Pumpkin Spice Up Your Life

by Suzanne Nelson

  His theatrical resolve melted into laughter. “Of course I’ll stay. I told you I needed to talk to you, remember?”

  My pulse quickened. The dance. It had to be about the dance. To hide my flushing face, I walked over to the potbellied stove. I busied myself with the bag of marshmallows and roasting sticks, which I always kept at the ready in a basket by the stove.

  “And I’ll take your s’mores,” he added, “and raise you a Crackling Campfire Cappuccino.”

  “A what?” I sat down before the stove, opening its hinged door and carefully balancing a marshmallow-tipped skewer over the flames.

  “You’ll see.” Daniel smiled mysteriously, then headed for the kitchen, calling over his shoulder, “You roast the marshmallows, I’ll do the rest.”

  Five minutes later, as I sandwiched perfectly toasted marshmallows between graham crackers and chocolate, Daniel sat down beside me on the floor. He carried a tray with two steaming, beautifully foamed cappuccinos on top. The cups were rimmed with graham cracker crumbs. Daniel slid toasted marshmallows from my skewer onto the foam in the cups, and drizzled chocolate syrup over the top. Then he handed me a cup and lifted his own.

  “To new possibilities,” he whispered, clinking his cup to mine.

  I raised my cup to my lips and tasted the smokiness of a campfire, the richness of dark chocolate, and the sweetness of graham crackers and marshmallow blended into one satisfying sip. Mmm. It was almost as delicious as a pumpkin spice latte.

  When I lowered my cup, I found Daniel gazing at me intently, his face golden from firelight.

  “Nadi?” he said softly.

  This is it, I thought. He’s going to ask me to the dance. My heart was a tambourine rattling inside me as I nodded.

  “Yes?”

  He ran a hand through his hair, then laughed nervously. “This is going to change everything, and … I can’t believe I’m about to say it out loud. But here goes.” He sucked in a breath, then burst out with, “I like Kiya!”

  The expectant smile on my face froze as shock and confusion made the room tilt around me. I braced my hands against the floorboards and stared at Daniel in disbelief. “Wh … what?” I finally managed.

  “I like Kiya,” Daniel said again, and laughed buoyantly. “I can barely believe it myself. The second I saw her, it just hit me like a lightning bolt. And now I can’t stop thinking about her!” He grabbed my free hand and squeezed. “This is for real, Nadi. I’m a total goner.”

  I cleared my throat, my cheeks aching with a forced smile. How could this be happening? People didn’t just fall in “like” in three days. I took a deep breath, knowing that how I reacted in this moment could make or break our friendship. All I could muster was an awkward, overly enthusiastic, “Wow!”

  “I know, right?” Daniel laughed again. “Don’t you think she’s amazing?”

  A million thoughts ran through my brain, but none of them had to do with Kiya being amazing. I swallowed. “Daniel, you only just met her.”

  “That’s how these things are supposed to happen, though.” Daniel’s eyes shone. “The whole love-at-first-sight magic.”

  Love? My stomach tightened.

  “I’m not sure.” My words came slowly. “That didn’t work out so well for my parents.”

  “Oh. Right.” Daniel paused, frowning, then brightened with fresh optimism. “But you’ve said yourself that couldn’t have been real. The real thing lasts forever.”

  I shrugged. My parents had met when they were sixteen. They’d eloped at eighteen. I had no idea what their relationship had been like. Dad never talked about it, and Mom wasn’t around to ask. But “love at first sight” hadn’t turned out well for, say, Romeo and Juliet, either.

  Plus, there was Graham. I remembered how Kiya had seemed excited to go along with Georgette’s matchmaking plot earlier today. It was probably best to tell Daniel about that before things got worse. I looked into his hopeful gaze, then dropped my own. “Daniel, what if Kiya already—”

  “Has a boyfriend?” he finished. He waved a hand. “She doesn’t. Not yet, anyway, so the timing is perfect.”

  I sighed. Even if I told Daniel about Graham, I knew my best friend wouldn’t be bothered by that. “So … you like her.” I curled my knees into my chest. “Do you know how she feels about you?”

