Pumpkin Spice #2

If you're new, check out the Blog Archive on the right if you're on a PC or scroll down on your phone to find Pumpkin Spice #1 to read the first installment. Installment #2 is below!

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Is it sad I’ve never been to a fall festival before? I must admit, I’m rather enthralled. There are buckets of mums everywhere, pumpkins peek out from every booth we pass, and this entire street smells like cinnamon and honey. Granted, the reason I’m so enchanted may have less to do with the autumn goodies, and more to do with the adorable man strolling beside me.

Dean picks up a pair of hand knitted gloves from the booth we’re at. They have Batman logos knitted all over, and from the way they cover half his hand, I’m guessing they’re intended for a six year old. He holds up his hands. “What do you think?”

“You have need to keep your fingers warm in Georgia?” It’s October but it’s still in the upper sixties right now, despite the fact the sun is about to set.

“I have to protect my assets.” He wiggles his fingers. “These babies have helped me secure the top spot in the Mario Cart wars.”

I arch an eyebrow. “The what?”

Dean smiles sheepishly. “Some buddies and me get together once a month for video game wars."

“Wow. Geek much?”

Dean flashes a grin before I can hate my big mouth for having a mind of its own. “Oh, I am the Mario Cart master.”

“You should add that to your resume.”

Dean puts the Batman gloves back on the table. “How do you know it’s not already on there?”

Now it’s me grinning like an idiot. We exit the booth and reach the end of the street. 

“Well, I guess that’s about it.” Dean stuffs his hands in his pockets and looks back at the rows of booths and vendors lining the street. “You sure you don’t want to go back for that crocheted tea caddy?”

“Tempting. But I’ll pass. Of course, we can go back for that stuffed raccoon if you still have your heart set on him.” I shudder even joking about it. Who sets up a taxidermy booth at a Fall Festival?

Dean arches his eyebrows in mock innocence. “I’m telling you, it would make the best gag gift ever for my mom.”

I chuckle, while inside my heart oozes and puddles in my brown boots. My gosh, the man loves his mother. And not in a creepy way. But in a he’s-told-me-about-all-the-jokes-he’s-pulled-and-the-funny-postcards-he-sends-her way. I mean, really, tomorrow I could wake up a fungus on Dean’s big toe and be so content with my life.

If only I knew how he felt. We’re here, on a date, but so far I have no idea how he thinks it’s going. We’ve talked and I’ve enjoyed it. But he hasn’t held my hand. So far, all I've been in Dean's world is account manager he works. The one who wears conservative pants and cardigans and who keeps pictures of her nephews on her bulletin board at work. I still have no idea how he ever liked me enough to ask me out. He doesn’t know me. Whereas I am one step away from becoming Dean’s stalker.

Dean starts walking toward a playground across the street. I follow him, blindly of course, because evidently my backbone and my wit took a vacation together somewhere tonight.

 

Dean steps up onto the play structure. Then he turns and offers me a hand. “Come on.”  My fingers only touch his for the brief moment it takes him to hoist me up, but they pulse with energy after he drops them.

 

I must be twelve trapped in a twenty eight year old's body. We climb until we reach the top of the highest portion. 

 

Dean glances at me. "You scared of heights?"

 

I smile and jump the five feet or so to the ground.

 

"Nice dismount," Dean calls.

 

I throw out my arms like a gymnast, prompting a laugh from him. I settle into a swing and watch him climb the tallest slide. I'm on a date with my boss. And it's not weird like I thought it would be. 

 

Dean’s so together at work. Decisive but not a bully. Thoughtful. Firm. Smart. Everyone likes him. He’s so grown up at the office. And here he’s streaking down the slide like a teenager. The juxtaposition of his personality is such a turn on, I may very well start panting soon.

We walk back to his car. Butterflies start a waltz in my stomach. It’s only 8:30. He hasn’t mentioned doing anything else. I take a breath and pray he’ll suggest going for coffee. Something. Anything. My gosh, this date cannot be over before nine. What sort of dud am I?

