The Cottage on Pumpkin and Vine Quotes

“He leaned down and kissed her stomach, her hip bones, while his big hands held her in place. Then his mouth was on her, covering her, licking over her clit.
She arched up, crying out as his tongue slid over her folds, making her mindless and crazy. She clutched the pillow, burying her head into the softness as he sucked and licked, nipping over her skin.
She clamped her thighs around his head. Whimpered.
He was going to drive her right over the edge.
His tongue lapped over her clit.
"Jack, stop," she said, her voice harsh and panting. "I'm going to... God... No... I want..."
He didn't stop. Didn't ease up. He just pushed her harder.
His tongue. It was magic.
The condom packet slid off her stomach as she planted her feet and rocked into him. Giving up, surrendering to his will and determination. Everything that made Jack, Jack.
She coiled tight and then she exploded. She bit her lip, stifling her moans as she rode out wave after wave of delicious sensation.
She couldn't think, couldn't put together a sentence, but then he was on her, over her. His palm on her neck, his fingers on her jaw, twisting her face to meet his.
His mouth covered hers.
He tasted like sex.
And lust.
His grasp was tight on her jaw, and the way he kissed her, devoured her, sucked her right back under.
It was a raw, dirty kiss that consumed her. Her fingers came up to where he held her, and she dug her nails into his wrists.
He growled against her lips, biting her, sucking.
And the kiss went on and on and on.
He finally pulled away, grabbed the condom, and tore open the package. He tossed it onto her body again, ridding himself of his sweats, and then he was naked.
And she could only gape at him. Her gaze wide.
He had the best cock she'd ever seen in her life. Long and thick. A work of goddamn art.
She reached for him, but he grabbed her wrist, shaking his head. "I can't wait, Chlo."
He picked up the condom, threw the packet on the floor somewhere and rolled the condom down his hard shaft.
She breathed out his name. "Jack."
He leaned down, kissing her again, soft and sweet. His erection nudged between her legs. "Just let me inside.”
― Kate Angell, The Cottage on Pumpkin and Vine

“A splash of light snuck beneath the a dressing room door. He heard a groan. A shuffle. A bump. A heavy sigh.
"Uh, too tight."
He walked toward the back, stopping outside the dressing room. The door was cracked a fraction. He rested a shoulder against the wall, and glanced inside. Grace as Catwoman blew his mind. A feline fantasy.
The three-way mirror tripled his pleasure. He viewed her from every angle. Hot, sleek, fierce. The lady could fight Batman in her skintight black leather catsuit and come out the winner.
After a moment she scrunched her nose, slapped her palms against her thighs. Stuck out her tongue at her reflection in the mirrors. He saw what had her so frustrated. Sympathized with her disappointment. Her costume didn't fit. The front zipper hadn't fully cleared her cleavage, which was deep and visible. She wore no bra. She gave a little hop, and her breasts bounced. Full and plump. He felt a tug at his groin. Superhero lust.
He cleared his throat and made his presence known. She caught his image in the corner of the glass, and reached for the fitting room chair, positioning it between them.
Like that would keep him from her. He should've looked away, but couldn't. He sensed her embarrassment. Her panic. Flight? She had nowhere to go. He blocked the door. He wasn't leaving until they'd talked.
"Archibald's going to love your costume," he initiated.
She didn't find him funny. Her gaze narrowed behind the molded cat-eye mask with attached ears. Her fingers clenched in her elbow-length gloves. Inspired by the movie The Dark Knight, she'd added a whip and a gun holster. Her thigh-high stiletto boots were killer, adding five inches to her height. Her image would stick with him forever.
She backed against the center mirror, and nervously fingered the open flaps over her breasts. A yank on the zipper broke the tab. The metal teeth parted, and the gap widened, revealing the round inner curves of her breasts. A hint of her nipples. Dusky pink. All the way down to the dent of her navel.”
― Kate Angell, The Cottage on Pumpkin and Vine

