Unfortunately, I was pretty damn certain I’d just added myself to their numbers.
Chapter Seven
Sage
While Laconia might be home of heartbreak for me, to the rest of the world, it was home to the largest pumpkin festival in the United States.
Every year, over forty-thousand visitors flocked to my small hometown to attempt the most impressive display of jack-o’-lanterns in the country. So far, the residents of and visitors to New Hampshire hadn’t beat the 2013 world record of thirty-thousand five-hundred and eighty-one jack-o’-lanterns.
Yup, almost thirty-one thousand pumpkins parked in the center of town.
The Laconia Pumpkin Festival was the fallest of fall fairs. The epitome of pumpkin pageantry. And I was pretty sure that Starbucks bottled the pumpkin spice infused into the air and used it for their fall-famous drinks.
There were bright orange pumpkins everywhere you looked. Lining the streets. In the tents of the vendors. Decorating the food stands. And most impressively, row after row of jack-o’-lanterns were arranged on the fifty-four-foot-wide tower that would glow once the sun went down.
But the best thing about the event this year was that Luke was working the Fantasy Brewing stand inside the Beer Garden, and that meant I didn’t need to frazzle my brain with how to remain calm in the face of the man who’d defended me like it was his job and walked away from kissing me like it was the last thing he’d ever think of doing.
“Alright, so we’ll drop off our pumpkins, and then everyone is free to grab some dinner, enjoy the activities, but remember to meet over at the hayride at seven o’clock. Ronnie will be giving us a scenic night ride back to the house,” I instructed, leading the group to the pumpkin drop-off tent where they tallied the total number of pumpkins present and then sent volunteers to disperse them through the festival.
I set Luke’s and my pumpkin down, turning the Hufflepuff emblem away from me like that would make me forget what happened the other night.
When I turned, the bridesmaids had already linked arms and were walking toward the face painting. The groomsmen, Sean included, thankfully, were instantly drawn to the food tents; they’d obviously had a few drinks before meeting us here. My parents, grandmother, and Aunt Lisa squabbled about which route they wanted to walk through the festival while Donna ignored them, snapping selfies on her phone. Meanwhile, Rose and Mike went off, doe-eyed, to meet their photographer who was going to grab a few photos of them in front of the pumpkin tower.
In a matter of seconds, the group had dwindled to two.
“Looks like it’s you and me, Sage.” Callan smirked.
“You can go with the guys,” I told my brother, smoothing the skirt of my orange-trimmed black dress. “I’ll just catch up with Mom and Dad.”
“I’ll pass,” he said. “You’re not the only one who can’t stand that guy.”
No clarification was needed.
My brother turned and led us into the current of the amassing crowd that flowed down the street.
“Where do you find these things?” he asked, reaching up and bopping one of the jack-o’-lanterns with heart eyes that were attached to my headband. I felt it wobble on its spring.
“Oh, I made this one,” I told him proudly. “I even got a heated knife to reshape the eyes into hearts.”
Callan laughed and shook his head. We walked for another minute down the main strip, chatting about if I’d ever consider coming back here to do something similar.
“Remember that time you and Rose convinced me to get my face painted with you guys?”
I snorted at the memory. “We told you to get a squash painted on your cheek because you didn’t want a pumpkin.”
“And it ended up looking like a giant brown turd on my face for the whole day,” he reminded me.
I cackled, mostly because he’d been so sour about agreeing to it that he hadn’t wanted to see the final product in the mirror… which meant he’d walked around the entire day like that. Unknowingly. Until he got home.
“How are you doing, Sage?” he asked when we started to move again, our pace forced to be slow because of the surrounding crowd.
“I’m fine,” I said with a high-pitched laugh.
He took a deep breath. “Just because I don’t say a whole lot, doesn’t mean I don’t see everything.”
I pursed my lips. “Cal, I’m fine. Really. This will all be over in another week. No more Sean. No more Luke.” I shot him a glance. “You and I should both be happy about that.”
I should be, but I wasn’t. I couldn’t exactly explain what I was, but happy definitely wasn’t it.
He hummed and slung an arm around my shoulder, and my chunky black heels shuffled a little on the pavement.
“You know I’m proud of you, right?”
I looked up at him suspiciously. “What’s going on?”
Of course, I knew he loved me and was proud of me, but it wasn’t the kind of thing Callan just admitted randomly in public.
“I can’t be proud of you?”
“Not when you’re being weird about it, no.”
He laughed. “I just mean that you’ve handled the whole situation with Sean—something I think it’s best that I don’t know all the details—with far more grace than I… or most people… would.”
I flushed. “I’m not going to ruin Rose’s wedding.”
“I know,” he said. “I just want to make sure you aren’t sacrificing yourself to make that happen because that’s the last thing she’d want.”
I stayed silent. I wasn’t sacrificing myself. I was just minorly suffering my ex’s presence for a few weeks. But honestly, I was less nervous about having to deal with the jerk than I was keeping up this fake relationship with Luke.
“Sage?”
My head snapped to my brother, and I realized I’d lost myself in thought. And that was when I realized where we’d wandered to.
