So, what have you learned from this little...snafu?

 

So, what have you learned from this little…snafu?”

“I should’ve sharpened my knives.” Blane lifted his head to Kendrick, stuffing down a grin when the old man’s chest puffed out like a chicken.

“That was an embarrassment to His Majesty,” Kendrick said, his words ripe with indignation.

Blane ran his knife along the sharpening stone and rolled his eyes. “It was a baron, not a duke. And hardly anyone important.”

“Nevertheless,” Kendrick said, polishing the silver cutlery with harsh strokes. “You nearly had to pluck that bird apart. It should have been sliced with ease, and Baron Waterly should not have been left waiting.”

Blane could think of a few other things he’d like to slice with ease. He lifted a brow to Kendrick, whom he barely tolerated. But the old man was right; Blane was Master Carver, a distinguished station for a servant of the King.

Speaking of.

The royal guard walked by, flanking the King as he strode from the servant’s passage to the door at the rear of the kitchens; a lean figure clad in fine linen strolling with power. His Majesty’s nose was large; his chin blunt. Blane hated it; hated the features that he found so unsightly.

Hated it even more that those same features graced his own face.

Why couldn’t he have taken after his mother? But no. he looked just like the man that sired him. Which is why he’d been appointed Master Carver so quickly; one of eleven children of the king, but not the queen, that were elevated to senior staff positions. Positions of honor His Majesty said, and Kendrick often echoed. Blane scoffed, running a finger down the razor-sharp edge of his largest carving knife.

He rose, straightening his light blue jacket before wheeling a cart of freshly roasted pheasant to one of the dining rooms. With a face as bland as raw meat, he sliced thin portions and served it to Prince Darian.

And Blane felt it; his half brother’s eyes on him. The cool calculation. The disdain. Blane was one of eleven bastard born. There had been fourteen. Three had died this year alone. Mysterious deaths.

But Blane knew. Knew that Darian didn’t tolerate threats to his power. Which is why he would be Darian’s next target.

The last mistake the prince would make. Poultry wasn’t the only thing Blane was good at carving up…

Pumpkin Spice #9

Last part! If you're new, scroll down or check the sidebar and find part #1! Last installment of Dean and Kacey is below!

*****

35 miles. That's it. 35 miles, and the silence will be over.

I glance over at Dean: eyes straight ahead, knuckles gripping the steering wheel so tight they've almost turned white. The mood between us is so cold, icicles may start forming in the corner of our SUV.

35 miles until we reach his parent's home. Where everyone will be happy and laughing. Except us. 

Gosh, it wasn't supposed to be like this. Two years into marriage, and this is where we are. Barely speaking. At Christmas. I take in a deep breath, and wish I could blow away this tension as I exhale.

Dean glances over at me. "You ok?"

I stare out the window. "I think we both know the answer to that question."

He doesn't answer. Doesn't make another sound until we're pulling into his parent's driveway. The outside lights are on, and garland drapes over the front railing. Festive. Just like his mom to go all out. No doubt she'll have mountains of food inside. Which sounds glorious. I may eat my weight in cookies, and not even care. 

I reach for the door handle.

"Kace."

I stop and glance over at my husband. His brows are furrowed, as they always are when he's worried. Most days I think it's cute. Today I don't have the energy for him. He opens his mouth, but I cut him off. "I know you didn't want to come today. But I appreciate you doing it."

He nods. "I know it means a lot to you."

"It does."

Silence. Again.

Tears sting my eyes. I open my door. "Let's just go in and pretend we're not mad at each other, ok?"

I don't even turn around to see if he follows me inside.

******************************************

Man, this sucks.

I fake a smile at my dad, already forgetting what we were just talking about. Kacey sits ten feet away on the sofa, tension showing on her face as she nibbles on a slice of my Aunt Glady's fruitcake. That'd give it away, if I didn't already know she was so mad at me. Who actually eats Aunt Gladys' fruitcake?

I sigh as Kacey grimaces. She stares at the Christmas tree in the living room, decked out with lights and ornaments I made in grade school. I wonder if she even sees it. If she sees the nativity scene or the half dozen poinsettias scattered around the living room. The candles in the window. Mom goes all out for Christmas; it's one of the reasons Kacey wanted to come today. She loves Christmas. And here I'm ruining it for her.