“Cade released her slowly, running his hand over her hip, and patting her on the butt.
Her cheeks heated. She owed him an apology. She cleared her throat, and with difficulty managed, "I can be pushy---"
"You think?" He cut her no slack.
"I came on too strong. I'm sorry."
"I'm not."
"You're not?"
"We kissed."
"A good enough kiss for you to wear a costume?"
"You could kiss my entire body, and I'd still pass."
His entire body. She'd never considered naked a costume, but it might work for him. She looked him up and down. Licked her lips. Her blush deepened at the thought.
She heard Cade swallow. His gaze was hot and dark; his voice deep and husky. "I've never taken a woman in a storeroom before, but there's always a first time.”
― Kate Angell, The Cottage on Pumpkin and Vine

“It would be easier to be smart if I didn't want to be inside you. Didn't want to feel you come."
She shuddered. Sex had always been a subject they'd never discussed. One of those taboo topics they avoided. It was strange to hear him utter those words, say things she'd never envisioned him saying to her, but they lit her on fire. "If we still feel this way on Friday, maybe you will."
His lips brushed her throat, raising the fine hairs there. "I can give you an orgasm and not fuck you.”
― Kate Angell, The Cottage on Pumpkin and Vine

“The perfectionist in her wanted to be sure he'd done it correctly, so she took a cautious step toward the edge of the roof, only to get here foot caught in the gauze. Cade jerked up on the roll, just as she stepped down. The fabric slipped between her legs. Up her thighs, all the way to her crotch. She froze. Her eyes went wide. Embarrassment colored her cheeks.
"Grace?" Cade's voice was deep, amused, questioning. He gave the webbing a tug, attempting to pull it free. Instead it rubbed intimately, at the crease between her sex and thigh. His gaze on her groin, he gave a second slow pull. His eyes darkened. A muscle jerked in his jaw. His nostrils flared. He rolled his shoulders and released the tautness of the gauze. The clearing of his throat cut the tension, the silence. "Snared in a spider's web," he joked, lightening the moment.”
― Kate Angell, The Cottage on Pumpkin and Vine

“Grace cut across an Oriental rug done in a plum, navy, and cream geometric pattern. The colors in the carpet pulled the richness of the furniture together. She noticed that Cade walked the perimeter of the room, sticking to the hardwood floor.
Off to the right, a glassed-in sunroom caught the first rays of sunshine from the overcast day. The forest-green wicker furniture, abundant greenery, and a small bookcase with monthly magazines and mystery novels offered peace and solitude.”
― Kate Angell, The Cottage on Pumpkin and Vine

“Grace adored Amelia. The older woman was a close friend of her grandmother and mother, and a constant in Grace's life. She visited Amelia often. The inn was her second home.
As a child she'd always raced up the stairs and raided Amelia's bedroom closet, and Amelia had encouraged her unconventional behavior. Grace had loved dressing up in vintage clothing. Attempting to walk up in a pair of high button shoes. Amelia was the first to recognize Grace's love of costume. Her enjoyment of tea parties. She'd supported Grace's dream of opening her business, Charade, when Grace sought a career. From birthdays to holidays, the costume shop was popular and successful. Grace couldn't have been happier.
She admired Amelia now. Her long, braided hair was the same soft gray as her eyes. Years accumulated, but never seemed to touch her. She appeared youthful, ageless, in a sage-green tunic, belted over a paisley gauze skirt in shades of cranberry, green, and gold. Elaborate gold hoops hung at her ears, ones designed with silver beads and tiny gold bells. The thin metal chains on her three-tiered necklace sparkled with lavender rhinestones and reflective mirror discs. Bangles of charms looped her wrist. A thick, hammered-silver bracelet curved near her right elbow. A triple gold ring with three pearls arched from her index finger to her fourth. She sparkled.”
― Kate Angell, The Cottage on Pumpkin and Vine

