Pumpkin King Read online

  I watch in wide-eyed fascination at the sheer competency of this man.

  “Can she have udon noodles?” he asks.

  I stammer, “Uh, sure.” My mommy muscle memory propels me into the kitchen to grab plates and utensils, fetch drinks, and dish out a plate of noodles for Sarah, but Henry is two steps ahead of me. He’s already got the table set and is preparing a plate for my little one.

  Should I be worried that he’s been going through my cabinets? I take a moment to assess my feelings. Nothing about him pulling out plates, napkins, and glasses makes me nervous or territorial. It feels normal and natural. And I did tell him to make himself at home.

  Just like the day we met him at the fair, Sarah is eating like a horse on his watch. Henry already cut up the udon noodles into small bites and is encouraging her as she grabs them and shoves them into her mouth.

  “What a champ! High five, little partner!”

  Sarah, who recognizes the phrase, reaches her hand up high and slaps Henry’s hand. On the follow-through, sauce splatters on his face.

  “Oops, you got me!” he says, laughing.

  Sarah giggles. The cuteness between them wakes up my ovaries.

  I continue to watch quietly as the two of them play with their food while I eat my fried rice in peace. It’s been so long since I’ve had a hot meal and been able to eat that hot meal without interruption, I want to cry.

  I don’t care if he’s my boss. I don’t care if we’re just friends.

  As soon as Sarah’s asleep tonight, this man is getting kissed again—this time with tongue.

  Chapter Nine

  Henry

  It makes me happy to see Jane relaxing on the sofa with a full belly while I play building blocks with Sarah on the floor.

  I know she’s going to kick me out at any minute—I must reek like stale sweat and earth—and I’m dreading it. I don’t know what it is, but the thought of going back to my empty house without her—without both her and Sarah—hurts.

  During a commercial break on Disney Junior, Jane says, “You don’t have to stay. I mean, if you have things to do for the pumpkin patch.”

  I turn and smile at her. “I don’t have anything to do that we can’t do together tomorrow. Besides, I’m gonna need your help shopping for all those supplies you’re making me get. I don’t have a friggin’ clue about garden benches and shit. Oh, excuse me.”

  To my relief, she laughs it off. “Believe me, Sarah has heard much worse coming from me.”

  To my extra relief, she doesn’t push me to leave. Everything about her and Sarah’s company makes me feel good. Maybe it’s the cooler temperatures tonight and the evening breeze drifting in through the open windows making me feel nostalgic and sentimental, but even this tiny apartment feels homey with her in it.

  I would very much like to have that feeling in my own house. As soon as possible.

  “So, Saturday is opening day. I know you’re working, but I’d love for you to bring Sarah along. We can both keep an eye on her. I don’t expect there to be a huge amount of traffic since this is the first year we’ll be open. I mean, the first year I’ll be open… I mean the business will be open. And then I’d love to celebrate my first day in business—our first day—by having the two of you, and Rocket and Jet, over for dinner that night up at the house. I’m not the worst cook.”

  Jane sits up and eyes me skeptically. “You don’t know what you’re asking by offering to let me bring Sarah to work. Rocket has already signed up to look after her for as long as it takes for me to find childcare.”

  I shrug and turn back to Sarah, whose eyelids are starting to droop. Jane sees it too and slides down off the sofa to position her legs around Sarah’s little body to keep her from falling on her face.

  “You wore her out. You make a good playdate,” she says.

  “So what do you say to dinner Saturday night?”

  “I say if you cook as good as you know how to order food, then I’d love you.”

  “Oh, OK,” I say. “A little sudden but…”

  Poor Jane blanches when she realizes what she said. “Oh my god, no. I meant I always love to eat.”

  “Relax, I knew it was a slip of the tongue.”

  At the mention of the word “tongue,” I can’t miss her eyes falling to my mouth. Then mine fall to hers.

  “Well,” she says after a long pause. “I’m going to put Sarah to bed. If you need to go home, that’s cool.”