But I don't know how to stop.

Some holly, jolly Christmas.

I reach up to the door frame and break off a sprig of mistletoe. Kacey doesn't see me coming, so I place a hand on her shoulder. She looks up at me, and my heart crushes under the weight of my love for her.

I dangle the mistletoe in front of her. "I'm sorry I'm such a grinch."

She smiles. Not a full smile. Just a small one. Her eyes are tired, and she'll hate me for suggesting she take a nap later.

But I'll still do it.

I kneel behind her, so my head is right beside hers. "Forgive me?" I whisper.

Her eyes grow wide, and she looks me square in the eyes. "I think we need to leave now."

*******************************************

 

I've been fearing this for months.

 

We left my home in silence, my parent's concerned even amidst my assurances that we were fine. We're fine. We're going to be fine.

 

Oh gosh, I hope we're fine.

 

I glance over at Kacey, tight lipped and staring at nothing.

 

She's been mad at me for weeks. And I don't blame her. All I've been doing is obsessing about bills, making budgets and fretting about debt. Meanwhile she's been sleeping on the couch, dealing with heartburn and a husband who fought with her countless times over a car trip to visit my folks.

 

One day I will tell her I told her so.

 

She sucks in a breath and braces herself on the dashboard. Today is not the day to tell her.

 

"Just fifteen more minutes, baby." I reach over and grip her hand as I dart through traffic like a mad man. Hospital, hospital, hospital. I will not let my wife deliver our baby in our car.

 

 ************************************

I have no idea what time it is. The past twenty four hours have been such a blur. What I do know, is that this bed is wicked uncomfortable, and I cannot wait to go home. Home to our apartment, our coffee, our shower, and a room stocked with bows and ribbons and a million pink things.

I lean my head back against the bed, exhaustion crowding in. I fight it, and watch Dean where he stands next to my bed. He smiles down at the bundle in his arms, and Charlotte's little eyes go wide as she smiles.

"She's such a ham," I say as press my fingers to her fuzzy hair. "Just like her daddy."

Dean grins and cuts his eyes to me. "Just like her mom, you mean." He smiles down at Charlotte. "You're beautiful like your mama, too, baby girl. Which means Daddy needs you to grow up and be a nutcracker to all the boys who'll want you."

I laugh. It feels so good. We haven't laughed in what feels like ages. "I'm sorry I made us go," I tell him. "You were right; we shouldn't have chanced it." What was I thinking, making us go to his parents the day before my due date? Tears rush out. Gah, darn hormones. All I've done for weeks is cry.

Dean bends and kisses my forehead. "Shh. It all turned out all right. No baby born on the interstate."

"No jail for you for going over 100."

He grins. "That cop was very understanding."

I smile, and he climbs onto the bed beside me, tucking Charlotte between us and looping an arm over my shoulder. "Look at my little family," he says.

I lean my head on his shoulder and stare at our daughter. She looks just like her daddy. I'd been hoping for that. "She's the best Christmas present ever," I whisper.

"I made a wish." Dean's voice is thick, cloaked in tears as he kisses me again. "And both of you came true."

Sleep crowds in, and I drift to sleep to the sound of Dean's heartbeat and the sight of Charlotte's face. There could never be a better Christmas.

Pumpkin Spice #8

If you're new, scroll down or check the sidebar to find Pumpkin Spice #1. Eighth installment is below!

*****

 DEAN:

 

I glance at my watch for what must be the fortieth time in five minutes.

 

Bryce rolls his eyes. “Gosh, Dean, you’re making me nervous.” He stands and shoves his hands in his pockets, then takes them out again and readjusts his bowtie. “I feel like a dinosaur in this thing. You couldn’t go for a traditional tux, huh? Just had to go all vintage.”

 

He grins and I try to relax. “You can blame Kacey for that,” I tell him. “She okayed everything.”