“Teasdale doesn't have money for an attorney," he said. "Especially one from Boston. Who are you, really?"
Sidney lifted her chin. "An attorney from Boston."
"You don't sound like it."
She lifted an eyebrow. "Like an attorney?"
He scoffed. "No, you have that droning drivel down. You don't sound Boston."
She shrugged. "I didn't start out there."
"You sound like Sawyer," he said with a nod toward wherever Sawyer had headed. She refused to turn around to find out.
"Well, I'm sure there are more than just two of us from---"
"You know him," Crane said, narrowing his eyes.
Sidney's tongue faltered, and she cleared her throat.
"You're from the same place, aren't you?" he asked. "The same little hick town."
"Because we both have an accent?" she asked, laughing, hoping it would cover up her lie.
"Because of how I just saw him look at you," Crane said, studying Sidney with a grin. "Like a lovesick schoolboy. Holy shit, you're her>."
Sidney's breath felt trapped in her chest, unable to move in or out, just held captive there. Sawyer had a her? And she was it? "I---I'm who?"
"The girl he came to town all messed up over," Crane said, crossing his own arms. "A hundred years ago. Well, well, well."
All messed up over.
After punching out his own father.
Defending her.
Damn it if all her carefully constructed and ancient defenses weren't crumbling around her regarding him. The boy who shattered her already shaky confidence. The reason she bitterly swore off love and dove into work, into making herself a hard and formidable beast. A beast without people skills but still. And now...
"We were friends in high school, yes," Sidney managed to push out, her voice sounding decidedly wobbly. "That has no bearing on Mr. Teasdale's case."
"Which came to you how, again?" Crane asked.
Sidney smiled. "I'll ask the questions."
Crane winked, and she so much wanted to slug him. "Nice deflection. What firm are you with?"
"Finley and Blossom."
"Blossom?" he asked. And it wasn't about the name. It was recognition. Shit.
"Yes, sir."
"His damn niece," Crane said, slapping a big hand against the ladder. "I forgot she was a lawyer. Damn it. She sent you."
Oh, seven kinds of hell, now this wall was disintegrating, too. She needed a suit of armor.
"Everything okay?" said a voice from directly behind her. A voice that sent shock waves to all her nether regions, especially coupled with thee hand that rested on the back of her neck. Crap, she needed more than armor. Sidney needed a force field.
"I work for her," Sidney said, ignoring Sawyer's question and fighting the urge to settle back against him.
"And you need to bring back the win," Crane said, chuckling.
God help her if she was ever up against this asshole in court.”
― Sharla Lovelace, The Cottage on Pumpkin and Vine

“So you fill me full of pretty words and kiss me like your life depended on it, tell me to meet you, and then just disappear. Vanish from the earth. Without a note, a letter, a phone call---nothing. Just like your mom did to you."
His whole face tightened on that one, and Sidney feared she'd gone too far, but there was no going back now.
"So, what, you were just paying that forward?"
"That's a low blow," he said, his voice gruff.
"Well, that's what you shoveled out to me that night," she said. "And now---" Sidney laughed and raked her hair back. "Now I find out that before you ditched me, you actually watched me in my worst, most vulnerable moment ever. You watched me cry over you before you disappeared." She pointed at him. "You, sir, are a piece of work.”
― Sharla Lovelace, The Cottage on Pumpkin and Vine

“Nothing on this earth had ever felt as good as being inside Chloe.
He gritted his teeth, hanging on to the last remnants of sanity he possessed, as he tried to calm enough not to take her like some primal beast.
The grip of her.
The silky heat.
He braced his elbow next to her head and their eyes locked.
He was fucking Chloe.
This was going to change them forever.
He experienced a rush of panic that quickly dimmed as her thighs clasped his hips and she arched to meet him, gasping.
Her hands fell to his waist, nails digging into his skin.
He moved, gripped her wrists, and brought them up over her head. They were touching everywhere, the length of him sliding into her. Her breasts against his chest. Her inner muscles clamped around him and he cursed, thrusting inside her.
He'd think later. Much, much later.
He covered her mouth with his, his tongue sliding against hers. The air grew thick and humid. Tinged with a desperate, urgent lust. He ripped away and groaned.
Pumped harder inside her.
Her head pressed into the pillow and her neck arched.
He held her wrists tighter, he bit her exposed throat, before soothing the skin with his tongue.
She cried out. Her nails dug harder. Her thighs clenched.
Their movements deepened. Quickened.
He let her go, levered up, and rammed hard inside her, circling his hips. Grinding against her. Thrusting harder. Faster. Deeper.
The bed frame banged its frantic beat against the wall.
Over and over and over again.
Her body rippled down the length of his cock.
He jerked, losing what little control he had as he came in a loud shout, just as her orgasm rushed through her, milking him for everything he was worth, his vision dimming as intense pleasure tore through him in endless waves.
He had no idea how long they went on like that. Pushing and pulsing together mindlessly, lost in the aftershocks of bone-deep satisfaction. He collapsed on top of her, burying his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling that special scent, unique to Chloe. He licked her skin. Tasting salt and sex.”
― Kate Angell, The Cottage on Pumpkin and Vine

