toward the pumpkin patch. Liam quickly follows in my footsteps.
“So, I’ve never actually been to a pumpkin patch. Do we just find one that looks good?”
“We’re looking for one where the vine has dried and the stem is nice and woody.
Like this.” I stop a few feet ahead and kneel, lifting a medium-sized pumpkin still attached to the vine and humming under my breath as I turn it this way and that.
“Except not this one. It’s too light. You want it to be dense and heavy with a uniform color and have a firm, waxy feel to the outside. ”
Liam kneels beside me, his hands brushing mine as he takes the pumpkin from me, hefts it, then gently sets it back on the ground.
He offers me his hand, and I take it as he pulls me to my feet.
But instead of letting go, he threads his fingers through mine, sending a chill up my arm that curls into my chest.
“Well, pumpkin queen, let’s find you the perfect pumpkin for your carriage.” Liam gives my hand a little squeeze, and I toss my head back, laughing.
“I’m pretty sure it’s supposed to be the Pumpkin King, and the fairy tale you’re going for is Cinderella.”
We make our way through the pumpkin patch.
The sun moves toward the western horizon, casting the whole farm in a golden glow as it sinks lower in the distance.
I find a few that would be acceptable, but Liam turns them down, and I’m having such a good time with him that I forget about everything on my to-do list and all the things plaguing me.
I wave at a few families who’ve come with their kids to pick out pumpkins for the pumpkin-carving contest and some of the patrons I know who own local businesses in town.
“Liam, it’s getting late. We’d better pick out a pumpkin before I don’t have any time to bake at all.” I laugh as he gets down on his knees, looking under the leaves. We’re nearly to the last row of the pumpkin patch.
“What about this one?” He stands, holding a sizable, perfectly orange pumpkin the color of the setting sun behind him, its rays lighting up his auburn hair as if he’s the Greek god of fire.
He gives the pumpkin a solid tap, and the sound resonates between us before he hands it over for me to examine.
“It’s perfect.” I smile up at him, hugging the pumpkin to my chest.
“Quite perfect,” he replies, his voice deep and husky.
The air between us goes heavy, thick with the kind of anticipation that makes my chest ache. Liam steps closer, the remaining distance between us vanishing so fast it steals the breath from my lungs.
Over the last few days, we’ve shared close moments multiple times, yet he’s never looked at me the way he’s looking at me now.
Liam doesn’t hesitate. His hand slides up the nape of my neck, fingers tangling deep into my hair as he tilts my face upward. His other arm wraps around me, anchoring firmly against the small of my back and pulling me as flush against him as he can with the pumpkin between us.
When his lips meet mine, it isn’t a gentle question. It’s a sudden, consuming hunger, as if he’s been starved.
The kiss is deep, slow, and devastatingly deliberate. He tastes of coffee and late-night promises.
“Liam,” I breathe as he pulls away, both of us gasping, his forehead resting against mine. “Someone could see us.”
“Let them.” He practically growls, his fingers tightening at the base of my neck.
He captures my lips again, his tongue probing until I part them.
A soft, involuntary whimper catches in the back of my throat, and the sound seems to undo him.
He groans, breaking the kiss long enough to set the pumpkin at our feet before tugging me tight against him.
A low, vibrating rumble resonates against my chest as he shifts his angle, deepening the kiss until I can’t tell where I begin and he ends.
Every nerve ending in my body flares to life. My fingers grip the cashmere fabric of his sweater, bunching the material in my fists just to keep myself grounded as the world falls away.
Beneath the intense, intoxicating pressure of his mouth, a sudden electric shiver shoots straight down my spine, curling my toes tightly inside my shoes and sending a strange tugging sensation through my chest.
Liam drinks me in, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw before he pulls back and sweeps me into his arms.
“Liam, the pumpkin!” I squeal, kicking my feet and wrapping my arms tightly around his neck as he spins in a circle.
“I couldn’t care less about the damn pumpkin, a leannán.” He bends down, and I scoop up the pumpkin, holding it to my chest as he carries me toward the car. “I just want you.”