by Faye Larson
chapter one
At another time, the feel of someone running their fingers down Preston’s back might’ve felt sexy.
It wasn’t that the sensation was bad. Skin whispered over skin, fingertips mapped out the geography of his flesh, and then a hint of lips brushed over his shoulder.
Heat from the other’s man’s body ebbed against him, creating this almost touch that made Preston smile. They were sitting oh so close on the edge of the bed, risen from sleep. No one expected either of them for hours. They could do anything.
At another time, Preston would’ve trembled against that touch. His hands would’ve been tied together to keep from reaching back, he’d be breathless, and he would’ve ached to be taken.
Today, he was just happy that the feel of Keith’s hands didn’t make him flinch.
It was nothing against Keith. His husband—husband, Preston couldn’t believe the man was his husband, even after being married for eight months—was awesome.
He’d been a wonderful friend before they got married and he was a wonderful spouse. If Preston couldn’t handle being touched one day and couldn’t get enough of it the next, Keith worked with him.
We’re going to get through this, he’d say. Preston loved him.
The bastard who’d inspired the problem though?
That guy was an asshole. He was also Preston’s ex, the cousin of a friend, and all around terrible person. When people weren’t looking, he kicked puppies, twirled his non-existent mustache, and quite possibly drank decaf.
Said bastard was gone—and if Preston could go through the rest of his life never thinking his name that would be great, alas his name, Jared, occasionally popped up—but a ghost of him remained, scratched onto Preston’s back as a series of cuts.
You like a little pain, Preston, you’ll like this.
Preston shuddered.
Keith stilled beside him. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Preston said. He was. At least he wanted to be. “I just...”
“I’m just so good sometimes it catches your breath?”
Preston laughed. “You got me. I’m just sitting here, wondering how much more I can take before I ravish you.”
“Crap,” Keith said. “I’ve got a meeting this morning. If I go in with ravished hair again, everyone will smile.”
Preston looked back at him and raised an eyebrow. It was nothing compared to the eyebrow raising that Keith could do—seriously, the guy could teach a master class on the subject—but it was pretty impressive, if Preston said so himself.
Just don’t ask Keith, who took his raised eyebrow in stride.
“I’m being quite serious,” Keith said. “Every time I go in looking like less of a tyrant, my people break out in smiles. One time, my assistant actually said aww.”
“The horror.”
“I know!” Keith glanced at Preston’s back. “It’s looking better.”
He said that every day.
There were times Preston even believed him.
Keith looked at Preston. “I could take a photo if you like.”
“No. Not yet.” Preston frowned. He was curious. He wanted the scars to fade, both the ones he could see and the ones inside of him. Healing took time, though. He didn’t want any souvenirs along the way.
“Okay,” Keith said. He shifted, moving so that he was now a foot away from Preston. Still close enough to touch but also giving Preston a little space.
Preston loved that he did that.
He also hated that he had to.
Keith wiped the remains of the lotion over his arms, dabbling in what he could his half assed moisturizing technique.
A month after beginning running the lotion over Preston’s back, Keith’s arms and shoulders was softer in various places and Preston’s back was theoretically looking better.
Which, considering how Keith’s skin felt, might be true. Preston was just a little afraid to hope for it.
He was entertaining the idea of hoping for it, though. That was... okay, probably not that much better, but it felt like something to him. He wanted to be okay. He was trying to be okay. He...
They. He and Keith were doing this together.
Preston leaned into him.
Keith looked a little surprised but happy. Preston understood; there were times after a massage where Keith just pulled away. Sometimes he just pulled a sheet over him and crawled back into bed. Once he threw up.
There were other times, more recently, when Preston just sat there. On occasion he’d smile a little, maybe stand up and move around the room, but he’d remain in the room with Keith.
Keith would watch him, ask him if he was okay, or offer to make him coffee. It was October. Keith could make a kick ass pumpkin spiced latte.
One day Preston hoped he’d be able to give Keith a massage back. Or, heck, a pumpkin spiced latte. Keith was really, really awesome. He deserved an equally awesome fall inspired drink that he didn’t make.
Alas, Preston had a black thumb. Instead of killing plants, he killed coffee.
Thankfully, Keith looked like he was delighted to just have Preston against him.
Keith slid his hand over where Preston’s lay on his knee. To Preston’s surprise, he wasn’t gripping his knee.
“So what’s on your mind today?” Keith asked.
His awesome husband.
His less than awesome back.
Pumpkin lattes and how he couldn’t make one to save his life.
“Pumpkins,” Preston said.
“Pumpkins.”
“Tis the season.” Dare he say the most wonderful time of the year?
Why not; it was the most wonderful time of the year.
Preston was a fantasy writer and while he might write about mages and their adventures in a Victorian-ish world, he loved everything about this dark and spooky time of the year: the decorations, the costumes, the countless horror movies that came out.
And if this season had a flavor, it was pumpkin.
There were a ton of ways to enjoy it. One could eat it—pumpkin burgers, pumpkin pies, and the ubiquitous pumpkin spiced latte—one could decorate with it—carved Halloween pumpkins, table centerpieces, a handful of small gourds sitting over the kitchen sink—and one could wear it—at least that one guy in that YouTube video did.