“You want it back?"
She shook her head. "Keep it." Keep me.
"Will do," he said, walking around the bike. Walking straight up to her without blinking. "Do you still have mine?"
"Of course," she said. "In a box. Inside another box."
His fingers came up too her face and wiped new tears away as she blinked them free.
"And if I wanted it back?" he said so softly she barely heard it.
"Not a chance in hell," she whispered.
A smile spread slowly across his lips. "That's my girl.”
― Sharla Lovelace, The Cottage on Pumpkin and Vine

“The Kopper Kettle had a New Englander's fish and chips special that couldn't be beat. The clam chowder was thick, creamy, and stuck to his ribs. The blueberry pie was homemade.”
― Kate Angell, The Cottage on Pumpkin and Vine

“They went at it. Their mouths a frantic, searching quest. As though they were trying to make up for thirty years of longing in this one kiss. He bit her lower lip and she raked her nails down his back.
They tumbled to the bed, and his body was finally, deliciously covering hers.
She arched.
He surged.
They rocked.
She dug her nails into the base of his back.
His hand came up to cup her breast, his thumb stroking over the nipple.
She cried out, and he caught the sound with his lips.
He ripped away from her, slid down her body, and captured her nipple with his lips, while his free hand snaked down into her yoga pants.
He licked at the hard bud. Sucked.
Her hips arched off the bed as he tugged harder and harder.
When his teeth scraped over her oversensitive flesh, she keened and she couldn't stop the words from falling from her lips. "Jack. God. Jack. Yes. More."
He groaned, the sound vibrating over her skin. He pulled her deeper into his mouth. His fingers slid down her waistband and into her panties. Her legs parted. His fingers brushed her clit. She bowed off the bed.
He circled the bundle of nerves and lifted his head. "So damn wet."
She could feel how wet she was, how slippery. "More."
He pushed one long finger inside her, and kissed her, brushing his mouth over her lips. "You feel like heaven."
She arched into his touch as his thumb relentlessly circled her clit. Around and around. Over and over. Until she thought she'd go mad with sheer need. "Jack. Please."
He plunged two fingers inside her, hooking on a spot so good she lost focus.
"Please what, Chlo?"
His voice, oh God, his voice. Achingly familiar and yet strange all at once.
He swiped over her flesh and she keened again as her body tightened. "Stop." Her head rolled back. "I'm going to come."
He increased his pressure and whispered against the shell of her ear, "Then come.”
― Kate Angell, The Cottage on Pumpkin and Vine

“He clasped her hips. Dug his fingers into her soft flesh.
Christ.
She clutched his shoulders, her mouth growing more insistent.
He wanted to consume her.
He slanted his head, increasing their connection. Deepening the angle.
Getting lost in her.
Chloe. Fuck. He was kissing Chloe. His Chloe. His best friend.
And it was incredible.
He couldn't get enough. He swept his palms up her body, barely clothed in her tiny costume. He tangled his fingers in her hair, fisting the length to drag her closer. So much closer.
She gasped and moaned, sliding her hips forward.
When his cock slid between her thighs, he about lost his gad-damn mind.
She rocked. He surged.
The heat, the slide, the friction.”
― Kate Angell, The Cottage on Pumpkin and Vine