The Beer Garden.
“Yeah, sorry.” I shook my head. “And I’m sorry about this whole situation with Luke,” I added. “I shouldn’t have agreed to Rose’s dumb idea.”
“Don’t be sorry.” He led us deeper into the beer tent before I could say something to stop him. “I just enjoy any excuse to give Luke some shit.”
“Well, you don’t have anything to worry about,” I assured him, coming to a stop. I brushed my clammy palms down the front of my dress, gripping the hem and pulling it straight. “I’d never really be interested in another popular football player.”
I wrinkled my nose, feeling as though it grew longer with the lie.
“Sage, you do what you want,” he said, facing me and gripping my shoulders. “But if there’s one thing I’ve learned from working at the orchard, it’s that if we got rid of every tree just because the first apple we picked from it was bad… well, we wouldn’t have a harvest.” His mouth tipped in a grin and he bopped the pumpkin on my headband again. “Just want to make sure you don’t throw away the whole tree because you picked a really shitty first apple.”
I knew better than to think my brother was only talking about Luke. The fact was, I hadn’t had a boyfriend in a long time, and I could easily rattle off a list of legitimate reasons for that. But my brother saw what was behind all of them.
I’d picked a really shitty first boyfriend, and the bad taste he’d left in my mouth had stopped me from wanting to pick another.
“I just want to grab a beer.” He nodded over his shoulder, the crowd clearing for a second so I could see straight through to the huge Fantasy Brewing station.
And to Luke.
My gaze locked with his dangerous blue one—time, distance, facades all fading until the only thing left was the ebbing heat I’d felt the other night. Right before he’d walked away from my desire—before he’d walked away from me.
“I’ll wait outside.” It was safer that way.
He weighed my statement for a second before nodding, watching me walk from the tent before heading over to see his friend
.
Inhaling the crisp fall air, I let my attention drift to one of the many face-painting tents that was just outside the Beer Garden, a volunteer decorating a little girl’s cheek with candy corns.
“Hi, Sage!”
It took a second but I recognized the woman as one of the teachers who worked at the school with my sister. “Hi Annemarie!” I greeted her.
“I love your headband. I can give you some leaves on your cheeks to match,” she offered with a smile, and I chuckled.
“Thank—”
“There she is.”
I tensed and spun.
Well, crap.
Sean strolled up to me, alone, and with a beer in each hand. He’d come from inside the beer tent, but I didn’t see any of the other groomsmen.
“Didn’t want to just start with one?” I pursed my lips.
He smirked and lifted his arms. “I’ve got two hands. Why would I let one of them go empty?”
I rolled my eyes and turned away from him.
“I’m just kidding, Sage.” He worked his way in front of me again. “I got one for you.”
“I’m good, thanks.”
“You sure?” He nudged one closer to me. “Your… boyfriend said the cider was your favorite.”
Liar. I tensed. Luke would never tell him that.
“You thinking about getting your face painted?” he went on, and I knew where this was going. “You always wanted to have it done when we would come here.” He smiled sourly. “And I enjoyed making it a point to make out with you to mess it up.”
I hated how my cheeks flushed.
Sean had always made sure to accidentally smudge my face paint after luring me in for a make-out session, forcing me to have to go wash it off. Back then, I’d wiped away the streaked paint with a smile of pride and happiness—enamored with having an older, hot boyfriend who wanted to kiss me.
Now, I realized it was just one more twisted ploy to wipe away my individuality and mold me into the pliant, innocent girl he could take advantage of.
But I wasn’t that girl anymore.
“How about I’ll take the cup of cider if you let me paint your face?” I offered, doing my best to find a flirtatious smile for the jerk.
His eyebrows lifted, surprised by my change of tone. But he was too full of himself, actually believing that his toxic brand of charm could sway me back to him, to think twice.
“Anything for you, muffin.”
I managed to spin away to hide my dry heave.
“Hey, Annemarie, do you mind if I paint my friend’s face?” I asked sweetly.
“Anything for Rose’s sister!” She tapped on an empty chair. “Help yourself.”
I waved for Sean to take a seat, a self-satisfied grin pinned on his face. “What are you going to paint, muffin? A pumpkin like your headband?” He chuckled.
With my back to him, I mocked his little retort and squirted paint onto a palette.
When I faced him, he had one hand extended with the cup of cider. Keeping to my end of the bargain, I took the cup and took a sip, setting it to the side rather than handing it back to him.
“You know, there was always one good thing about how you loved to wear dresses,” he remarked casually when I stood in front of him, raking his leering gaze over me.
Breathe, I ordered myself.
“Don’t talk or you’ll mess up your festive… squash.” I globbed some brown paint on the brush and spread it over his cheek, making quick work of an easy design.
“I would never want to mess up my pumpkin,” he feigned horror.
I rolled my lips and pinned them in my teeth. Let him think he’s getting a pumpkin. Mercifully, he kept quiet after that while I painted a squash that looked remarkably like a giant turd on the side of his face.
I straightened and smiled, proud of my handiwork, when I heard another voice—the one that magically made all my insides start to melt.