It just wasn’t October if Preston didn’t pull up that video and watch the pumpkin guy dance to Spooky, Scary Halloween.
It also wasn’t Halloween if he didn’t get a pumpkin and try to carve something scary. It’d likely end up like all the others and kind of Picasso-like but his attempts were noble.
They were scarily close to Halloween though and they hadn’t yet gotten a pumpkin.
It was both of their faults. Keith had gotten caught up at work and Preston had gotten caught up in writing. Those fantasy novels weren’t going to write themselves.
Keith knew. He’d left his laptop alone with a cup of coffee once. Nothing had happened.
“What about pumpkins are you thinking about?” Keith asked. “Pumpkin lattes, pumpkin pancakes—”
Ohh, he’d forgotten the pancakes!
“—pumpkin lotion?”
Keith blinked. “Pumpkin what?”
“Pumpkin lotion.”
“That’s a thing?” Preston asked.
Keith grinned. “Yup. I saw it when I went to pick up this guy.” He motioned to the half empty bottle on the nightstand.
“Wow.” Talk about a spooky, scary Halloween. Or maybe a kinky, kinky Halloween.
“So what about pumpkins are you thinking about?” Keith asked.
“Well, now I’m thinking about lotion. Before that; just pumpkins. Halloween is practically here. We should grab a couple of the orange guys the next time we go to the gr
ocery store.”
“The grocery store?” Keith drew back and stared at Preston in mock horror. “You get pumpkins are the grocery store?”
“Where do you usually get them, the pumpkin store?”
“Yes!”
Um... “What?”
“Alicia and I usually go to a pumpkin farm,” Keith said. “Our dad and stepdad took us to them when we were kids and we kept going even after they moved to Florida to do whatever it is retired people do.”
Probably play shuffle board, tell kids to get off their lawn, and then play shuffle board on their lawns.
And possibly reminisce about pumpkins farms.
“So... back when the area was mostly orchards, pumpkin farms existed?” Preston asked.
“Probably. The one I’m talking about still does, though.”
“That’s so... weird.”
Keith chuckled. “There’s actually several of them along Highway One. Besides the prerequisite pumpkins, they also raise things like corn and squash and garlic. It really depends on the one you go to. The one we go to has, like, a zillion pumpkins. All sizes too. If we wanted, we could get one the size of the television.”
“How would we get something that size home?” Preston asked. “I’d worry it’d kill the shocks on the car, let alone our backs trying to get it into the car.”
“I didn’t say we’d want to get one that big. I just said we could.”
“I don’t know. I think something that size might want to carve us up instead.”
“Probably,” Keith said. “You should see the place, though. The area it’s in is just gorgeous. There are hills to one side and the ocean is a couple of miles away. There are scarecrows all over the place—”
“That sounds like the beginning of a horror movie.”
“—and, oh my God, there’s this awesome corn maze. Just thinking about the place makes me want to go.” Keith’s smile grew. “Actually, now that I’ve thought about it; why don’t we go today?”
“Don’t you have a meeting?”
“After my meeting.” Keith rose and paced. It was his patented thinking pace, where he moved his hands animatedly as he talked.
From Preston’s understanding, Keith’s assistant had taken to grabbing a notepad and writing down whatever he said when he was in this mood.
Preston, meanwhile, just watched Keith move.
Keith was a handsome man and when he was excited, he looked glorious. He was tall, blond, and nice, really, honest to goodness nice, which made his assurances that he was a tyrant at work hilarious. His blue eyes were bright, his smile wide, and his long, beautiful legs flexed with each step.
Yum. Just yum.
Where Keith was tall, not dark haired, and handsome, Preston was five foot eight—and a half—had black hair and brown eyes. If he stood on a couple of pumpkins, Preston thought he might reach six feet. Or seven, depending on the pumpkin he chose.
Presuming the pumpkin in question held. Preston was oh so attractive—in his head, anyway—but he was a few pounds overweight.
Being an awesome fantasy writer didn’t always mean remembering to go on the treadmill.
Keith stopped and turned toward Preston.
“Here’s what we’ll do,” he said. “I’ll go to my meeting, discuss our plans for world domination, and then come back. We’ll go over the hill—”
And by hill he meant the Santa Cruz Mountains.
“—and grab a late lunch in Davenport. There’s this great restaurant there that overlooks the ocean. Then we’ll cruise down One to the farm. We’ll grab a ton of pumpkins—”
That sounded suspiciously like more than two.
“—and then get dinner at this great bistro I know in Scott’s Valley. They serve this great dessert you’ve got to try—Guinness over chocolate ice cream.”
Oh wow, that did sound interesting.
“Then we’ll return home, cart in all of our pumpkins—”
Yup, definitely more than two.
“—and then celebrate our successful odyssey with some pumpkin lattes.” Keith frowned. “Oh crap, I should’ve asked first; did you have any plans for today?”
“Mike and I are meeting for coffee this morning,” Preston said.