 

Bryce walks over and straightens my tie. I bat his hand away, my eye going to my watch again, but he gives me a shove and reaches for the bowtie again, pulling it to the left then back to the right again until he’s satisfied. “Substandard attire on your wedding day is not to be had.” He glances down at my checkered Vans “Does Mom know you’re wearing those?”

 

I grin.

 

Mom pulls open the door as if on cue. She smiles, though it does nothing to relax my nerves. “Just about time,” she says, stopping in front of me. She looks nice. Older than I always seem to think she is. She presses a kiss to my cheek, her perfume smelling like sunshine and grapefruit – the same way she’s smelled for years. She holds my face in her hand for a moment. “You look handsome,” she tells me. “Even with those shoes on.”

 

She sweeps back through the door and I grin again, skimming the fingers on my right hand over the ring finger on my left.

 

“Five more minutes,” Bryce says.

 

I nod. “You got everything?”

 

He pats his pocket. “Ring is in here. I’ll get the preacher to sign the license and take it to the post office first thing Monday morning. You ready?”

 

I nod, glancing down at my left ring finger again. The tattoo I got there just last week covers my finger right where my ring will go, today’s date inked there in black script. It was an idea I’d toyed with for months; some need I had to have something more than just a ring on my finger to remind me of the promise I’ll make to Kace today. My heart speeds up again thinking about the matching tattoo on her own left finger.  Thinking about being in that chair at the tattoo parlor. I’d held her hand and watched in horror as tears flooded her eyes when the guy started. She’d squeezed my hand harder, and out of nowhere I’d been hit with the image of being in that exact position – me holding her hand through pain – as she gave birth to our kid someday. The idea had floored me so hard I thought my heart would stop beating.

 

A knock sounds on the door, snapping me from my thoughts. Mom pokes her head in again. “You ready?”

 

I smile. I’ve never been so ready for anything in my life.

 

*********************************

KACEY:

 

I will throw up on the church’s blue carpet if we do not get this show on the road soon. I glace around the nursery we’ve used as a holding room, my bridesmaids bags mingling with the blocks and toy dinosaurs littering the floor. I fluff the full skirt of my dress, my yellow chuck taylors peaking out beneath the layers of lace and crinoline. Mom nearly had a heart attack when I told her I was wearing them under my dress.

 

“Time to line up,” Lacy tells me, pulling me to my feet and scooting around me to smooth down my gown.

 

Finally.

 

I glance at the tattoo on my finger, delight singing through me at the sight of it. Mom had nearly had a heart attack about that, too. “He’s changed you,” she’d said. “No, Mom,” I’d countered. “He’s just made me not scared to be who I really am.”

 

I follow Lacy to the church foyer, a sudden calm cooling my nerves. You’d think I was standing in line for the post office, not waiting to walk down the aisle for my wedding. I’m so aware of everything: the smell of the church carpet, and Lacy’s gardenia perfume, and the grapefruit body spray I’d spritzed on this morning.

 

Guitar music floats through the closed doors that open to the sanctuary. A door beside me opens, and my dad walks out. He smiles at me, the wrinkles in his face making him look old but regal. I smooth down my dress again. “How do I look?”

 

His eyes get misty.

 

My own throat starts to close up. “Dad, you can’t.”

 

He puts a hand on either side of my face. “You look horrid,” he says. “Substandard and only okay, and nothing at all like the best thing I’ve seen in  my life.”

 

I smile. “I love you, Daddy.”

 

He plants a kiss on my nose, and before I know it, we’re walking through the doors, people standing on either side of us and Dean’s head popping up at the front of the church. I grin and my heart stretches so wide it may snap under the sheer joy I feel as I walk toward Dean. 

 

It all blurs. 

Time. 

Words. 

The solo one of Dean's friends plays on the guitar. 

 

All I know is Dean. He slips a ring over my finger, and I put a larger band over his. Then I'm his wife, and his lips are claiming mine, and there's nothing I wouldn't do for this man in front of me. My husband. My best friend. And I'm so thankful for seemingly pointless jobs, and careers that don't match what we majored in, and for guys taking the chance on girls who may not say yes. All the things we think that make our twenties so hard, and they turned out to be the best things of my life. Dean grips my hand and raises it in the air as he lets out a whoop that sets our guests to chuckling. He kisses my knuckles, tucks my hand under his elbow, and pulls me down the aisle toward the rest of our lives. 