“Sage.”
I turned, goose bumps spreading over my skin. “Luke?”
He was supposed to be inside.
“Where’s Callan?” I asked, noticing how he stood there, unable to decipher what was going on between Sean and me.
“Enjoying some free beer,” he replied, and came to stand right in front of me.
Boyfriend. Fake boyfriend. Don’t back away.
“Aren’t you supposed to be working?” I asked breathlessly.
He cupped the side of my face. “I’m supposed to be spending time with my girlfriend,” he replied right before his lips touched down on mine.
Sean made a childish gagging sound and rose, the chair grating on the road as he pushed it back.
“Well, this just got lame really fast,” he practically whined and then addressed me without bothering to look at Luke. “We can finish our little chat later, muffin.”
I tensed, and Luke finally dragged his focus to Sean… and saw my artwork.
“Enjoy your beer,” Luke replied, a small smile toying over his perfect lips.
Sean, too annoyed that his time with me was interrupted, stalked off, completely forgetting I’d painted on his cheek.
“Nice job,” Luke praised me with a low chuckle.
“Figured he should come with a warning.” I grinned and told him, “You can relieve Callan from bartending duty now.”
I inferred that the favor my brother agreed to was helping out at the Fantasy Brewing station while Luke came in search of me.
“I’m done for the day,” he informed me casually with a dangerous twinkle in his eyes, taking the paints from my hand.
I gaped. “What? Why?”
“Because I need to stop being a helicopter boss and learn how to take a step back in order to let the good people I’ve hired do what I hired them to do,” he admitted so bluntly, I couldn’t argue with him. “And more importantly, because the highlight of your day shouldn’t be painting a piece of shit on a piece of shit’s face.” He wiped the excess brown paint from the paintbrush.
I arched an eyebrow. “Well, it’s certainly going to be a hard highlight to top.”
His full mouth curved. Something delicious tucked into the corners tempting me to take a taste.
“Challenge accepted.” He doused the brush in bright orange paint. “What do you think about some leaves and a pumpkin to match your headband?” My cheeks heated, about to refuse when he added irresistibly, “You can do the same thing for me, and we’ll see whose turns out better.”
“A competition?” My brows rose. “I think my painting skills have proven to be superior.”
His chin bobbed. “And I think you should give me a chance to prove you wrong.”
My breath caught.
Wrong about what?
Being a better painter than him?
Or being a decent and also impossibly hot guy?
Or being a perfect pretend boyfriend?
“We’ll see,” I mumbled, averting my eyes and giving him my cheek for his canvas.
When the first stroke of the brush spread the cool paint to my cheek, I felt myself reaching for one more apple from the tree of temptation, hoping it didn’t turn out to be rotten like the last.
Chapter Eight
Luke
“No!” Sage exclaimed in frustration, bending forward again to try and bite into the apple that bobbed away and eluded her.
The paint on my cheek crinkled as I laughed, losing my hold on the apple I’d almost secured.
Once we’d finished our face painting competition, Sage claimed her victory in artistic skills. But I felt like a winner, too, when she beamed at me with that bright, beautiful smile of hers.
We’d then wandered through the festival, sharing stories about our favorite memories of Pumpkinfest from when we were really young. We’d grabbed food. Sage bought some handmade beads from a local vendor. And then we’d wound up at the apple bobbing tent—a favorite pastime for the both of us.
And that naturally led me to declare one more competition—who could fish out the most
apples in a minute.
We’d faced each other over the tub of water, the apples floating on the surface. The woman running the tent, Sara, loosely tied our hands behind our back—because their use to capture the apples wasn’t allowed. She set the timer, Sage and I locking gazes for a heated second before the competition started.
Bending at the waist, I’d quickly secured the first apple with my teeth, dropping it into my bucket on the side. A small cheer erupted from the crowd around the tent, watching.
Sage grumbled under her breath, but the sound made its way to me over the rippling water, making me laugh and miss my next target. Meanwhile, she darted her neck down with the grace of a swan and bit into an incoming apple, letting it fall into her bucket with an adorable squeal of triumph.
Back and forth, we bobbed for apples, the frantic race to catch the most making the water bounce roughly with our effort. Sage didn’t hold back—and that was what drew me to her. She was just… her. Unabashedly. Outrageously. Delicious. Her.
She didn’t care that water splashed in her face or on her clothes. She didn’t care about how we looked or the crazy sounds that we made.
And that made it damn near impossible to not want everything I shouldn’t have.
“I don’t have a rule about not dating my sister, only a warning: hurt her and I’ll bury you in the orchard where no one will ever find you.” Callan’s voice echoed in my mind from earlier when he’d come over to the Fantasy stand to tell me to take care of Sage.
“Cheater,” she gasped when I tried to snatch an apple right out from under her, our time running out.
“How can I be cheating?” I turned my head, ignoring the apples that floated underneath it in order to look at her. “You’re the one making it so I can’t stop smiling.”
We’d both been laughing to the point of tears… but that wasn’t the point. There was something more to what I’d said, and she heard it.
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