Page 23 of The Pumpkin Bride

Tonight she was simply giddy about her freedom from a terrible man.

And a giddy Marigold was a chatty Marigold.

“When can you find me a bath?” she asked.

A grunt sounded in the dark. His way of closing a subject, apparently.

A draft whisked through the thatch, pebbling her skin. That wouldn’t do for a good night’s sleep. The best combination was a cool room and a cozy pile of blankets. Cool she had, cozy pile she did not, and Fuzzle was a poor substitute for a warming pan.

“Do you have another quilt? It’s chilly up here.”

His sigh ballooned the walls of the cottage. “Chest at the foot of the bed.”

Wax rolled down the candle and into the chamberstick’s saucer as she navigated the loft. “How long have you lived here?”

Jask wiped his hands down his face. His palms muffled his voice as he shouted, “I’m trying to sleep.”

The gesture tugged at her memory. Like before, the ghost of . . . something half-recollected . . . remained stuck below the surface.

“Sorry.” She rested her forearms on the railing. “I don’t mean to bother you. Or maybe I do, but only because earlier you said you don’t sleep, and I want to know you better.”

He opened his eyes and locked gazes with her. “You don’t need to know me. And I didn’t say I don’t sleep—I have trouble sleeping. Big difference, Princess.”

“Marigold.” She picked at the soft dribbles of wax. “Do you want me to hush?”

“Very much.”

She pursed her lips. “I have trouble sleeping, too. Talking helps.”

With another cottage-rattling sigh, he tucked his arm behind his head. “Three questions, then silence. Morning comes early.”

That was fair. “How long have you lived here?”

“On the farm?” His big lower teeth pointed toward her as he yawned. “Three years.”

Not long, then. Odd. Who took up pumpkin farming on new land?

“Why pumpkins?” she asked. “Like, does anyone really need pumpkins? They’re more decoration than anything else, aren’t they?”

“Your ivory tower must be nice,” he said. “Pumpkins are cheap and multipurpose. Hard on the outside, soft on the inside, they grow fast, store well, and feed many. In a pinch, they can be used as a projectile weapon.”

He might have just described himself. Except . . . with vines that sprawl along the ground in green and gold, pumpkins flowered and bore fruit in clusters. They don’t grow or survive alone, which is what Jask seemed to prefer.

“Where’s your family?”

He closed his eyes again. “Elsewhere. That’s three. Try not to snore.”

“That’s cheating. You didn’t fully answer that last question.”

“Devil’s in the details.” He rolled to his side. “I never agreed I’d answer to your satisfaction. A valuable lesson if you ever enter a bargain with a sprite.”

Like she needed him to teach her about bad bargains or magical creatures. “It’s still cheating.”

“Good night, Princess.”

“Well, bad night to you, Cheater MacCheaterpants.”

His grumble vibrated the loft as she flopped back into his bedding. After kissing the picture of Bram in her pendant, she curled around Fuzzle. In the snug embrace of the fire-warmed cottage, she offered up thanks that she’d found a soft place to land.