Pumpkin Spice #7

If you're new, scroll down or check the sidebar on the right to find Pumpkin Spice #1. Part 7 is below!

*****

DEAN

Atlanta sunshine beats down from the sky, incinerating the pavement outside the airport. Man, I do not miss July in this city. Pulling my sunglasses down, I adjust the bag slung over my shoulder, then go outside and hail a cab.

 

I give the cabbie the address, check for the fiftieth time that the ring is still in my pocket, and take a deep breath. The cabbie glances in the mirror, as if assessing me to make sure I'm not a terrorist or a crazy person. Sorry to disappoint, my man. I'm just a guy on his way to propose to his girlfriend.

 

I've never been so terrified in all my life.

 

Forcing myself to relax, I rest my head against the back of the seat and close my eyes. This will work. Kacey has no idea I'm here. I have a plan, and know where to find the key to her apartment that her roommate hid for me. Lacy already texted this morning that Operation Platinum, as she's dubbed it, is going off without a hitch.

 

Nothing to worry about.

 

I take another deep breath and think of Kacey. And immediately smile. I always wondered what kind of woman I would end up with. I never would have predicted that a girl from work would destroy me - in the best possible way - like Kacey has. I'm so in love with this woman. With her harsh look of defiance when she’s unwilling to compromise. With the way she grips her coffee mug with two hands instead of using the handle. With how she whoops and hollers and tackles me when she manages to beat me at MarioKart. She puts up with me. Remains silent when I rant. Deals with me when my temper flares and I act like a possessed gorilla. Believes in me in ways I never imagined someone could.

A text pops up on my phone. “Movie theatre power out. Movie cancelled. Going 2 B early.”

Dread explodes in me. There's still so much to do. Adapt, Dean. It’s going to be fine. My heart beats like a drum and I’m sweating so much I’ll have to change my shirt. Change shirt. Change shirt. Change shirt. I strum my fingers on my knee , then pull a twenty from my pocket. I lean forward and put the cash where the driver can see it. “Any chance you can go faster?”

 

*****************************************************

KACEY

I follow Lacy out of the movie theater. So much for that plan. There are no clouds in the sky, just scorching Atlanta sunshine. I glance to the men in hard hats working on the new building across the street. Gah, it sucks to be them in this heat. "Well," I ask Lacy. "Now what?"

Lace looks up from her phone. "We could try another theater."

"Nah. Let's go to the mall and bum around."

She raises her brows at my suggestion. I hate the mall. "Looking for something in particular?"

"No. But malls have air conditioning."

She laughs. "Sounds good." Her fingers fly over her phone again. 

"I thought you said no work this weekend," I tell her. "That means no emails."

She smiles and tucks her phone back in her purse. "You're right. Let's go."

The mall is bustling with people trying to escape the heat. After a couple hours of window shopping for things neither of us can afford, I suggest we go back and order pizza and binge on Netflix shows. I nearly wrestle Lace to the ground when she pulls her phone out for the twentieth time this afternoon. I'm beginning to wonder if she has some secret guy friend she doesn't want me to know about.

"I'm going to go check our mail," Lace tells me when we pull into our parking lot. She heads toward the mailboxes. Why in the world didn't she just drive? She's crazy to walk in this infernal heat.

I open our door and thank heaven for air conditioning. Dropping my purse on the table in the entry way, I head to the living room. A picture frame I don't recognize sits on our coffee table. I pick it up. Inside is a drawing, something crude but lovely at the same time. I trace my fingers over the stick figure boy and the girl beside him, a red heart drawn in between. My conversation with Dean two weeks ago flashes back. A colored pencil drawing, I had told him. I remember putting stamps on that package of colored pencils, satisfaction filling me as I imagined Dean opening it and finding me holding fast to our joke. And here he made a drawing, and must have sent it down to Lacy. Funny I didn’t recognize it yesterday. She must’ve checked the mail and gotten this out then.

