The Story Continues...

Pumpkin Carving

When Blake hinted she had a special surprise for him, and would be bringing it with her to the apartment tonight, Bobby's imagination had conjured an entire array of hopeful possibilities.

A new film, a new food; a new tool or a new gadget ... the list of possibilities was endless. Maybe even a new item of clothing - for her of course, certainly not for himself.

Well, in the end, his guess of 'a new food' wasn't entirely off the mark. But it certainly wasn't what he was expecting though, in any way, shape, or form. Because when she finally arrived, she was carrying a large, orange pumpkin.

"Whew! I made it!" she exclaimed. "This is heavier than I thought." She puffed heavily, and Bobby rushed to take the weight from her arms.

"Blake?" he asked, lifting it in one hand. He studied it with no small amount of surprise, turning it round and round as if it were an overgrown football. ... ... Yes, it was indeed a pumpkin. From any angle. "You brought me a pumpkin?"

"I thought it would be fun to make a jack-o-lantern this year," she stated, not as a request, nor as a plea, but as a wish she was determined to fulfill. She'd do it on her own if she had to, but she hoped he would like to help. "I haven't had once since I was really little, and my brother and I would carve it on the kitchen floor. My neighbor just took her grandchildren to a country pumpkin patch out on the island, and she's handing pumpkins out to everyone on our floor. And well, I don't plan on eating it, and I don't want to let it just sit there and rot away, so ... I want a jack-o-lantern."

Bobby's eyes lingered on the large, round fruit for another few moments. She smiled - Maybe he was waiting to see if it would turn into a horse-drawn carriage? Or for the headless horseman to come galloping by, and claim it as his own?

"You do realize, that pumpkin carving skills are not part of my skill set…" he pointed out. "In fact, I don't believe I've ever worked in any of the 'fresh produce' media."

Blake laughed, because at least that meant he was going to do it, willing to give it a try. She could hear his reluctant agreement just a few layers below his words. "That's ok, I know the basics." She strode across the room, dropping her purse on the kitchen counter and retrieving yesterday's newspaper. "The trick," she announced, "is to catch all the mess. Other than that, it's a piece of cake."

She spread out the newspaper on the kitchen floor and indicated where she wanted him to deposit the pumpkin.

He did. "Well, step one was easy enough." He said as he knelt down beside her. Really, it couldn't be that bad, could it? Not bad at all, up until Blake grabbed her purse again.

The knife she withdrew was impressive. Large, serrated and ominous, in Bobby's opinion. He'd been expecting a marker, with which they would share the fun of drawing the intended design. Instead, other more frightening scenarios suggested themselves.

"I didn't know if you'd have a large enough knife." She explained when she saw the look in his eyes. Slowly walking her fingers around the thick stem, in search of some mystically perfect spot for the first incision, she added, "Trust me, this is the worst part." Well this, and sticking your hands in to get all the seeds out."

Bobby leaned forward as the knife was poised and readied to make the first cut. He wasn't about to sit there and watch an accident unfold, his hands ready to snatch that knife away if it did anything other than cut smoothly into the pumpkin's flesh. Blake dug the tip in, she wiggled it, she grimaced, and she shoved it the rest of the way through. Bobby breathed a sigh of relief.

Well that went well for a first cut, but getting that knife the entire way around the pumpkin's top would turn out to be far more of a hassle. Blake struggled and wrestled with the knife, trying to find an angle that would work. Bobby offered to take over, but she hastily declined. A point of pride or sheer determination or stubbornness, he thought a combination of the three. Either way, she'd traced only one third of a circle before she got the blade well and truly stuck.

"They're tougher than I remember," she complained, but remained undaunted. Bobby said nothing, merely waiting for the next danger, when she'd try to pull that knife back out.

She wiggled it, and dug the blade deeper into the pumpkin. She jiggled it, and managed to somehow snag the serrated teeth in a vein of the tougher, outer hide. She smacked the handle in a moment of frustration when it refused to go any further.

And then, she did exactly what Bobby had been fearful of, waiting for. She gripped the knife with both hands and gave it a good, outward yank. Bobby grabbed the pumpkin in the process, just in case. Better him than her, if something would happen, he thought.

The knife jerked out, and best of all there were no casualties. Only a seed that had been dislodged from its home. It flew up, bounced off his chest and plinked to the tiled floor.

Well that was enough of that. He took the pumpkin. He took the knife. He even took the seed, before it could dry fast to his recently cleaned floor. "Let's finish this on the kitchen table," he suggested. "And if you don't mind," he held the knife carefully away from them both ... "I believe I shall take over the pick and shovel duties now."

"Be my guest." Blake said as she sat back on her heels as grinned up at him.

An hour later, the process was moving along remarkably well. Bobby had the lid cut out in a matter of minutes, but used the excuse of consulting the internet to find a pattern to use while Blake scooped out the slimy innards. At least he was helpful enough to provide her with a sturdy ladle. Plus, he didn't think she couldn't do much damage with that, either.

It was always amazing what one could find on the internet. Along with the general history and lore of the holiday, much of which Bobby already knew - there was also a plethora of decorating tips. Enough jack-o-lantern patterns to bring an entire pumpkin patch to life.

Some were scary. Some were silly. Some were more complicated than seemed possible on a mere piece of fruit. But in the end, he chose a picture that appealed to him far more than any other.

"This is so not in the spirit of the holiday," Blake protested, as he carved away layers of orange pulp. "What happened to scary? What happened to spooky?"

