Page 37 of A Heart On A Sleeve

“He loses every year, that’s not really saying much,” Max chimes in before stealing a pumpkin cookie off of a cooling rack and promptly getting his hand smacked by Mabel.

“Olive, don’t listen to them. I’m the winner every year, and I expect it won’t be changing anytime soon,” Sam’s dad whispers conspiratorially as he walks past me to refill his cider.

“I guess we’ll have to see . . .” I start to tell them that I’m a tough judge and they won’t be able to sway me, but then Bridget rolls in with a tray of biscuits that smell like heaven and rightfully distracts the group.

“Sorry, I was waiting for these to finish baking. What did I miss?” she asks, setting the pan on the counter and sloughing off her coat.

“Nothing. Olive is judging this year because she’s never carved a pumpkin before,” Nora announces nonchalantly as my stomach drops. They must think I’m so ridiculous.

“Oh, cool. Wait . . . why not?” Bridget asks, turning to look at me.

“Uh, it’s just not something I was ever—”

“It’s none of your business.” Sam jumps in to save me from having to answer. “Should we get started before we lose all daylight, or does someone want to lose a finger?” I’m grateful that I don’t have to explain my mother to his perfectly normal family.

“Yes, let’s do that.” Mabel takes off her apron and makes her way out back, the rest of us filing out after her.

Everyone takes their place at their respective pumpkins and begins the process of removing the stems and scooping guts. Peering into the backyard, I see what every family I’ve ever dreamed up looks like.

“Come on, Olive. Don’t you want to learn?” Sam asks, winking at me.

I approach him and look into the hole he’s made.

It’s a web of orange slime mixed with seeds.

My arm tingles, and I can only imagine what’s being displayed.

Sam grabs my hand and sticks it inside, gooey wet mush coats my fingers.

I sort of love it. We take turns scooping.

Sam takes over once I reach the point of needing to roll up my sweater, which we both know I can’t do.

“You’re carving this one, just for fun.” He hands me a small serrated knife with a fluorescent orange handle. I glance between the knife and the pumpkin, unsure what to do. When he notices he wraps his hand around mine and helps me jam the knife into the gourd.

“What now?”

“Just seesaw it back and forth to make whatever shape you want for the eyes.”

I do as I’m instructed and minutes later have a fairly decent pair of ovals staring back at me. I move lower, attempting to make the mouth when Mabel approaches.

“You’re doing great, hunny,” she says, patting my shoulder and observing my work.

“It’s not award winning, but I think it’s cute,” I respond, smiling slightly. It’s actually hideous, with two lopsided eyes and a jagged mouth, but it’s my first.

I take a minute to notice everyone finishing up. Some of their pumpkins have beautifully carved faces while others are etched with words. How did they all get so good at this?

“Want to see mine?” Sam whispers in my ear.

I nod at him, waiting for the big reveal, when a giant glob of pumpkin guts lands directly on top of my head.

“What the fud—” I begin to shout fudge , when the next wave smacks the front of my sweater and the sound of Nora cackling rings in my ear.

I look up, making eye contact with all of them for a brief second.

Seven smiling faces greet me before all hell breaks loose.

Like a frenzied food fight, pumpkin innards begin to fly.

Everyone is being pelted with the gooey substance, and all they can do is laugh.

Realizing I better get in on the action and quick, I grab a handful and throw it with all my might at Sam.

Unfortunately, he dodges it and it lands with a loud wet smack against Mabel’s cheek. Shoot!

“I’m so sorry,” I say quickly, but instead of being mad, she doubles over laughing and then launches a handful in my direction.

After several minutes of flying pumpkin guts and precarious hits on Sam’s family, his dad announces that the annual pumpkin smear has come to a close.

Each of us is covered in an array of pumpkin flesh and seeds.

My sweater is matted so thick with it, I think the best course of action will be tossing it straight in the trash.

“Okay, everyone, time to get changed for dinner,” Mabel says.

I look at Sam, my eyes practically popping out of my head.

He gives me a reassuring look then says, “Ma, since we were surprising Olive, she didn’t bring a change of clothes. I’m going to run her home to get cleaned up.” Sam nods toward the gate in the fence, signaling where we exit.

“Oh, Sammy, I’m sure we can find something for her to wear,” Mabel puts her hands on her hips.

“No really, Ma. It’s okay. I’ll take her home to get cleaned up.” Something transpires between the two of them, an unspoken understanding.

“Fine, if you insist. But you two are not leaving until I’ve packed you up some stew and biscuits. I’ll be right back,” Mabel says, already starting toward the kitchen to get our food.

“Mom doesn’t let anyone leave hungry. It’ll just take a minute.” Sam looks at me reverently, and my heart melts even more. This man and his amazing family are so kind, almost too nice. I feel like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Mabel rushes out with a huge container of beef stew, a foil-covered plate of biscuits, and a sack filled with cookies.

We couldn’t eat this all in one sitting even if we hadn’t consumed food in a week.

We make our way to the truck, and I slide in gingerly in an attempt to not muck up the interior too badly.

It’s a short drive, filled with far too much laughter over my initial reaction to being pelted with pumpkin guts.

Sam explained it’s a yearly tradition, and one that is never shared with new significant others until it happens.

Reflecting on it, I have to say it was one of the most freeing experiences of my life.

The ability to throw caution to the wind and just let loose isn’t a privilege I’ve had often.