“They faced each other naked. Anticipation played between them, a sexual tease.
"Sit or stand?" he asked.
"I'll straddle you."
He positioned the chair, and sat. She slipped onto his lap, as if she was meant to sit there.
Breast to chest.
Thigh to thigh.
Sex to sex.
Every part of their bodies sought its counterpart.
Arousal brought his mouth down on hers, and he kissed her with a thoroughness and intensity that stole all breath and thought. His tongue thrust between her lips, tasted and seduced. She kissed him back, giving, taking, craving him.
He touched her, all over. Her shoulders and breasts. He circled her nipple, then her navel with his forefinger. Sensations overtook her. She squirmed, dug her nails into his shoulder. Her breath bathed his neck, his chest.
More kissing. More touching. More moans.
He embraced her and drank in her soft sighs.
She fanned out her fingers, ran them up and down his back, feeling the flex and flow of his muscles. The man was built. Her legs tightened around him. He felt good wedged between her thighs. Primal intimacy.
Hot, heavy, their breathing came together.
As did their bodies.
He cupped her bottom, angled her to accept him. She was wet, slick, when he entered her. They caught their reflection in the mirror. His penetration, the role of his hips, the rocking of their bodies, their building climax. Their raw need. Triple sexual.
Time went away and she began to unravel. Her orgasm stretched to the breaking point. She moaned. Stiffened. Shattered.
He came a second after her. His release of breath was rough, rushed. His expression going from pain to pleasure.”
― Kate Angell, The Cottage on Pumpkin and Vine

“I'm naked underneath."
"Commando here, too."
One corner of her mouth tipped up. "Something else we have in common."
He moved toward her, stepped around the chair. Closing in, he he finger-traced her cleavage. She didn't flinch or cringe, which encouraged him to say, "I'll take off my shirt, so you don't feel alone when I peel down your top."
"Once our tops are off?"
"We work our way down."
"Down...”
― Kate Angell, The Cottage on Pumpkin and Vine

“Who would Betsy be?"
"That's my truck," he said.
"You named it Betsy?" she asked. "For real?"
Sawyer waved what was left of his cookie at her. "You have ducks on your pj's, don't judge."
"And she was inspired by who?" Sydney said with a smirk, her eyes dropping to his lips when he turned to her. "Your first love?"
"If I would've done that," he said softly, "her name would have been Squeak."
Bam.
Sidney's heart felt like it reached out and slammed against every possible surface at once.”
― Sharla Lovelace, The Cottage on Pumpkin and Vine

“Opening the box, they withdrew the thick plastic grave markers. His lips twitched as he scanned the epitaphs: R.I.P. Van Winkle, Dee Cayed, I.M. Gone, and Barry R. Bones. "Dracula, Fangs for the Memories," he read aloud and, chuckled.
Grace held up her favorite. "Rigger Mortys. Death Grips and Holds Me Tight, But I Shall Return on Halloween Night."
Tongue-in-cheek, he asked her, "What would your headstone say?"
"She Threw a Great Party," came to mind. "How about yours?"
"Death by Decorating.”
― Kate Angell, The Cottage on Pumpkin and Vine

