The Bakeshop at Pumpkin and Spice

by Donna Kauffman

  Up until—Caw. They were interrupted by a crow. The big black bird perched on a cornstalk overhead, its beady eyes honed on them. A disruptive chaperone. Jack sucked air, drew back. Lara dipped her head, rested her brow against his chest.

  “So much for privacy.” He rolled his shoulders, shook out his legs, and attempted to bring his body under control. Not an easy task. This close to Lara, he wanted to take her amid the cornstalks.

  She eased back, her eyes dilated, her expression dazed. She grasped his forearms for support. He restored her balance. A moment later, she rubbed her butt, laughed. “Goosed by an ear of corn.”

  He reached around and massaged the spot, high on her left buttock. “Sorry, sweetheart. I wanted to kiss you, but the cornfield might not have been my best option.”

  She touched his cheek with her fingertips. “You can kiss me anywhere at any time.”

  He cut his gaze to the crow. Glared. “Without an audience.”

  With an angry caw, the bird flew off. Jack took Lara’s hand and led her from the corn maze. It seemed pricklier going out than it had going in. Anticipation had dulled their senses to the stab of the stalks. Leaving now, they were jabbed numerous times, and felt each one.

  Once out in the open, Lara heaved a sigh. “I’ve chosen the courthouse pumpkins. Let’s move on.”

  “Herbert’s Apple Orchard?” It was an hour down the road.

  She nodded. “I can’t bake you an apple pie, but I can purchase one for you.”

  “Caramel apple.” He knew exactly the one he wanted. There was no second-guessing.

  Jack spoke briefly with the manager of the Pumpkin Patch. A generous man who offered to donate the courthouse pumpkins. Lara refused his kindness when it came to Edna Milner’s tiny pumpkin. She wanted to pay for it herself. The man charged her a dollar. She tucked it back into her vest pocket for safekeeping. Then she took Jack’s hand as they crossed the immense grounds toward the parking lot and his SUV.

  Traffic was heavy, and they soon realized every car ahead of them was traveling to the working farm. Their arrival took longer than expected. Which was immaterial to two people who took every slowdown opportunity and stop sign to kiss. Tender, sensitive, romantic kisses. Extra soft and sweet. With a desire for more. Many more.

  They soon spotted the converted red barn off in the distance. A red dot on the horizon. A family store in the barn featured Maine products, including ice cream, maple syrup, maple candy and cream, jams and jellies. Locals produced candles, pottery, and goat soap. New England cookbooks, mulling spices, apple peelers, and whittled wooden toys filled out the shelves.

  Jack spotted a parking space. A Hummer backed up, and he pulled in. It was a short walk to the barn. A tall man in overalls met them at the entrance. “Prepicked apples, or do you plan to get hands-on with the fruit and pick it yourself?”

  Jack left the decision to Lara.

  “We pick.”

  “Half-bushel or full-bushel boxes?” the man asked.

  “Bushel,” from Lara.

  “There are Red Flyer wagons and wire handcarts around the side of the building,” the man added. “The ground is flat until you reach the hillside. There’s no need to carry the heavy containers. Use a transport.”

  He passed them two bushel boxes. “Just a reminder: when picking, lift and twist the apples, don’t yank. Don’t break off the fruit spur for next year’s crop. Those are the small, thorn-like shoots. There are ladders provided throughout the orchard. Plant the legs securely and don’t climb too high.” He finished with, “There are signs directing you to the different varieties. They’re alphabetical. Pick only ripe fruit.” He then welcomed those next in line.

  Jack stacked the boxes onto a Red Flyer and towed it toward the orchard. Lara trailed beside him. She swung her arms wide and drew deep breath after deep breath. “The air is so clean and fresh. So invigorating. There’s nothing like the scent of apples.”

  Jack agreed. “I’m thinking apple cider, apple pie, apple crisp, apple butter.”

  “All can be purchased at the store before we leave.”

  They walked a ways, soon noticing the Honeycrisp sign. They turned down the lane. The two of them selectively picked the low-hanging fruit. Until Lara saw the perfect Honeycrisp, way up high. She went after an aluminum tripod ladder, lightweight and sturdy. She set the legs, ready to climb.

