His Pumpkin Pie

Chapter One

Pumpkin

I groan as I roll over in bed, not wanting to get up yet. Then I let out a scream when I almost roll right off the edge. Thankfully I catch myself on the nightstand and push myself back up. How in the world am I not used to this hotel bed by now?

I’ve been sleeping here for over a month, and I should be aware of the bed size in my sleep. Plus it’s bigger than the twin bed I slept in when I lived at home. I miss that bed, but maybe I also miss waking up in a place filled with family instead of a cold hotel room.

As excited as I am about going home, I’m worn out. I hate my job, I miss my family, and I’m not sure how much longer I can do this. I’m supposed to be settling into this career change, but all I want to do is go back home. I’ve done all of this so that I could stand on my own two feet for once. But instead it’s led me to jumping in with both feet, and now I want to jump right back out. My feet are so damn tired.

The screen on my phone lights up, making me wonder who could be messaging me this early. It has to be my sister with another great idea for something we should make. She finds inspiration while scrolling through Facebook, and seventy percent of the time it’s a food idea. We spend hours making them, and they never turn out like the two-minute video makes you believe they will.

“Oh crap.” I spring up to a sitting position without clicking the text when I see the time.

How? How is that even possible? I set an alarm! I click on my alarm in disbelief to see that I did in fact set it for seven. But I clearly wasn’t paying attention and clicked p.m. instead of a.m. Yet another reason I’m starting to think I’m not cut out for this whole adulting thing. Especially when it comes to selling medical supplies. How can I sell them when I can’t even work a damn cell phone? But here I am, thousands of miles from home, selling them and actually doing well at it.

In a mad dash, I run around the hotel room trying to get all my shit shoved into my bags. I don’t bother with showering or anything that’s going to waste time like hair and makeup.

The original plan was to be in Seattle for a week, but that quickly turned into a few months. My employer said I would travel, but somehow I’ve been stationed in one spot for what feels like forever. They were short-staffed out here, and I’ve been going from one medical building to the next. They have me lined up for work six days a week and have slipped in a few Sunday jobs too. I can’t complain, or at least I shouldn't. I make commission and I’ve been killing it, but I’ve never felt more lost in my life.

I’m dying to get back home to spend Thanksgiving with my parents and to be around people I know and love. I’m going to soak up every minute of it, and then I’m going to get some much-needed advice from my mom and sister.

I’ve been second-guessing giving up my job, but I know I could get it back in a heartbeat. I roll my eyes at myself as I slip into my boots. People are trying to find jobs all around me, and here I am complaining about having one that pays well…but at what cost?

I let out a happy scream when I get my bag closed, and I stare at it for a moment. This is pretty much my whole life in one bag. I don’t let myself think about it too much or I’ll begin to spiral. Instead I grab my purse and my other bag before I roll out of my hotel room and hustle my booty down to the lobby as fast as I can.

Thank goodness my favorite valet is out there, and Laura snags me a cab, seeing me in my hurried state. I blow some of the curls out of my face and smile.

“Thank you,” I call as I run over to the cab, and she helps me toss my bags into the back. I give her a quick hug. “You have a good Thanksgiving.”

“You do the same, Pumpkin.” She kisses my cheek. “This is your big holiday, after all.” She winks and steps back to motion for another taxi to pull up behind mine.

“So my mother tells me.”

My mom has been obsessed with Thanksgiving my whole life. She’s pretty crazy about Christmas too, but it’s how I ended up with the name Pumpkin and my sister got the name Cookie. Not that I’m complaining. She really did give us the kind of holidays that you remember most.