  “I don’t have a clue. But …” Daniel smiled. “I have a plan to win her heart.” He swigged his coffee while mine grew cold on the tray. “By the time I ask her to the Fall Formal, she’ll be head over heels …”

  My stomach ached as Daniel kept talking. He’d never been thinking about asking me to the dance. All along, he’d wanted to ask Kiya. Why hadn’t I guessed?

  I blinked, shaking myself out of my daze to focus on what Daniel was saying.

  “Of course, she won’t know it’s me until the end, but—”

  “Daniel.” I held up a hand to stop his rambling. “What are you talking about?”

  “Operation Kiya.” He grinned. “The dance is in two weeks. I’ve planned surprises for Kiya for the next five days. One surprise a day, all from her secret admirer. Then next Monday, I’ll reveal that the secret admirer is me, and I’ll ask her to the dance. By then, she’ll have fallen for the guy behind the gifts …” He stuck out his chest and pointed to himself. “Me.” He smiled proudly. “See? I’ve got it all figured out.”

  I laughed a little, despite my tangle of emotions.

  Daniel glanced at me, as if waiting for me to say something else. “Don’t you think Kiya and I would be good together?” he finally asked. I stared at the floor for a long moment. “Nadi, don’t you?”

  I blew out a long breath. “Daniel, honestly? I barely know her.And neither do you.” I frowned. “And I’m not so wild about her dad right now, either. He swoops into Woodburn and decides to turn the Mug into some elitist café for coffee snobs. What’s that about?”

  “But Kiya has nothing to do with that,” Daniel said. “And sure, I’ll miss making my drinks at the Mug, but it’s only a job. I can keep making my drinks when I’m not working.” He smiled and leaned toward me. “Don’t worry. It’ll be fine.”

  “It won’t be the same.” I shook my head. “We’ve always hung out at the Mug after school. And now—”

  “Now what?” Daniel laughed. “Nadi, the world isn’t ending. We’ll hang out at the Mug regardless.” He nudged my shoulder. “It’ll be different, but you’ll get used to it.”

  “No.” I stood up to start cleaning up our s’mores and coffees. “I’ll never get used to having Marley’s Snug Mug—our Snug Mug—taken away. The Renauds haven’t even lived in Woodburn long enough to know what sort of coffee people here want. And if I were Kiya, I wouldn’t let my dad mess it up.”

  For the first time since he’d dropped the Kiya bomb, Daniel’s smile faltered. “That’s not fair. Kiya can’t help what her dad does.”

  “Well, she could try to talk him out of it.”

  “Maybe she has already,” Daniel suggested. “We have no idea.”

  “I doubt it.” I swung away from him, heading toward the kitchen.

  Daniel followed. “I guess I could talk to her about it. Once she falls madly in like with me, maybe she’ll fight to save my endangered drinks.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Keep dreaming.”

  “Hey,” Daniel said. “I dream big! You know that.”

  As we stood at the kitchen sink together, washing our cups and plates, Daniel asked, “So … will you help me with Operation Kiya?”

  “Daniel …” I groaned. “You want me to help? Again?”

  He clasped his hands and went down on one knee. “Pleease.”

  “Omigod, get off the floor.” I pulled him up, both of us laughing. I wanted to say no. I wanted to tell him all the reasons why I didn’t think Kiya was right for him. But I couldn’t. Not when he was looking at me with those kind, hopeful eyes. I cared about him too much to disappoint him. “I’m not promising anything, but I’ll see what I can do.”


  “Yes!” He pumped his fist, then scooped me up in a hug and spun me around. My skin tingled, my every sense on overload. A millisecond later, I stiffened in his arms, wary of my dizzying whirl of feelings. “Um, Daniel,” I stammered. “Could you put me down now?”

  He did, but I stumbled, and he put his hand on my waist to steady me. When I glanced up, his face was near mine. I loved the fact that he had the tiniest smear of marshmallow on the tip of his nose. That was so Daniel, enjoying his s’more so much that he was wearing some. I lifted my hand to wipe it off, the way I would’ve done any other day. But suddenly, I felt oddly self-conscious about it. I planted a flat palm on the cool counter to bring myself back to reality and said, “You’ve got marshmallow on your nose, you goof.”