  “I’ll get the apple for you,” Jack was quick to offer.

  “You don’t know which one I want.”

  “Point it out.” The tree was loaded with apples. She’d have to be specific.

  “Lean left, lean right, stretch higher—by the time you figure out the one I want, I would have it plucked and packed it in the box.” She’d made up her mind. His lady was determined. She scooted up the ladder before he could stop her.

  Picking apples brought out her daring side. She wasn’t afraid of heights. She extended, strained, wiggled on the rungs of the ten-foot ladder. Shaking it slightly. He held tight to the sides. He was only mildly distracted by her sweet butt. Her shapely legs. All the while remaining observant and prepared to catch her should she fall.

  There was no falling, only a delighted whoop of success when she snagged her apple of choice. She pumped her arm. Victorious. He reached for her as she descended the ladder. When she’d nearly reached the ground, he lifted her the remainder of the way. Securing her to him. Her backside pressed his front. A sexy slide down. All womanly warmth and crooked headband. Which he straightened for her.

  He glanced down the lane. No sign of anyone. No sound of voices. They were alone. Nice. A little early foreplay would keep her on edge for later in the day. Anticipation was a sex toy. He liked the idea of her wanting him in the hours to come. As much as he desired her. All hot and intense. Rapidly pulsing hearts. Waiting and wanting. A physical craving.

  He kissed her slowly, whisper-soft. From behind. Starting at the corner of her eye, then flicking his tongue at the shell of her ear, and biting the lobe. Hard enough to elicit her intake of breath and full-body shiver. Goose bumps captured them both. He nipped the curve of her lower lip, and her mouth parted on a sigh.

  His hands made her moan. He parted her puffer vest, went on to trace her breasts and cleavage over the top of her blue angora sweater. Supple woman. Amazing curves. Her full, rounded breasts fit his palms. He stroked his thumbs over her nipples. Then gently squeezed. She rose on tiptoe, her bottom brushing his groin. He’d been out to tease her, but was now turned-on, nearly to the point of no return. His jeans were worn, with laddered tears on his thigh near his zipper. His boxer briefs held his privates in place. Barely. It was stop now or embarrass himself. He eased back. Hastily made an adjustment before she turned around.

  She closed her eyes, drew a steadying breath, and slowly faced him. Eyes wide now. Pink blushed her cheeks. Slightly swollen lips. Her expression, sexually awakened. “I’ve gotten my favorite Honeycrisps, so let’s cross the bridge for your Macintoshes.”

  That suited him just fine. He grasped the handle on the wagon with one hand, took her own with the other. They walked half a mile to Pond Bridge. The small body of water was clear and still. Glassy. Reflecting the bridge, a single white oak tree, and the shoreline rushes.

  An entrance plaque offered information on the bridge. Constructed in 1928, it was the only solid masonry bridge in the county. The stone and mortar substructures were surfaced in rough-dressed random laid rubble stone.

  Lara peered over the side as they crossed. She caught her reflection, pulled a face, and straightened her headband. “Why didn’t you tell me that my hair band was lopsided?” she asked, patting down the spikes.

  Jack grinned. “The crooked band is you, Beanstalk. All you. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

  Her smile was sweet, her tone sarcastic. “Jackass.”

  He couldn’t help but laugh. He curved his arm about her shoulders as they traversed the narrow bridge. “We made it across. No battling the Troll, and the grass really is greener on the
other side.”

  “Three Billy Goats Gruff?”

  “The latest fairy tale I read to my nephew.”

  “How often do you see Drew?”

  Jack liked that she’d remembered the boy’s name. “Twice a week. I may work late, but I always arrive for his bedtime story.”

  “I love your attention to your nephew.”

  “He’s important to me.” He came to a stop, then leaned down and kissed her on the forehead. “So are you, Lara Shaw. Let’s pick a box of Macintosh apples and then go back to your place. I’ll show you exactly what you mean to me.”

  She gave him her own special kiss. Soft and sweet. Desiring him. “I’ll show you back.”