"Oh I've found it quite frightening several times." Bobby countered, stepping around the table, a petite melon baller in hand. Quickly stepping aside to avoid the damp dishrag she threw at him. He glanced over at her perched on a barstool at the counter and grinned.

"I thought I told you not to move." He walked over to her and putting his finger under her chin to guide her back to the proper position. Returning to the pumpkin he picked up one of the many improvised tools he'd been using – the knives, the spoons, and yes, even a tiny melon baller - much to Blake's momentary amusement, Bobby was now etching out her features on the surface of the pumpkin.

Blake crossed her arms and let out a frustrated breath. Gone were her visions of a buck-toothed smile. Gone were the squinting, glaring eyes. Gone was the triangular hole where a nose should have been. Her pumpkin was now going to bear a caricature of her face.

Creative, yes. Carved with remarkable talent, that frankly surprised her, yes. But hardly something to go bump in the night.

"No one will understand it," she pointed out. Not that she'd given thought to who might actually see it. But Bobby knew what he was doing. Bobby knew remarkably well just exactly what he was doing.

Changing the subject, he began, "You know, the purpose of these lanterns around one's dwelling, was not merely to frighten the living, but to discourage the presence of the dead. Particularly spirits of a more 'evil' persuasion. It is those who would seek to harm; those who would bring misfortune and mischief; that the glowing faces are meant to repel. Though I admit that if we were to be perfectly authentic, this should be a turnip rather than a pumpkin."

"Yeah?" she challenged, still in obvious dissent. "And so you're saying that my face is scary to the evil dead ... that's good to know. So tell me how, exactly, my face is scary to the evil dead?"

Bobby looked up, but for only a moment. He was nearly finished, and enjoying the project far more than he'd anticipated. "Patience, Blake. You'll see."

I mean, this really is not what I had in mind." Blake protested again." They were now sitting on the sofa, watching the glow radiate from the image of her carved face.

Bobby's head tilted, his attention returning to her. He'd honestly enjoyed himself, and he'd thought she had too. "Do you really not like it? Do you feel that I've wasted your pumpkin? I'll get another one if you want. I'll get you one, I'll get you a dozen to replace it. And we can give them whatever designs you like."

"No," she replied. "I guess I just didn't think you'd treat it like - I don't know - like a museum exhibit or something." She cast him a chiding, embarrassed glance, though the beginnings of an ironic smile did quirk one corner of her mouth.

"A dozen, eh?" She had to admit, her inner child was tempted. "I thought we'd give him a goofy smile, spooky eyes, and set him on the coffee table. I was just trying to bring some 'Halloween' to the apartment." She stepped closer, placing one hand landing lightly on his chest. "I thought we'd turn the lights off, pretend it was scary, and you could protect me."

A grin spread over his face as he considered her subtle suggestion. A light chuckle came, and his hand wrapped warmly around hers." I will carve for you as many 'goofy' faces as you like. But you must understand it from my perspective; this particular pumpkin is already protecting you." And me. "Evil does not fear evil, evil does not fear 'spooky', evil does not fear 'goofy'. How better to protect you from evil, than to counter it with pure goodness and light?

Blake's eyes rolled.

"If it does its job, there will be nothing to protect you from in the first place." He leaned closer, to playfully, even bashfully warn, "Unless, perhaps, from me of course."

"Oh really? And who's going to protect you?" she challenged.

Bobby replaced the lid, patting the pumpkin with pride and satisfaction. He would have to maintain the same level of skill to hold future carvings to this same level of skill. A challenge he was actually looking forward to. "As long as it is I who handles that knife of yours," he finally replied, "I believe I am capable of seeing to my own protection."

"Yeah," she smirked. ... "And you always have your melon baller."

Bobby reached out and pulled her against him as she laughed. The rest of that evening was spent - not carving pumpkins.

It was late the next evening when Blake was finally able to go home. A new case had kept her at 1PP long after Bobby had checked out for the day. A new case had been responsible for her calling and canceling dinner plans with him.

Thumbing through her mail as she walked down the hall, she failed to notice the object sitting just outside her door. As she inserted the key into the lock, recognition dawned.

Squinting, glaring eyes stared back at her and a buck-tooth grinned mocked her own smile. Pushing open the door, she was stunned to see a muted, and softly flickering glow from, a quick count revealed, twelve more, a dozen carved pumpkins glaring, menacingly at her. Setting her bag down, she walked farther into the apartment as the smell of cinnamon assaulted her.

Turning, she saw Bobby in the kitchen, fork digging into a pie tin containing a freshly baked pumpkin pie. "It seemed a shame to waste all those pumpkin innards..." he said around a mouthful of the creamy pie.

"Pumpkin innard pie… that sounds so…. disgusting." She grabbed a fork, he'd obviously set one out for her, crossed the room and took a large forkful for herself. "Mmhmm, this is good. It's just missing one thing."

"I know… I couldn't find a turnip large enough to carve."

Laughing at the literal turn his mind had taken. She leaned up and kissed the corner of his mouth. "Well, I guess there's that too. But really I was thinking that what was really missing was …"

Bobby reached into the brown bag beside him and drew out a can of whipped cream. "I knew you probably hadn't had a chance to get more … after the other night." The grin he flashed at her was predatory.

"Something tells me I'm going to need more than these pumpkins to protect me tonight…." Bobby set down the pie tin. Blake grinned up at him. Bobby set down his fork. Blake ginned up at him. Bobby took the fork from Blake. Blake grinned up at him. Bobby took her in his arms. Blake grinned up at him. Bobby took what she offered him. Blake grinned as his lips met hers, before losing herself in the sweet spicy taste of him.

More to come...