We arrive at my house and make our way inside, undressing in the entryway so that I don’t have to peel dried pumpkin off the floor for weeks to come.

Conveniently, Sam had a bag with a change of clothes with him.

I guess he knew to come prepared. Down to our final layers, we walk to the bathroom, Sam’s lips on my neck and his hands wrapped around my belly.

“Do you, uh, do you want to go first?” I ask, turning to face him after I set the shower to hot. He presses a kiss to my lips, and I feel it all the way to my toes.

“How about together? I mean, if you want to.” I can see the trepidation take over his expression as he asks me. Of course I want to. He’s like a walking underwear model with his ripped muscles and beautiful tattoos. I kiss him again, stretching on my tiptoes to meet his pillow-soft lips.

“Is that a yes?” He peeks at my arm briefly, and my stomach bottoms out. I know it’s a natural reaction, one I’d probably do too, if the roles were reversed. But it also gives me pause—is this how it’s going to be now?

His face sinks when he notices that I caught him. “Hey, I’m good with whatever you want. I just want to make you happy.” My heart skips a beat. I’m massively overthinking this. I need to live in the moment—let go and have fun.

I tentatively bring my hand to the elastic at his waist, deciding to seize the moment instead of running scared.

I tug his boxer briefs down slowly, admiring his impressive length as it springs up toward his abs.

Standing and carefully reaching around, I unclasp my bra, letting it coast to the floor.

A myriad of pumpkin seeds fall with it, causing us both to laugh.

“I guess I was saving those for later,” I manage in between wheezing.

“Come on, baby.” He leads me into the shower and under the spray.

Hot water cascades over my skin in direct contradiction to the cool air of my cottage.

My nipples pebble and goose bumps breakout across my skin.

Sam runs his hands up and down my arms before leaning in and kissing the tender spot behind my ear, then down my neck and onto my breasts.

Any chill I had evaporates instantaneously as my center becomes slick with need.

“You are the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen,” Sam growls out quietly as he steps back to drink me in.

I take a second to squirt some body wash in my hands and rub them together, creating a lather.

Stepping forward so the spray is hitting my back, I run my hands from his neck, down his arms, and across his abs, landing on his impressive cock.

I take my time feeling the hard planes of his body under my fingertips, careful to get all remains of pumpkin off his skin.

Sam hisses out a slow breath when I wrap my hand around him and tug slightly.

Quickly, he peels my fingers off of him and says, “My turn.”

He turns me around, so the water is splashing my front, and grabs the bodywash, putting a generous amount in his palm. Sam steps up close behind me, his cock pressing into my backside as he wraps his arms around me and covers me in suds. I can’t help but grind back against him just slightly.

“You better stop or I might not be able to avoid taking you in this shower,” he grounds out in my ear.

I press back harder, rocking my hips gently in a circular motion. “I dare you,” I challenge him, feeling brave and oddly comfortable in my own skin from how he looks at me.

He spins me around forcefully, and my back hits the shower wall. Our tongues tangle in a sexier-than-sin kiss, and I wrap a leg around him, desperate for friction between my legs.

“Nope, I haven’t tasted you yet,” Sam grumbles before quickly dropping to his knees and placing one of my legs on his shoulder. He looks up at me with hooded eyes. I think I might lose it right here and now just from his need reflecting back at me.

Sam wastes zero time diving in, flattening his tongue against me and moving it back and forth in purposeful flicks.

He swirls it deep into my core, dipping inside me as a growl catches in his throat.

The sight of him buried between my legs is enough to do me in, but when he moves higher and lightly nips my clit, I almost lose it.

The momentary pain followed by the soothing sweep of his tongue makes sparks wink behind my eyes.

I bite down on my lip, drawing blood. It feels so good, I know I’m losing control as my legs start to shake.

“Oh my God,” I mumble as he suctions my clit, focusing all his attention exactly where I need it.

A scream rips out of me. “Sam, holy hell, Sam!” And then I float into another world.

Sam stands, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, and leans in to kiss me. I just came harder than I think I ever have, but with his mouth on mine, I’m ready to do it again.

“I-I need you, Sam,” I say, wrapping my leg around his waist again and grinding into him.

“Are you sure? I’m clean, I got tested a few months ago and there hasn’t been anyone since.”

“I’m sure, and me too. A year ago, no one since.” My stomach riots at the confession, but if there’s a time for transparency, it’s now. Sam doesn’t acknowledge the admission. He simply kisses me again before pulling away.

“Fuck! I don’t have anything with me,” he says, shaking his head and running a hand down his face.

“The pill, I’m on the pill, and I take it religiously. We’re good,” I rush out, kissing him with all I have, hoping he doesn’t turn me away.

Sam spins, turns off the shower, steps out, and reaches over to grab each of us a towel.

“Is that a no?” I inquire, nervous that somehow he’s going to walk away right now. The thought is always lingering in my mind: When is he going to realize I’m bound to disappoint him?

“Not a no. I’m just not going to bury myself in you for the first time while attempting not to slip in the shower.

We’re going to bed.” He says it matter-of-factly, like he knows exactly what he wants and how he wants it.

My skin ignites in tiny vibrations. The thought of being with him in this way turns me into an inferno.

I step out of the shower and onto the mat as Sam wraps me in a towel. Before I know it, he’s wrapped his arms around me and hoisted me over his shoulder like I weigh nothing at all, carrying me into the bedroom.