  * * *

  Lara had the best weekend of her life. She and Jack returned to her apartment. He carried in the bushels of apples, making two trips. Inside, they kicked back and relaxed. Sipping warm apple cider, consuming apple cider donuts and big slices of caramel apple pie à la mode. Food and drink became foreplay. They fed each other. Licked fingertips. Kissed ice cream from each other’s lips. Along with other sensitive body parts.

  They snuggled for hours on the padded love seat. Clothes eventually disappeared, and he initiated her to all the possibilities inherent in a rocker big enough for two. She’d ridden his thighs. She would never look at that piece of furniture the same way again. As the sun buckled to the day, darkness led them to her bedroom. There she lighted evergreen-scented candles. Their hearts raced and their feelings deepened. Naked, aroused, they became one amid the flickering flames and shifting shadows. Afterward he tucked her so tightly against his body she became an imprint on his skin. They were soon overtaken by a deep satisfying sleep.

  Sunday morning, and they’d taken their time in bed. Lazy and content. Eventually showering together. Warm water, soapy sponges, and slippery flesh. They’d gone on to make apple fritters together for breakfast. Nourishment that would be spent on a repeat day of long conversations and great sex. She now knew him nearly as well as she knew herself. She liked his mind and his body. Their philosophies on life aligned. They were physically in tune. They matched on so many levels.

  It was difficult to return to work on Monday. Jack had left her apartment before sunrise, and she’d strolled into the courthouse at the designated time. Paula met her in the conference room shortly thereafter. Her assistant was high on Halloween. Her latest orange T-shirt with brown script made Lara smile.

  What do you get when you drop a pumpkin?

  Squash.

  Paula took a seat at the table and asked, “How was your weekend?”

  “I went to the Pumpkin Patch and Herbert’s Apple Orchard.”

  “I saw the array of pumpkins throughout the courthouse. Very decorative. I heard a lot of good comments on my way upstairs.”

  “I brought you a Honeycrisp for a snack later.”

  “Your weekend treks, were they alone or . . .”

  “Leave it at ‘or.’ ”

  “For now,” said Paula. “The parade’s five days away. We have a lot of work to wrap up before Saturday.”

  “We need to finalize the lineup. That’s our top priority.”

  Paula rustled through a stack of file folders. All crammed with parade information. She found the one she was looking for. “We made a tentative list last week.”

  “Will it still hold up this week?”

  “Pretty much so.”

  “Let me hear your list.” Edna Milner entered the conference room, in a swish of eight-year-old authority and attitude. “I’ll tell you if it will or if it won’t.”

  Lara eyed the older woman. “What makes you such an authority, Moonie McBright?”

  “I’ve stood on the sidewalk and watched seven decades of parades. It was too cold during my earliest years to stand outside. My parents wouldn’t allow it.”

  “You do have time on your side,” said Paula.

  “Time that’s passing with your gab. Do you want my thoughts or not?”

  Why not? Perhaps Edna would notice something that she had overlooked. Lara handed the parade list to Edna. It was written in pencil. Edna took a moment to locate her glasses in an old-fashioned brocade handbag. She settled the wire-rimmed spectacles on her nose. Then ran her finger down the page. “You have the first two spots correct,” she said. “The scarecrow marching high school band, followed by the Pumpkin Queen in her Cadillac.”

  Edna tapped her bony finger on the paper. “Shift the hayride behind the three convertible roadsters with the mayor and city council members. You want the vehicles clustered behind the caddy. The haunted hayride with its swooping and dancing ghosts would otherwise block the view of the upcoming officials. They are more important than the bales of hay.”

  Lara slowly nodded. The change made sense. “Good point.” She erased and revised.

  “No need for bumper-to-bumper Halloween-themed floats. It’s monotonous. Break them up. A business float, then the costumed pets. Keep a decent distance between the two so the pets don’t get spooked.”

  Lara was fine with that. She again altered the lineup.

  Edna was on a roll. “How many pets in the parade?” she asked.

  Lara informed her. “Twenty-eight.”

  “Bow-wow, meow, whinny, and a snort,” added Paula.

  “A snort.” Edna rolled her eyes. “Frazier, the spotted hog.”

  Lara nodded. “None other.”

  “The pig’s been banned from the parade in past years.”