  “No surprise there.” He grinned and wiped it off. “So … I’ll have the poem ready in the morning. It’s going to be so great!” He pulled out his phone and began texting himself, and I could almost see the wheels of his mind spinning with love songs, red roses, and boxes of chocolate. Then he suddenly froze and looked at me. “Your composition piece!” He slapped his forehead. “You said you wanted me to listen—”

  “No, it’s okay.” I said it with an awkward quickness that was jarring. I’d wanted to play my piece for him so badly when this evening had started, but now I wasn’t in the mood. Three words were striking cymbal crashes in my brain. Daniel likes Kiya; Daniel likes Kiya; Daniel likes Kiya.

  I faked a yawn. “I’m tired, and we have school tomorrow.”

  “Oh, sure. Next time, then.” There was a trace of disappointment in his voice. “Can you meet me at the Snug Mug in the morning?” he asked as he grabbed his coat and headed for the door. “Operation Kiya, Day One.”

  I forced a nod and a wave goodbye, but my stomach sank. It sank even further when my dad walked into the kitchen, his face as pained as my heart.

  “Was that Daniel leaving?” Dad collapsed, more than sat, in one of the creaky kitchen chairs.

  I nodded, then, with Dad’s strained face giving me a creeping feeling of dread, blurted, “I’m wiped, so I’m going to head upsta—”

  “Sit.” Dad rubbed his brow. “I need to talk to you.”

  Gulp. I knew it.

  “Okay.” I sat across from him. “What’s up?”

  “I lied to you.” He met my eyes guiltily. “Earlier this week, when I told you I drove to Burlington to meet with that professor. That’s not where I was.” He drummed his fingertips against the tabletop, something he did when he was uncomfortable. “I went to see your mom.”

  “In Boston?” I asked in disbelief. Boston was almost a three-hour drive.

  “We met halfway.” His voice was weary. “She told me she called the house and left a message.” His eyes steadied on mine, until I had to break his gaze. So … he’d guessed about me deleting the message, then. But all he said was, “I told her sometimes our phone is finicky.”

  I heaved a sigh, grateful that Dad wasn’t going to make me confess. “Anyway,” he went on. “I … I wanted to talk with her in person. About her visiting with you.”

  “The two of you talked about me?” My fists curled against the linoleum tabletop, my palms damp. “Without me there?”

  He smiled a little sadly. “We are your parents. That’s what parents are supposed to do.”

  “Yeah, well, Mom dropped the ball on that years ago,” I mumbled. “You shouldn’t have gone to see her without telling me.”

  “Maybe,” he conceded, “but I thought if I went first, you might feel better about seeing her.”

  I stared at him. “Dad. I’ll never feel better about that.”

  There was a long minute of silence as he stared down at the table. “She’s not the same person she was when she left us.” His tone was soft and regretful. “She’s not a scared kid anymore, like she was back then. Like we both were, trying to raise a baby when we were ones ourselves.” He slid his hand across the table toward me, but I pulled my hands into my lap. “Your mom knows you’re hurt. She doesn’t expect you not to be angry with her. Heck …” He lifted his eyes to mine. “I’m still angry with her, too.”

  I nearly laughed, because it seemed impossible to picture Dad angry at anyone.

  “She’d just like the chance to see you,” Dad continued, “only for a little while. It can end there, or you can see her again after that. We’d leave it up to you.”

  “No.” I stood up, adamantly shaking my head. “I already told you that I didn’t want to see her. I don’t even know why you keep bringing it up.” I started in the direction of the loft stairs, knowing Dad wouldn’t follow me if I retreated to my bedroom.

  “Nadine, wait.” This time, Dad caught my hand, holding it in his own stiffly but steadily. “I keep bringing it up because someday, you might wish you had a relationship with your mom. You might find you need her as you get older, and I wouldn’t want you to regret having passed up this chance.”

  I opened my mouth, about to tell him that this wasn’t about what I wanted. No one was listening to what I wanted. But before I had the chance to get the words out, Dad pulled something from his back pocket and slipped it into my outstretched hand.

  “It’s a note from your mom.” He gave my hand a small squeeze before letting his own hand drop. “Read the note. Think things over. That’s all I’m asking.”

  I spun away, crushing the note in my hand as I climbed up into my loft.

