“I have mittens in the pockets just in case, but I figured we’re going to be inside.” She smiles brightly. “Right?”
Wrong.
So wrong.
My smile is weak as I shut the door on her, watching through the window as she buckles her seatbelt across a great pair of boobs.
As soon as I open my door—
“So, where are we going?”
“Uh…you’ll see.”
I can feel her checking me out in my peripheral vision, up and down, her blue eyes damn near penetrating the skin of my arms, thighs, and profile.
“Never would have pegged you for the kind of guy who likes planning surprises.” The jean jacket on her lap gets spread out like a blanket, but she doesn’t put it on.
Oh, you’re gonna be surprised all right.
“Right.”
Not interested in small talk, Charlie bites back a smile, turning her head and facing the window so I can no longer see her face. Watching as houses and campus pass us by, watching all the way until we’re at the city limits and driving out of town.
Toward the country.
Finally, she turns to face me. “Are you taking me to the woods to murder me?”
I laugh. “Hardly.”
“Because you could use this giant truck as the perfect way to haul my dead lifeless body to the middle of nowhere.” She presses the lock and unlock button a few times, testing it against the moving vehicle.
“Lucky for you, I wouldn’t want the seats in here to get stained from your blood.”
Charlie gives a little humph. “Where the heck are we?”
“What month is it?”
“October?” She looks perturbed at my question for her question.
“What holiday is comin’ up?”
“Um…Halloween?”
I laugh again. “You sure ’bout that?”
“Just tell me where we’re going!” She’s impatient now.
“See that sign right there?” We’re about to pass a giant wooden pumpkin sign that’s been pounded into the ground in the middle of a cornfield that’s already been harvested.
“Yes…” The word trails off.
“That’s where we’re goin’.”
“A pumpkin farm?”
I can’t look her in the eye, not knowing how she’s going to react. “Yup.”
“You’re taking me to a pumpkin farm.”
“Yup.”
I catch her glancing out the window again. “Huh.”
I tilt my head. “Huh—what’s that mean?”
“That’s actually really…nice. Cute.”
Cute. There’s that word we keep throwing around.
“You think?”
“Yes. I…” She casts her eyes downward at her bare legs. “I really wish I’d worn jeans, but this is going to be fun!”
Then Charlie does that thing girls do when they’re excited—she claps. Claps a few times and gets out her phone and snaps a photo when we pull into the farm, dust kicking up behind us as we wind down the gravel road.
“Oh my god, look at that corn maze.” She oohs. Gasps. “Oh my god, Jackson—a petting zoo!”
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
Honestly, all I planned on doing was taking the hay wagon out to the field and grabbing a pumpkin or two. Wasn’t planning on petting baby goats and feeding calves and shit.
But.
Damn she looks thrilled.
Adorable.
“Jackson! Look! We can dip our own caramel apples or stuff our own scarecrow.” She looks over her shoulder at me. “Can we do that?”
Like I’m going to tell her no.
“Is that a hay wagon?” She’s practically bouncing in her seat as a wagon full of families wheels by, orange pumpkins in their laps. “Are we going on that?”
“Yup.”
It takes me a few more minutes to find a decent parking spot, one that’s not too far away from the entrance and activities. I don’t need Charlie walking a long distance and spraining her ankle on this rough road full of potholes. Not that I’d mind carrying her, but still—it would be because she’d injured herself, and not because I was trying to be romantic.
I know what a sprain feels like, and it fucking sucks.
“Maybe you should put your jacket on before we get out.”
She complies, shrugging into the denim, smiling at me once she’s completed the task. “All set.”
Sweet and glowing, the freckles on the bridge of her nose are bright today, the tip of her pert little nose begging to be touched by the tip of my finger.
Soon, we’re lined up for the wagon; I climb up behind Charlie, my hand at the small off her back in the event she topples backward. Ass parked on a hay bale, it’s hard not to feel a thrill when our thighs make contact from the jostling of the wagon. Hard not to feel a stirring in my groin when Charlie’s palm lands on my inner thigh to steady herself when the wagon hits a hole in the road, sending us bumping into each other.
She laughs, supporting herself by holding on to me, a bonus I hadn’t accounted for when I was planning this date.
The wagon stops, the red tractor shifting into park with a jolt, its driver giving us instructions for choosing our pumpkin, where to wait once we find one, and how much it’s going to be per pound.