  Lara was not aware of that fact. “I had no idea. No one told me.”

  “You’re new and Able Hodgins took advantage of you. Frazier has no manners. He’s three hundred pounds of bristly snout and grunt. He also stinks. He once nipped the miniature donkey Daisy. His owner said he was flirting, but Daisy disagreed. She kicked him. Frazier broke free of his harness and plowed through the crowd. Scattering all those on the sidewalk. Not a pretty sight.”

  Lara ran her hand down her face. “Oh, great. I don’t want a repeat performance.”

  Edna surprised her with, “Don’t be discouraged, girl. Don’t scratch the hog off your list just yet. It’s an easy fix, actually, should you want to include Frazier. A double harness and two walkers could control him. Just keep him away from Daisy.”

  “Workable . . . I think.” Lara would give it some thought. She didn’t want any mishaps.

  “Furthermore,” Edna said insistently, “tell Able to bathe Frazier and put him in a tux.”

  The bath was doable; Lara wasn’t certain on the tux. She would insist Frazier be in costume. A cape might be a better option.

  “The sizes of the other pets?” Edna went on to ask.

  Lara glanced at her list. “Biggest is the Great Dane Warrior. He’s larger than Magnus the Shetland pony. Smallest range from a caged gerbil to a bowl with a goldfish.”

  “Goldfish?” Disbelief from Edna.

  “Tommy Johnson promised to decorate the bowl with orange crepe paper.”

  “You’re sure taking ‘town inclusive’ to a whole new level.”

  “I don’t want anyone to feel left out or disappointed.”

  “The gang’s all here.” Edna continued down the list. She checked off the pumpkin jugglers, individual adult masqueraders and their children, along with five-piece garage bands. She put her stamp of approval on all the floats. Then drew big question marks beside the decorated machinery: a compact tractor and riding lawn mower.

  “It is what it is, Edna,” Lara said on a sigh. “Perhaps I’ll set new parameters next year. This year’s groundwork was laid out before I came onboard.”

  “Let’s blame the mayor, then.”

  “We could do that.”

  “Or not.” Jack Hanson appeared on the scene.

  Lara’s face heated and her heart stuttered. He looked handsome and in charge in a black suit, white and gray print shirt, and maroon tie. She tried to separate their weekend together from their working relationship. It was extremely difficult to do. She’d seen him naked.
He looked good in his skin.

  His gaze locked on her for a heartbeat before he spoke to Paula and Edna. “Ladies. I hope things are going well.”

  Far better now that he was here, Lara thought. She’d missed the man. They’d only been apart four hours. “Moonie McBright has offered her opinion on the parade. Valuable insight.”

  Edna gave details. “I’m the smart one here.”

  “Especially when it comes to hogs gone wild,” added Paula.

  Jack looked confused. Surprisingly, not one of the women explained. Lara realized they’d drawn together into a tight group. Surprising but true. The three even shared a private joke. Interesting.

  “Lastly—” Edna ignored Jack as she wrapped up their meeting. “What about that ridiculous pumpkin-faced Disney balloon? Isn’t Mickey Mouse as wide as the street? Even wider?”

  “The balloon is enormous, but Parker Price has guaranteed that it’s workable. He wants to bring the big city to our small town.”

  Edna contemplated the issue. “Should the balloon burst, it will blow those watching the parade right off the sidewalk. Fly them like kites.”

  Lara cringed. That would be a disaster she hadn’t anticipated.

  “Won’t there be pumpkins lining the curb?” Edna wanted to know. “They would narrow the parade route even further.”

  Edna was observant. Lara confirmed, “It’s open season on arranging pumpkins along both sides of Pumpkin Lane. First to come get the best spots. Some will be carved, others not. Names in indelible marker go on the bottom. People will retrieve their pumpkins after the parade.”

  Lara suddenly remembered her gift for Edna. She reached for her shoulder bag and removed the mini-pumpkin. She hadn’t planned to see Edna at the courthouse, but this was as good a time as any to hand it off. “I have something for you,” she said. She set the itty-bitty pumpkin on the table.

  Edna stared, scrunched her lined face into deeper wrinkles. “You couldn’t find something smaller?”