  I’m done with letting her play it cool. If I don’t say something, my heart will burst out of my chest and I’ll die. “I can’t do this anymore,” I say.

  Her eyes widen and her body appears to stiffen as she takes Sarah into her arms. “Can’t do what?”

  I feel like it’s appropriate that I’m sitting on the floor while she’s standing close and looking down at me, because I’m putting it all out there right now. Practically begging. “I can’t play it cool anymore. I like you. I don’t care what that means for me being your boss, your friend. Whatever. I like you, and I can’t dance around it anymore. I’m going to make you mine.

  “Now, while you go put Sarah to bed, I’m going to get my tools out of my truck and fix your car properly. It’s not a permanent fix, but it’ll add a few more months onto its life.”

  Jane is the picture of a radiant earth mama, rocking back and forth with Sarah resting her head against her shoulder. A beat passes. I wait for her to protest. To tell me to go on home. To explain once again that we should be friends first and see where it leads. How she won’t take money from me to do her job.

  But she doesn’t say anything. She just stands there silently, blinking at me.

  Finally, once Sarah has drifted off to sleep, Jane smiles at me.

  “OK,” is all she says.

  Chapter Ten

  Jane

  After I put the baby to bed, I come out of the back bedroom and Henry is standing by the door.

  “Hi,” I say.

  “I didn’t want to leave without saying goodnight,” he says, one hand resting on the doorknob.

  Some hidden muscles tremble in between my legs in response to his voice. Why does “goodnight” sound so much more intimate than saying goodbye?

  This is it, I decide. I’m saying thank you properly. I wrap my arms around his middle before I second-guess myself.

  “Thank you, Henry.”

  His arms settle around me. When he speaks, I can feel the vibrations in his chest against mine. “You won’t be thanking me when this grease monkey gets your clean clothes all dirty.”

  I turn my face and catch his lips in a soft kiss—soft, but less tentative than earlier in the barn. His mouth tastes salty, his lips feel warm and responsive. His body answers by squeezing me closer to him and pressing his lips firmly against mine.

  We break from the kiss; he smiles with his eyes and rubs the side of his thumb against his lip. “I’m so glad you did that,” he says.

  “Me too,” I say. “And thank you for everything.”

  I kiss him again, this time with more pressure. As my eyes drift closed, I feel his rough hand against my cheek.

  When we break apart again, he says, “It was my pleasure. Now, it’s really my pleasure.”

  I smile as my eyes travel over his face. “You have no idea what these little things mean to me. The simple kindness of letting me enjoy a hot meal without having to fuss over and clean up after Sarah—you have no idea how huge that is.”

  He strokes my cheek with his rough thumb, and it lights up my skin. “You don’t need to thank me, but I’m glad you did.”

  This time, I wait for him to kiss me. Henry angles his face and presses his lips against mine with a hunger that was only in his eyes before. He swipes my lip with the tip of his tongue, trying, testing to see if I will open to him. I do and let our tongues do what they do. It’s two perfectly matched parts coming together, wrestling, tasting, enjoying, and playing. His playful, slow kisses both thrill me and comfort me. He’s the kind of kisser w
ho wants to make sure I enjoy every moment. My world has become soft and still and warm and wonderful. All I can see, taste, hear and smell is Henry. The saltiness of his sweat from hard work and the soft bristles on his chin combine to give me the ultimate tingles.

  The kissing goes on for I don’t know how long, but a long time.

  I want to grab him and take him back to my bed, but I also remember telling myself I need to take it slow for my own good. For Sarah’s good. If we rush this thing, she’ll get too attached, and then if things end, she’ll be devastated. I’ll be crushed if I ruin things with a guy like this.

  He somehow senses my inner conflict. I don’t know how he does it.

  “I should probably go,” he says. “I’ll be honest, I don’t want to. I could stay and kiss you all night.”

  “I could too. But this place is so small, and I don’t want to wake up Sarah.”