I smile and set the frame down, then kick off my flip flops and head upstairs. Something trailing on the floor stops me. Bits of paper litter our downstairs hall. What in the world? Lace is such a neat freak, there's no way she left this out. I bend to scoop the papers up, then stop. They're paper cut outs. Of shoes.

 

Yellow Chuck Taylors, just like mine. And checkered Vans, just like Dean wears.

 

My heart picks up speed, and a weird sensation grips me. The paper shoes lead to our back patio. I follow them, and open our back door.

 

Dean smiles as soon as I step outside.

 

Shock ripples through me. He's here.

 

Here on my patio.

 

And dropping down to kneel on one knee.

 

I gasp and cover my mouth with my hand as hope blossoms from secret places inside me. Dean. My rock. My somewhere safe. The place I can be me in all my horrible glory, and still feel completely accepted. Loved.

 

His gaze never wavers, and warmth cuts a ribbon of love through my heart. He holds his hand out to me, and I step forward and take it.

 

He smiles, a grin I want to wake up to every morning for the rest of my life.

 

"Kacey." His voice wavers, and he blinks his eyes rapid fast, clearing the moisture gathering in them. Tears are already flowing down my cheeks.

 

"Kacey," he begins again. "I had my life all planned out. Everything I wanted. Everything I hoped to have." He smiles at me. "Then I found I couldn't get this girl I worked with out of my head."

 

I grin, my tears pooling in the corners of my smile.

 

"I never imagined you. Or how good it would be to have you love me." Dean reaches into his pocket with his other hand. He opens a box and holds it out to me. "I love you, Kace." He takes a shaky breath. "Will you marry me?"

 

A year ago I never thought this would be possible. Love, which always seemed so elusive, came out of nowhere and hit me like a bullet, hard and fast. I smile at Dean - love exploding in my heart and joy spreading down to my toes - and nod my head. "Yes." I laugh and collapse into his open arms. "Yes, yes, yes."

 

He kisses me, our mouths a mess of salty tears and laughter. Joy bursts inside of me, leaving a shimmery covering of hope. This is what love is. Joy. Hope. Me and Dean.

Pumpkin Spice #6

If you're new, scroll down or check the sidebar and find Pumpkin Spice #1. Part #6 is below! 

KACEY

July in Atlanta can be hellish. I pad down the stairs on my bare feet and glance at the thermostat. Stupid thing says it’s 72 in here. My fingers itch to crank it down, but at this rate our electric bill is going to be higher than rent this month. “You still there?” I ask Dean.

“Yep.”

I cradle the phone to my ear and plop onto the couch. “It’s hotter than the hinges of hell down here.”

Dean chuckles. “I definitely don’t miss the heat.”

Who would? Though, there isn’t much that Dean misses about Georgia. His job in Columbus is going so well, and now he spends weekends going to his nephew’s soccer games and poking around his new city. “Our electric bill last month was close to two hundred," I tell him.

“Yikes.”

No witty comeback. He’s so tight lipped today. “You thinking about work?”

“Nope.”

Of course not. No fretting from Mr. “I never worry.” I picture Dean’s face in my head and smile. I’ll admit it - I’m obsessed. I think about him first thing when I wake up each morning. I text him on my lunch breaks. I’m both giddy and so at ease with the two of us. Being with Dean’s as comfortable as flannel pajama pants and hot chocolate.

 

“So do you think you’ll be able to come down for Fourth of July?” I ask him.

“Not sure.”

 

"Is your family getting together?"

 

He doesn't say anything. I look at my phone to see if I lost him. It says we're still connected. "Dean?"

 

"What's that?"

 

"I asked if your family was getting together for the Fourth?"

 

"Oh, I'm not sure."

 

I nod my head and chew on my lip, my heart racing underneath my tank top. The Fourth is two weekends away and he doesn't know what he's doing? He doesn’t seem bothered over us not seeing each other that often. He can either come down, or he can't. Why doesn't he know?

 

"Well, hopefully I get to see you," I tell him.

 

"Yeah."

 

Silence. Ok. So no Fourth of July. Or the weeks before. Or the weeks after, probably. Gah, adapt Kacey. Things are not going to always go the way you want.