  An hour later, once the lights downstairs were off and I’d heard Dad’s steps retreating to his bedroom, I tossed restlessly in bed, trying in vain to sleep. I’d attempted several times, over the last hour, to practice my cello, but I couldn’t. My eyes were constantly drawn away from my music to the crumpled note on my nightstand. I wanted to ignore it. I wanted to burn it in the fire.

  Instead, with anger and curiosity playing tug-of-war inside of me, I threw off the covers and reached for the note. Holding it up to the moonlight, I read:

  My eyes filled. I recognized her handwriting from the postcards she’d sent me over the years. When I was younger, I used to stare at the curls and slants of her writing, trying to attach a personality to the style. Someone who looped the letter S the way she did was kind, I told myself. Someone who curved Ys in her quirky, slanted manner was funny and maybe liked to sing silly songs in the shower. The mom I knew was the one I’d made up from postcards and emails.

  I slipped the note into my messenger bag and lay back on my pillow. Moms on pages were safer, I thought as I drifted off to sleep. Moms on paper could never break your heart.

  “What do you think?” Daniel peered anxiously over my shoulder at the paper in my hand.

  We were up in the Snug Mug’s office. Below us, the shop was bustling with early birds getting their coffees before heading to work or school.

  I’d hardly slept at all last night, thanks to Mom’s note and Daniel’s declaration of “like” for Kiya. In fact, Mom’s note felt like it was burning a hole in my back pocket right this very second. But—I glanced at Daniel—at least I had a momentary distraction, even if it was a distraction that involved reading a poem written for Kiya. Sigh. I’d take what I could get.

  On the upside, I had a steaming cup of pumpkin spice, and Daniel and I had a moment to ourselves.

  “If you’d give me a millisecond to read it,” I said to Daniel, “I’d be able to tell you.” I mock-glared at him and spun away so he wouldn’t hover.

  “ ‘There once was a girl from the city,’ ” I read aloud from the piece of paper. “ ‘She was stylish, with eyes oh so pretty. When a lad gave her flowers, she smiled for hours, and said, ‘Oh, now, isn’t he witty?’’ ” I lowered the paper, raising an eyebrow at Daniel. “Seriously?” I asked.

  Daniel watched me expectantly. “You don’t like it?”

  I had the urge to point out that if Kiya was anything like Elle and me, she’d rather be called smart than pretty. But I resisted. Kiya would probably roll her eyes at the cheesy poem anyway, and then Daniel’s crush cru
sade would be finished. Part of me felt guilty for wishing that, but better he find out that Kiya wasn’t right for him now than later on.

  “It’s fine,” I said flatly, handing the paper back to him.

  Daniel sighed. “Fine’s not good enough. I want it to be perfect.”

  “Daniel …” There was exasperation in my tone. “I have to be at orchestra in ten minutes. It’s too late to write a new poem. Just tell me what you need me to do.”

  He hesitated, probably debating whether or not he could pull off a Shakespearean feat in under ten minutes. Then he gave up and handed me the poem, along with a single rose. “Could you tape it to her locker with the flower?”

  Just then, Daniel’s phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen. “Text from Omma. She’s working a double shift today. Surprise, surprise.” He feigned nonchalance, but there was a hint of bitterness to his tone, and I wondered how things were in Daniel’s house. He joked about how great it was to be able to stay up as late as he wanted, or eat ice cream for dinner whenever he felt like it. But almost every time I hung out at his place, his mom was working. Their fridge was a testament to takeout and frozen dinners. It made me glad that my dad’s chili was as good as it was.

  I couldn’t help but stick a hand in my back pocket to make sure Mom’s note was still there. It was, and I nearly slid it out to show Daniel, but then Mr. Renaud appeared on the steps.

  “Hey, guys.” He was holding a tape measure in one hand and a notepad in the other. “I need to take some measurements of the space up here. For the tables I ordered.”

  “Sure, Mr. Renaud. No problem,” Daniel said.

  “Oh, and, Daniel,” Mr. Renaud said. “We’re doing fifty percent off all specialty drinks until the stock is gone. The sooner we overhaul the menu, the better.”

  Daniel nodded. “Sounds good. I’ll tell customers during my shift this afternoon.”

  I bristled. Why didn’t Daniel care that we were losing our fave hangout spot and our fave drinks at the Snug Mug? Could it be that he was just going along in hopes of impressing Kiya’s dad?