  He lifts one cocky eyebrow. “Oh, what are we gonna do that might wake her up?”

  I stifle a snort. “Ass.”

  He smiles and plays with my hair. I’m so tired I could fall asleep standing up while he does that.

  “We have a big day tomorrow,” I say with a grin. “And you need a shower.”

  “Can I call you later tonight? I kind of like the idea of talking to you while I get ready for bed.”

  I bite my lip. “I’d like to hear your voice too.”

  Henry plants one more soft kiss on my lips, then on my cheeks and then on my forehead, and he’s out the door.

  I usually listen to podcasts to entertain me while I clean up the kitchen, but this time, I completely forget about them. Instead, I pad around the kitchen, cleaning up dishes, wiping down surfaces, and packing up leftovers from the living room, all with a stupid, dopey grin on my face.

  Chapter Eleven

  Henry

  I dab my hand on the towel and dial her number as soon as I’m out of the shower.

  She answers on the second ring. I put the phone on speaker and set it down on the bathroom counter, far away from my drips because I’m aware that I can behave like a water buffalo in the bathroom. As I wipe the condensation off the bathroom mirror with my hand, I see the smile breaking across my face. Her voice, just being connected to her, does that to me.

  “That was quick,” she says.

  “I’m fast in the shower.”

  Leaning over while I drip all over my bathroom rug, I jut out my chin in the mirror and examine my stubble, wondering if she’d like me to leave it or shave it off.

  “I take forever in the shower,” she says.

  Thoughtlessly, I reply, “I only take my time when other people are in the shower with me.”

  On the other end, I hear a small gasp and a giggle.

  “I didn’t mean it like that,” I say, straightening up and running my hands through my hair, mentally kicking myself for making it sound like I’m some kind of dude who gets a lot of action.

  She continues to laugh and I don’t know if I should feel relieved that she’s not upset at the mention of hypothetical shower partners, or if she’s nervous and filling the space with the beautiful sounds of her laughter. “I cannot possibly imagine more than one meaning to that statement, Henry.”

  I bite my lip when she says my name. “Henry.” My buddies call me Hank. The way her voice changes from assertive to soft when my name comes out of her mouth does things to my body. It feels like a touch. Her touch. When she speaks my name, it is like soft fingers caressing my chest.

  My body notes the distance between us, and the inexplicable pain begins again.

  I’m so happy to be on the phone with her, but I need her closer. I need her here, in my house, in my shower, in my bed. I need her shoes in my mudroom, her snacks in my pantry, and her panties wrapped around my fist. More than anything I need her heart beating next to mine when I’m gripping her adorable ass in my bed.

  “I meant to say,” I clarify, grabbing the towel from the rod and absently dabbing my chest with it, “that if you were here with me, I’d be taking my time in the shower. With you.”

  That stops her nervous giggles in its tracks. She’s quiet for a moment while she lets it sink in. That’s OK. I told her before that I know what I want. That I like her and I want to be with her. No sense in holding back.

  “Are we about to have phone sex, Henry?”

  There’s my name in her mouth again. I love hearing her say it. I want to make her moan it. Cry it out. Scream it with pleasure. Use my name to beg for what she wants. I want her to sigh it while I hold and squeeze her breasts. I want her to say it with a whimper while I run my thumb over her nipple. I want her to rasp my name into my mouth while I slide my shaft into her warmth.

  By the same token, I find myself curious about her. I want to ease into this relationship with her. I ask her to tell me more about herself while I saunter back to my room, still half wet from the shower, the partially used bath towel in my hand. I lie back on my bed, on top of my comforter, one hand on the phone, nearly crushing it into my ear just to hear her voice deeper inside of me. My other hand lies flat on my belly, my palm rubbing my tummy.

  “What was your first board game you remember playing as a kid?”

  She makes a cute grunting noise like she’s settling down under the covers. “Um, Chutes and Ladders, I think. You?”

  “Candy Land,” I say. “Your turn.”