 

"Hey," Dean says, "I need to give my sister a call, so I'm gonna let you go, ok?"

 

I bite my lip, his suddenness to get off the phone slicing my heart. "Ok."

 

"Love you, Kace."

 

I nod again. "Love you, too."  I end the call and stare up at my ceiling. Boyfriend distracted and hundreds of miles away. And here I sit, sweating through my clothes.

 

This absolutely sucks.

DEAN

“You still there?” Kacey asks.

“Yep.” I scroll down the web page, not content with what I’m finding.

“It’s hotter than the hinges of hell down here.”

I chuckle. “I definitely don’t miss the heat.”

I picture her, as I always do, when we talk. In the winter I’d see her stretched across her bed, hunkered down between her flannel sheets, her pj's on and her hair a mess. Now she’s probably sweating through Atlanta summer heat in those adorable old gray shorts she has. I picture her legs in those shorts and smile, then click on a few pics on the page I'm on. 

“Our electric bill last month was close to two hundred.”

“Yikes,” I say. Hmm. Nothing here. I close that tab and return to Google, my determination building.  Nothing gets me amped up like Kacey does.

“You thinking about work?”

I smile and click on another webpage. “Nope.” I glance at the list I scrawled out on a post it during my lunch breaks this week and type in the last place I know to look.

“So do you think you’ll be able to come down for Fourth of July?”

 

The Fourth. That’s only two weeks away. I’d rather wait until later. No sense to rush. “Not sure.” I scroll through the webpage I have pulled up, and click on a few things.

 

"Is your family getting together?"

 

I zoom in on an image. Now that one I like.

 

"Dean?"

 

My brain trips, racing to remember what we were just talking about. "What's that?"

 

"I asked if your family was getting together for the Fourth?"

 

"Oh, I'm not sure," I tell her, adapting my tone because her voice has that bite to it that tells me she’s stressed or worried.

 

"Well, hopefully I get to see you."

 

"Yeah." I click on the image I'm looking at and bring it up on a separate page. Then I click my other open tabs. There. These five. There’ll all good, and within what I can afford. Maybe in a month I'll have things ready? I bookmark all the pages. "Hey, I need to give my sister a call, so I'm gonna let you go, ok?"

 

"Ok."

 

I stare at my computer screen. "Love you, Kace."

 

"Love you, too." 

I end the call and pull up my older sister’s number, and stare at the diamond on my computer screen. I can’t pick out a ring for my girlfriend and not get some female input.

"Hey little brother."

“Hey Becca, you free this weekend to help me with something?”

*********************************************************

 

 

Hey baby. How'd karate go tonight? You assassinate anyone yet?

 

Not til next week. Tonight we sparred. It did not go well.

 

How come?

 

Let's just say my partner is much better than I am. I have a huge bruise on my thigh.

 

Ouch.

 

 It spans half my leg. And is in the shape of Greenland.

 

You know the shape of Greenland? Man, my woman is smart. And tough. If there were some sort of competition that was a cross between the Olympics and Jeopardy, you would dominate

You know how to melt a girl’s heart, don’t you?

Well, one girl anyway :) Sorry about your bruise

 *Shrugs* It’s body art. Pistachio green that will turn purple before too long.

Sounds beautiful. If I had colored pencils, I would attempt to draw this bruise in all its glory.

 I’ll mail you colored pencils. Then you’ll be bound to your promise.

You want a pic of your bruise that bad?

 Mostly I want to make you draw me a picture. You can surprise me with what the picture is of. ;)

 

You're high maintenance.

 

 I am worthy of the maintenance you must perform. 

 

Ha. I guess I have to agree with you ;)

 

About to start driving. Call you later after my dinner tonight?

 

Looking forward to it :) Love you

Love you

 

*************************************

 I throw my phone on the couch and reach for a pen. My packing list is scribbled on a post it note:

 

RING!

Ticket

rental car confirmation

Don't forget RING!!

 

I scrawl Colored Pencil Drawing underneath. 

 

Surprise me, she had said. My girl's getting the surprise of her life in two weeks.

 

And man, I hope it's a good one.

 

And that she says yes.