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Head shaking, I fiddle with my pumpkin necklace—a habit I’ve developed since I started wearing it each day. “Your assistant says it is October 7.”
“Ah, October 7, then. It has been getting cooler. The leaves will change soon. Fall is wholly upon us. Apple picking season. Shall we make plans for more pies soon?”
He seems overly eager. He must’ve really enjoyed making pumpkin pies last month. “You disappoint me.”
“I know. I lie awake at night attempting to locate a cure for that specific and raging condition. Thus far, my efforts are coming up fruitless. My final resort is to take a class on Bullying 101, but the semester has already started, so…” He catches sight of my stern expression, and the humored tilt to his lips settles. “Is this a serious thing?”
“Of course.”
“Truly?”
“Not even a little bit.”
He relaxes. “Please elaborate.”
Sighing dramatically, I lean back, cross my arms, and look out the window. “It’s October 7. Which means it is not between May and September. Do you know why this is relevant, or do you hate me?”
His mouth opens, and many thoughts flicker through his blue eyes. Finally, he says, “Is there a third option?”
“No.”
He murmurs a swear. “Marcella, you know I’m quite entirely useless without you. Is the information you’re looking for in any of the memos you send me? On my schedule, perhaps? We started dating in late August, so it can’t be a three month anniversary I missed.”
“For the record, you don’t need to celebrate every month-iversary. That is weird. And goes beyond the amount of privilege I am able to tolerate.”
He splays his fingers over his mouth, entirely pensive. “Marcella,” he states, “I must earn my good boyfriend points somehow.”
“An entire eighty dollar Publix cake every month is not the way.”
“You don’t like watching flowers die. And jewelry all the time is too generic. And you weren’t all that fond of my forcing you to buy so many clothes…”
“You can figure it out. No more cakes. No more anything. For a few months. At least. I’m all gifted out, and I have access to all your money now, so if I want something enough, I’ll get it myself.”
His lip juts, and he plants his fist against his cheek. “When are you going to want something, exactly? I’m still waiting on that one.”
“Three nights ago, I bought a pizza with the card connected to your account. I bought two, actually. Plus bread sticks. And a soda. And I had them delivered to the house. So I even paid the delivery fee. Even though I not only had food at home, but I also had a Teresa who would have made me food if I’d asked. Or if I texted you to ask for me. Because I have a mental block where it concerns asking people to do things for me like that, and you, clearly, do not.”
“The sixty-two dollar charge has broken me, I promise you.”
“We are off topic.”
He smiles. It’s blinding, per usual. “May I have a hint as to what the topic is?”
I fill my lungs with so much air in order to release it all in a judgmental sigh. “The weather is cooling. The Summer Burn Ban has lifted.”
“Bonfire,” he says. “You want a bonfire.”
Letting my lips pinch, I stare at him. “I’m actually very offended you caught on so quickly. You were supposed to be clueless until the last second.”
“I’m so sorry, my dear. It has been seven entire days since we could be legally burning things in mass outdoors.” He splays his fingers against his face, grieving. “I have utterly failed you.”
I sniff. “See? Now you’re getting it.”
“Is it a good time to tell you that I’ve been planning a bonfire since you mentioned it, and I already have a list of things we probably need that you can consider or merge with whatever plans you have?”
My haughty act falters. “You…” I press my lips together and scan him from the tips of his pretty hair down his scandalously open shirt. “Are giant pallets on the list? So we can stack them all up? And then set them on fire?”
“I was going to box stack oak logs.”
