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“I had my suspicions about your taste buds when you forced me into ordering that ill-fated pumpkin cheesecake three months ago. That dessert was a tragedy on Shakespearean levels; I'm still in recovery.”
“That was delicious. You ate it, too.” I rebuttal as I close the distance to my kitchen island.
“I ate the crust because the filling was atrocious.”
“It wasn’t that bad,” I mutter. “Go ahead, make your point.” I wave my hand.
She slams down the first box she grabbed from my pantry. It’s my pumpkin pancake mix.
“When I saw this, I wasn’t surprised.” She forcefully slams the bag containing my pumpkin-flavored coffee beans and a bottle of pumpkin spice coffee flavor next.“When I saw these items, I thought, ‘Okay, she’s enthused.’” She widens her eyes before she slams down another box.
Okay, I see where she is going. It’s my pumpkin chickpea pasta noodles. At least she didn’t see the pumpkin sauce meant to be paired with it.
“When I unpacked this, I thought, 'Holy shit, my best friend has lost all sense of taste. Call in a Michelin Chef so we can get her all tuned up and back to eating like a proper person should.'"
I sniffle a laugh. “I like pumpkin spice flavor.”
"Would you like it?" Her eyebrows raise up to her hairline. “Liking a flavor is ordering a seasonal coffee. You have pumpkin spiced your pussy.” She flattens her palms on my island as her eyes roam over all the offending items.
“What?” I gasp. Seriously, what is she talking about?
She rounds the island and grabs the box labeled “Shower.” She takes out my pumpkin spice-scented hand soap along with the shower gel.
Okay, maybe I went a little overboard with the pumpkin-themed purchases, but hey, it was a two-for-one deal and that scent? Irresistible.
Now, when it comes to the whole food category, I've got no excuse. I'm a certified pumpkin spice enthusiast. You know, one of 'those people' who sees the word "pumpkin" and automatically reaches for their wallet.
The sad truth? It's my guilty pleasure because, in some weird way, it makes me feel like I have a family again. I'll never confess this to Harper, though. God knows what she'd do. She'd probably abandon her dream job and relocate just to be closer to me.
I've kept so much from my best friend, not because I wanted to but because I had to.
“Body wash.” She states. “This goes all over your body, Poppy. All over. The scent gets in all the nooks and grooves. Who wants a puss puss smelling like pumpkin?”
I cringe, “Don’t say puss puss.”
“That is the least of your worries. No man wants a pumpkin spice-scented pussy.” She retorts with her hands on her hips.
Okay…so I get it. I never thought about it that way.
“Did someone say pumpkin pussy.” A cheerful voice chirps.
Kill me now. It’s Kent.
My hand flies to my mouth in horror; my cheeks are literally going to have third-degree burns from the embarrassment I’ve had to endure today.
I forgot my front door was open. So is Julian's! Please tell me they have not been listening to everything!
Footsteps sound, and I hear Kent getting closer. I look up at my ceiling.Okay, God, now would be a fantastic time for me to faint again. Please, pretty please.
“Yes, pumpkin spice-scented puss puss. Does that sound appetizing to you?” Harper remarks. How the heck is her tone so serious? We’re talking about pumpkin-scented pussy, and her face is straight.
Kent comes closer and leans against my kitchen island; his eyes darken as he looks at Harper and replies, “Depends on whose it is.”
“Not mine,” Harper expresses.
“Then no, I don’t want it.” Kent grins as his eyes drink her in.
Harper grabs the shower wash and waves it, “See, Poppy, no man wants a pumpkin-scented puss puss.”