“Where to touch? The worst of the waxy spikes were stuck from waist to groin. She swiped at his hip, managed to knock off a few. She made a wider sweep on his outer thigh, and cleared a few more. Her hand over his zipper. Shook.
Cade was still picking needles off his abdomen. He widened his stance. "Don't be shy." There was challenge in his tone.
He was getting even with her. She'd forced him to replace the bulbs. His request for her to remove the prickles seemed a fair exchange.
Her heart gave an unfamiliar flutter. Her stomach knotted. They presently stood between the tall box of headstones and a privacy hedge. They weren't visible from the road.
She decided to pick off the needles individually instead of making a palm-wide sweep. There'd be less touching. In her hurry, her knuckles bumped his sex. He sucked air. Enlarged. The tab on the zipper slid down an inch. He made the adjustment.
"Good enough." He pushed her hand away.
She sighed her relief.
He twisted, struggled with the prickles on his back, stretching to brush those between his shoulder blades. Frustrated by those he couldn't reach, he snagged the hem on his T-shirt and tugged it over his head. Shook it out. Grace's eyes rounded and her mouth went dry. Her had a magnificent chest.
Broad and bare, his chest tempted her. Her fingers itched to touch him. Even for a second. This was so unlike her. The need to satisfy her curiosity outweighed the consequences. She went with the urge. She traced his flat stomach and six-pack abs. His jeans hung low. Sharp hip bones, man dents, and sexy lick lines. The man was sculpted.
Cade clutched his shirt to his thigh. Stood still. She felt his gaze on her, but couldn't meet his eyes. Not after she flattened her hand over his abdomen, and his heat suffused her palm. His stomach contracted. Her fingers flexed. She scratched him. He groaned.”
― Kate Angell, The Cottage on Pumpkin and Vine

“She knew she should drop the subject, but something inside her wouldn't let go. She snapped her fingers, couldn't resist. "You could go as a moving man."
"Damn, woman." He was on her before she had a chance to step back. He slid his big hands into her hair, none too gently. Held her still. "What's with you? I've asked you nicely to stop. Let up or I'll---"
"What?" She moved beyond common sense.
He kissed her.
His punishment was sexual, unexpected, yet effective. He was all hotness, hardness, and sensual appeal. Sparked by anger, he bit her bottom lip. Sensation puckered her nipples. Her belly pulled tight. Her groin pressed his. Their thighs rubbed.
The kiss lasted. She had no desire for it to end. His firm mouth softened. He slipped his tongue between her lips with sexy finesse. The man could kiss. He made her want him.
Fully into him, she rose on tiptoe and clutched his biceps. His hands rubbed down her back, cupped her butt, and lifted her slightly, until they were sexually aligned.”
― Kate Angell, The Cottage on Pumpkin and Vine

“They're bartering for costumes. Grace has a big heart. She lends costumes to those who can't afford the full rental price. Kids repay her with candy, after they've been trick-or-treating."
Bartering? This he had to see. He walked toward them, only to stop by a rack of capes. He squinted between hangers, staying hidden. He recognized the children. Each of them lived with single parents or in a foster home. For all of them, money would be tight. Most couldn't afford a cool costume.”
― Kate Angell, The Cottage on Pumpkin and Vine

“Her last step landed her against him. He stood so close. His arms were raised above her head, ready to move the ladder to the next location. She ducked under his arm, and their bodies brushed. Her shoulder skimmed his chest; her hip tapped his groin.
His intake of breath drew her gaze. He released a short pant. Widened his stance. His zipper no longer lay flat. It bulged. Largely.
Her lips parted on her own indrawn breath. They'd touched, and he'd gotten an erection. Her breasts grew heavy. Her panties dampened. Embarrassingly so.”
― Kate Angell, The Cottage on Pumpkin and Vine

“The caterer would like to use your sideboard buffet for the skull platters, raven plates, and broomstick-style forks. The florist will provide a bouquet of black roses. The cauldron punch and batwing cups will go on the dining room table."
"Menu?" Amelia requested. "We'd discussed finger food last week. What did you finally decide?"
Grace ticked off the items. "All the food is easy to eat while standing," she assured Amelia. "Chicken-witch fingers, miniature goblin burgers, chocolate crescent witch hats, ghost sugar cookies, pumpkin Bundt cake, sliced caramel apples, small popcorn balls, and a big bowl of candy corn.”
― Kate Angell, The Cottage on Pumpkin and Vine