After he’d been paid off from his last paper—working for a certain evil editor who Preston knew for a fact had tried to keep him as long as he could—Preston had said screw it to normal jobs and decided to pursue his long dreamed of fantasy series.
Since he worked from home, his schedule was pretty open. Preston liked to schedule a weekly outing, though, so he wouldn’t go stir crazy.
Keith raised an eyebrow. “Your evil former editor can walk in the sun?”
“He’s evil, not a vampire.” That said; Mike didn’t like bright light, but honestly, who did?
“Would you be okay taking the day off from writing?” Keith asked. “I don’t know where you are in your current whip.”
Preston had a feeling Keith was pronouncing it whip and not WIP.
Though, with writing, either word would work.
“I’m at a good spot,” Preston said. “I just finished the first draft. I needed to wait a day anyway before starting the next one.”
Keith did a yes hand gesture. “Pumpkins, here we come.”
Excitement threaded through Preston. Keith rarely cut out of work early. For him to do this made Preston wonder how cool the patch really was.
“Are you really serious?” Preston asked. “About taking off early?”
“God yes! Not only is it the greatest time of the year, it’s also your first time at a pumpkin patch.” Keith grinned. “You’re going to love it.”
Seeing how excited Keith was about it, Preston believed he would.
“What about Alicia?” Preston asked. “If you two usually go together, won’t she feel left out?”
“She went with Riley last week.”
“Ah.” So she and Riley were in an on part of the relationship. Good for them.
Preston and Riley had been friends for years—not as long as he’d been friends with Keith but long enough that when they went through quiet periods, Preston knew it wasn’t personal. They both got busy and lost track of time. Eventually one would reach out to the other and they’d be inseparable for months.
Then life would catch up to them again and they’d lose touch.
On occasion Preston wished they had a more normal friendship. The rest of the time he was glad they didn’t; his bastard of an ex was Riley’s cousin.
It’d taken Preston years to tell Keith about what had happened with Jared. He couldn’t imagine ever having that conversation with Riley.
Then again, he’d never thought he’d tell anyone at all. Telling Keith had been difficult but once he had he was glad that he had.
Just not at the moment when he told Keith. Right then he felt vulnerable. Later, he felt safe.
“So,” Keith said, “as you can see, I have no one to go with me to the pumpkin patch. You’ve never been. You up for it?”
Preston smiled. “I’m up for it.”
“Yeah!” Keith turned and headed for the closet. “I better get dressed and head in early then.”
“If you can’t get out early,” Preston said, “we could go this weekend.”
“Everyone in the Bay Area will be trying to go to Half Moon Bay then. If we don’t go during the week, it’ll be awful. I think we’d both prefer our October scares to come in the form of horror movies and not traffic.”
Point.
Especially since, as far as horror movies went, traffic would likely be more of an obstacle than a feature villain. People complained about traffic, they didn’t run from it.
Unless it was holiday traffic. Then it might as well come with its own Jaws theme.
chapter two
When Keith had said the pumpkins were large, Preston had imaged something the size of a couch cushion. Looking at the pumpkin patch’s website made him realize that pumpkins could indeed get to the size
of couch cushions.
If the couches were for giants.
“Apparently this pumpkin came in third at last year’s pumpkin festival,” Mike said.
Preston stared at the pumpkin. That thing was third? If that thing sprouted legs it could terrorize a town.
All right, maybe a small city, but if that guy came to life Preston was certain Pumpkinstein there could do a lot of damage.
Aloud, he said, “They can get bigger than this?”
“Yeah.” Mike tapped a link on the top of the page and a moment later another pumpkin appeared on the page. “Check out this guy. He got first place the year before.”
Preston blinked. Forget Pumpkenstein; he was now looking at Pumpkinzilla.
The gourd in question was huge. It towered above the two people standing to either side of it by foot and was so wide that if the two people tried to reach around it to touch one another they’d never reach. The pumpkin could easily level a city. Preston wasn’t surprised it’d won first place for its year.
What he was surprised, though, was that there’d been no news stories about the thing coming to life one night and terrorizing people. That guy really deserved its own horror franchise. The Pumpkin. The Pumpkin’s Revenge. Bride of the Pumpkin.
Or, heck, Groom of the Pumpkin. One never knew.
Looking at Mike, he was tempted to add another sequel: the Pumpkin’s Editor.
Hmm. That would make him the pumpkin.
The Pumpkin that Edited the City.
Oh yeah. That sounded scary.
Preston picked up his pumpkin spiced latte and took a sip.
He and Mike had begun meeting weekly a month back, after Mike began seeing someone. Apparently being in a relationship made his evil former editor want to hang out more with people who were in relationships.
Having seen Mike date both men and women, Preston hoped it’d work out for him.
In the meantime, they had pumpkin lattes to drink and pictures of pumpkins to look at.
“This place looks so cool,” Mike said. “I always thought pumpkin patches were more of a midwest thing. It never occurred to me that one would be so close.”
“You call five hours away close?”
“If we take freeways instead of backroads and didn’t stop anywhere else, it’d be closer to two and a half hours. Maybe three hours, since we’d need time to actually pick out the pumpkins.”
