Kenna
“Kenna!” Sutton yells, snapping in my face. I’m pulled from the memory of a warm lap, powerful arms, and the earthy scent of Jonas’ skin, only to be plunged unceremoniously back into reality. A reality in which Jonas Flynn has no clue he’s had his hands all over my body. I close my eyes for a second, wishing for the millionth time that he knew. I wish for a reality in which I could come clean without losing him forever.
Sutton watches me, one eyebrow creeping higher and higher on her forehead. “Are you high on paint fumes? I told you to spray paint those pumpkins outside.”
“No, I’m sorry,” I say, forcing a laugh. “Just had a late night last night.”
My best friend squints at me but doesn’t push it. “I think we’re done. What do you think?” She asks, eyeing the Wychwood parlor with a critical eye, fists on her hips. I sure as shit hope we’re done. The mansion is almost unrecognizable and since it’s officially Halloween Eve, we’re out of time. Inky drapes cover the walls, concealing the exhibits. We’ve rigged dozens of candelabras to float over the room and pumpkin centerpieces flicker at the center of each table.
Outside, the trees are dripping with purple lights. The giant black tent is illuminated with glowing cauldrons and artfully antiqued jars filled with dangerous looking ingredients. The sculptures I built out of salvaged containers, ivory pumpkins, and black flowers fill every corner.
“Thank christ for spray paint,” Sutton laughs.
“Seriously. The hardware store thanks you for funding their next quarter.”
“Let’s get out of here. I’m dying to get up to the festival for a bit.”
“Fine, but we have to get lunch and don’t you dare ask me to bob for apples.”
“Agreed.” Sutton shudders. “Unsanitary.”
We take the shuttle up to Sugar Creek Orchard, driving along gravel roads through a technicolor forest. Dean is waiting for us at the front gate with a drink carrier loaded with hot apple cider and a bag full of donuts. Sutton leans up on her toes to kiss him while I stand off to the side like an awkward third wheel.
Sutton takes a cider and hands one to me, leaving two in the carrier.
“Who’s the extra one for?” I ask as I snag a donut out of the bag. I haven’t eaten all day and I’m ravenous. Taking a huge bite, I moan around the cinnamon sugar carb-fest.
“Jonas,” Dean says, looking around at the crowd. I choke on the hunk of donut that seems determined to lodge itself in my esophagus. Sutton thumps me on the back, and from the look she’s giving me, she’s questioning my ability to function as an adult.
Dean watches me with wide eyes. “Jesus. Are you ok, kiddo? Slow down. I swear, I’ll buy you more donuts if you promise to chew them before you swallow.”
I roll my eyes and flip him the bird, still trying to clear the murderous pastry.
“As I was saying,” my brother punctuates his thoughts with a condescending glance in my direction. “Jonas was going to meet us, but he got held up at work.”
I honestly can’t decide if I’m disappointed or relieved. The idea of spending the day with Jonas out in public and away from the restaurant is so tempting. But then I remember that I’d have to pretend that he didn’t spend our last night together punishing me with orgasms. Yeah, not exactly an easy thing to ignore.
I follow Dean and Sutton around the festival, torn between being so happy for them and wildly envious. Why can’t I just get stranded with Jonas for a couple of days? Maybe if the rest of the world went away, I could admit to what I’ve done.
We ride the giant slides, our legs tucked into old burlap bags. We wander the corn maze, shoot bruised apples at rusted-out cars, and eat enough kettle corn to make ourselves sick.
The entire crowd gathers to watch the orchard owner, Sam, and half a dozen other burly men, load an 800-pound heirloom pumpkin into a handmade trebuchet. Sam leads a raucous countdown before pulling the rope and sending the monstrous gourd flying over the cornfield. It lands with a spectacular crack, the skin and pulp disintegrating on contact. The entrails splatter over an area of at least a hundred feet and the spectators roar and scream their approval.
“I’m gonna go grab us tickets for the hayride,” Dean says, squeezing Sutton’s elbow.
She grins up at him. “That’s perfect. Meet us at the beer garden?”
He winks at her. “Sounds good. Grab me something not infected with spices or gourds?”
Sutton bites her lip, trying not to laugh as she nods. We head toward the beer tent, and all the way there, Sutton throws pointed looks in my direction.
“What?” I ask.
“You’re being weird today.”
“No, I’m not,” I scoff.
Sutton throws me a knowing look. “You are such a shit liar, you know that?”