“He stretched out his long legs under the table, settled on his tailbone. He shook his foot, rotated his ankle, as if he'd sat too long. The movement caught the cat's attention. Archie's back arched, his tail swung, ready to pounce. A long lunge, and Cade stiffened. "Dude, I'm not a scratching post."
"Archibald Reginald Rose," Amelia called him by his full name. She clapped her hands. "No!"
Grace tipped on her chair, caught the action under the table. This was no sweet kneading from the Maine coon. He bared his claws on Cade's thigh, close to the man's groin. Cade inched back, avoided kicking the cat. His jeans were white-seamed and laddered. Archie swatted, then latched on to the loose, swaying threads. He tugged. Denim split, shredded, leaving a sizable hole.
No underwear for this man. A shift of his weight, and Cade flashed Grace. Not purposely, yet she got an eyeful. In that moment, she learned more about him than she ever needed to know. He tucked left. His sex, substantial.”
― Kate Angell, The Cottage on Pumpkin and Vine

“Killer dumpling," Cade said.
"Delicious dessert," came simultaneously from Grace.
"Seconds here, please," requested Cade.
Grace debated. "No more dumpling for me, but a little more ice cream would be nice."
Amelia rose, smiled innocently. "Food and sex, there's always room for seconds."
Grace blushed, and her ears burned.
Cade blew off any embarrassment he might feel. He leaned back in his chair, said, "I like the way you think, Amelia. Philosophy for all occasions."
"Old and wise and words to live by.”
― Kate Angell, The Cottage on Pumpkin and Vine

“Whipped or ice cream on your dumplings?" she asked them, once the crust browned and the filling bubbled. She sprinkled additional cinnamon sugar on top.
Grace and Cade responded as one, "Ice cream."
Cade leaned his elbows on the table, cut her a curious look. "I didn't think we had a thing in common."
She gave him a repressive look. "Ice cream doesn't make us friends."
Amelia scooped vanilla bean into the bowls with the dumplings. Her smile was small, secret, when she served their dessert, and she commented, "Friendships are born of likes and dislikes. Ice cream is binding."
Not as far as Grace was concerned.
Cade dug into his dessert.
Amelia kept the conversation going. "I bet you're more alike than you realize."
Why would that matter? Grace thought. She had no interest in this man.
A simultaneous "doubtful" surprised them both.
Amelia kept after them, Grace noted, pointing out, "You were both born, grew up, and never left Moonbright."
"It's a great town," Cade said. "Family and friends are here."
"You're here," Grace emphasized.
Amelia patted her arm. "I'm very glad you've stayed. Cade, too. You're equally civic-minded."
Grace blinked. We are?
"The city council initiated Beautify Moonbright this spring, and you both volunteered."
We did? Grace was surprised.
Cade scratched his stubbled chin, said, "Mondays, I transport trees and mulch from Wholesale Gardens to grassy medians between roadways. Flower beds were planted along the nature trails to the public park."
Grace hadn't realized he was part of the community effort. "I help with the planting. Most Wednesdays."
Amelia was thoughtful. "You're both active at the senior center."
Cade acknowledged, "I've thrown evening horseshoes against the Benson brothers. Lost. Turned around and beat them at cards."
"I've never seen you there," Grace puzzled. "I stop by in the afternoons, drop off large-print library books and set up audio cassettes for those unable to read because of poor eyesight."
"There's also Build a Future," Amelia went on to say. "Cade recently hauled scaffolding and worked on the roof at the latest home for single parents. Grace painted the bedrooms in record time."
"The Sutter House," they said together. Once again.
"Like minds," Amelia mused, as she sipped her sparkling water.”
― Kate Angell, The Cottage on Pumpkin and Vine

“A plate of lobster rolls came next, followed by a romaine lettuce salad in a cut-glass bowl topped with fresh pear slices, walnuts, cranberries, and blue cheese crumbles. Glasses of sparkling water.
"Apple dumplings for dessert," said Amelia, as she settled on the chair Cade held for her. She gave him a soft smile, patted his hand. "Help yourselves.”
― Kate Angell, The Cottage on Pumpkin and Vine

“He didn't move or discourage Archibald from kneading and clawing his right boot when the enormous Maine coon strolled in from the pantry. The animal was like black smoke with gold eyes. A furry mystic with large, tufted paws and ears. Legend and lore surrounded the cat. Some stories were amusing, some mere fantastic flights of fantasy, and others actually plausible.”
― Kate Angell, The Cottage on Pumpkin and Vine