I walked with her to the sliding door, a box of matches in my hand. She leaned against the side of the house and admired our work as I knelt down to light the jack o' lanterns that sat on the back deck. I lowered the flickering matches into the pumpkins one by one and watched them catch the wicks of the tiny tea candles inside. The flames grew and lit up the faces of the four pumpkins.
I was lowering my hand into the last one when I said, "You might have carved yours cleaner, but my pictures are better." I put out the last match and stood up next to her. She slid both arms around my waist and spoke into my ear.
"Maybe, but you looked perfectly fuckable while carving them, so you have me beat."
I smiled in surprise and turned to kiss her. Her arms resting on my waist were warm and the fall breeze that carried through the night air was cool. I reached behind me to open the door and we stepped back inside.
"You're making me like Halloween." I said to her as we cleaned up the mess we'd made with the pumpkins. "That's quite an accomplishment."
"I told you I could get you to love it. And I spared no expense." With the last sentence, she glanced up from the kitchen sink, where she was putting the carving knives in a bowl of soapy water to soak. "To be fair, you held up your end of the deal."
I just chuckled and nodded. I had worn a flannel shirt and brought a gallon of apple cider, just as she'd asked. I warmed some up in a saucepan, stirring it with a wooden spoon and enjoying the quietness of the house. It was usually quiet, sure, but the silence with someone else there was different--more relaxed, less lonely, and yet charged with energy...especially with Abby.
The cider began to steam. I poured it into two mugs and handed one to her. She took it and turned off the kitchen light. For a second, we stood and sipped, not touching, just admiring the four orange, glowing faces just outside the door.
"For a first-timer," she said, "you did just fine." My pumpkins had turned out mediocre compared to the masterpieces that took shape under her knives, but they were okay.
"Hey, I think you've said that to me before."
"Oh my god, shut up," she said, laughing, and pulled me into the living room. The TV sat blank, and our phones were stowed on the kitchen table, far out of reach. She settled herself onto the couch next to me and gestured to the dim, cozy room around us. She'd lit several candles and nestled them together on the end table, and the only other source of light was a table lamp casting a cozy glow on her face. I focused on her mouth. "Just as I promised. No screens, no distractions, just you, me, hot cider, and books." Behind her sat a copy of my favorite poems, and under that a few classic horrors. I leaned over her to pick up the poetry one. She slid a hand underneath my hair and pushed it back, running her fingers through the curls at the nape of my neck. I opened the book and settled my head in her lap.
"So, perfectly fuckable, you said?"
"Without a doubt." The smile that spread across her face was amazing and sexy. One of her hands was still in my hair and the other caressed my jawline. I tipped my head up to meet her fingertips. They grazed my neck and I melted a little more. Her fingertips came to rest at the corner of my mouth and I nudged them with my tongue, prompting her to slide her middle finger into my mouth. She took a deep breath and sighed as I passed my tongue over them, lingering on the taste of her skin. She took another sip from her mug as I released the grip my teeth had on her fingers. She licked her lips and set her cup on the end table with a small thud. "Read to me, gorgeous."
I opened to the most fitting poem, the one I knew she loved. I read as clearly as I could, my mind fogged with thoughts of her.
"O hushed October morning mild,
Thy leaves have ripened to the fall.
Tomorrow's wind, if it be wild,
Should waste them all.
The crows above the forest call,
To-morrow they may form and go.