  She asks me what my favorite cartoon was as a kid. I love that she’s fallen into off-beat questions with me, without accusing me of being weird or nerdy. “Hey Arnold!,” I say. “You?”

  “Tom and Jerry,” she answers.

  “Oh, the classics. I like that. OK. What are you wearing right now?”

  She pauses. “A black teddy, garter belt, thigh-high lace stockings, and edible undies.”

  My hand stops its rubbing as my fingers curl inside the hairs of my pleasure trail. “Whoa.”

  “Just kidding,” she says.

  “Yeah…yeah, I knew you were kidding,” I stammer.

  “I’m wearing a concert tee I stole from Sarah’s dad and some granny panties.”

  “Perfect,” I say.

  “Shoot,” she says, and I sense she’s beating herself up. “I shouldn’t be talking about Sarah’s dad with you.”

  I barely heard the part about the other guy because I was picturing those granny panties. More specifically, I was thinking about tearing off those granny panties. Huh. On second thought, granny panties probably would hurt if I tried to tear them off. They’re made out of cotton, probably sewn together with industrial strength thread.

  “Look,” I say. “That guy is Sarah’s dad. If you and I are going to date, his name is going to come up. Hell, he might even be around someday for her, if he’s worth half a shit. And that’s OK with me. I can hold my own. So tell me more about this concert tee-shirt and why you swiped it. Do I need to worry about you swiping my clothes?”

  She chuckles. “We went to a concert together to entertain some important client of his. I didn’t want to go at first because he’d pay zero attention to me whenever I had to go on outings like that with him. And he never once wanted to go out on client outings with me and my clients, probably because he was jealous whenever I was trying to woo a big investor.

  “So anyway, the concert turned out to be fun. I was surprised at how much I liked the band. He bought himself and the client t-shirts, but he didn’t even like the music. On the way home, he complained about what a pain it is spending his free time entertaining big accounts. So when I left him, I decided he didn’t deserve the t-shirt and I took it.”

  “You’re a stone-cold motherfucker,” I say.

  “Hell yes. Don’t mess with me, Henry, I’ll stab a person with the same needle I use to crochet baby blankets.”

  Oh my god, I think I might love this woman.

  “That’s hot,” I say.

  Another long pause follows while we listen to each other breathing. Finally, she takes a deep breath and says, “I lied about th
e panties.”

  “Oh?”

  “I’m not wearing any.”

  I exhale roughly, cursing under my breath. “Damn, woman. What are you trying to do to me?”

  “Turnabout is fair play. What about you? What are you wearing?”

  I look down and confirm that I am still naked. “Nothing.”

  “Stop it.”

  “I said I had just stepped out of the shower when I called you. I’m still a little wet actually.”

  “Hmm. What parts of you are still wet?”

  I smile. “I think I forgot to dry behind my ears.”

  “Interesting. That’s where I was thinking about kissing you. That’s the spot that turned red after you kissed me in the barn. What else is still wet, Henry?”

  I run my hand over my chest and up to the cords in my throat. “My neck.”

  She sighs. “My favorite part to kiss.”

  “You’re an excellent kisser. I know those lips would feel so fucking good on my neck.”

  “What about your shoulders?”

  “Shoulders? Still wet and needing some attention. The water is dripping all over my sheets. Will you catch the drips with your tongue?”

  “Hmm. Yes. And your chest?”

  “Soaked,” I say, sliding my hand slowly up and back down over my front. “What are you going to do about it?”

  Her breath catches. “This is getting me pretty hot. I’m thinking very dirty thoughts right now, Henry. Can you handle it?”

  “Mmhmm.”

  “I don’t want to shock you,” she says.

  “Sweetheart, you’ve got nothing on the filthy things I’ve been thinking about when I’m around you.”

  She takes a deep breath. “OK. Well, when I’m done licking off all the wetness from your throat and shoulders, I’m going to straddle your chest. I’m going to ride it. It’s…it’s a thing I like to do. Is that weird?”