We reach his car and Dean unlocks it without a word. I crawl in and wonder if I could sink through the floorboards to the other side of the world.

Dean fishes his keys out of his pocket. “So Kacey, if I invited you to my house for a lesson in Mario Cart, would you think me a total geek and make an excuse? Or would you come?”

Oh. Gosh. 

 

I turn and bite my lip, then look at him. “You promise not to hate me when I get so good that I start to beat you?”

Dean grins and starts the car. “Oh man. This is gonna be fun.”

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Dean’s apartment is not at all what I imagined.

I expected, I don’t know, a solar powered tv perpetually set to CNN and a kitchen stocked with granola. Dean always struck me as a little crunchy. And I am definitely not a granola dipping tree-hugger. My idea of time in the outdoors is laying by the pool.

But no, we can blow away those misconceptions. For starters, Dean’s TV is massive. And there are three bookcases stacked with nothing but DVD’s. A bag of jelly beans rests on the coffee table, and there are two beanbags on the floor and a Star Wars poster on the wall.

“Wow, cool apartment.”

Dean grins. “You say that like you’re surprised.”

“Well,” I shrug. “You are a boy.”

He smiles. “Last time I checked.”

I swear, I can feel my cheeks flame red just at the idea of anyone checking to make sure Dean is a boy. Get it together, Kacey.

“Want a drink?” he asks.

“Sure.” I follow him into the kitchen. Simple, not overly tidy. Coffee pot, pizza box by the trash, nothing cutesy.

Dean opens the fridge. “What kind of soda do you want? Oh,” he turns back to me, “you probably want diet, which I don't have.”

Puh-lease. I shake my head. “Diet soda is carbonated filth. Hand me a Dr. Pepper.”

He tosses me a can. “I was hoping you’d be the type of girl who lives on the edge.”

I pop open my soda. “What, if I knitted or had a cat, you’d be turned off and end the night early?”

“One cat, no. But cats plural might have done it.” He leans against the counter and stares at me while I think of names for the babies we’ll have someday.

“Ready to play?” he asks.

I lasso my hormones under control. “Lead the way.”

Mario kart, it turns out, is actually loads of fun. And mind-blowingly frustrating. At one point I stand up and scream like a banshee.

“Easy there tiger,” Dean says.

I turn and glare at his confident smirk. “The wheels on that car are faulty. Luigi should totally file a lawsuit.”

Dean chuckles. “All a matter of training. You’ll be beating me soon, Kace, and then this’ll be no fun for me.”

Kace. My gosh, he’s nicknamed me. I might as well hand over my panties right now.

A grape soda, several hours, and dozens of Mario Kart losses later, and we finally call it a night. Dean drives me back to my apartment. I swear, my hands could not be sweating more. I am a woman he works with, dripping in mediocrity. Other girls are funnier, prettier, smarter, thinner. 

I'm just me. My hair has fallen flat I can tell, and I wonder for a moment if I should’ve gone to the bathroom while I was there to at least check my hair or something. But vanity can be the death of any woman. I learned my lesson in college, after a bottle of self tanner left me looking like an oompa-loompa. So I resist the urge to flip down the mirror and check, and just hope he's still on whatever drug that made him think I'm attractive in the first place. 

 

Dean walks me to my door. “Tonight was fun.”

“It was. Thanks for the lesson. Maybe next time I’ll beat you.” Dangerous Kace, implying there’ll be a next time when he hasn’t said anything.

Dean smiles, then takes a step toward me. He leans so close I can feel his warm breath on my face. I glance at his lips, wanting him to kiss me and terrified of it at the same time. He's my boss. And I have a horrible history of liking guys who aren't as into me as I think they are. I stare up at Dean. 

His lips hover inches from my face, and stretch into a grin. “Maybe next time, I’ll let you win.”