Disclaimer: These characters belong to Warner Brothers and Shoot the Moon. The story and plot are my own, and I wrote only for entertainment and for the pleasure of Lee and Amanda's company in fiction. This story makes reference to the following episodes of Scarecrow and Mrs. King: "Playing Possum," "Charity Begins at Home," "Always Look a Gift Horse in the Mouth," "Service Above and Beyond," "The First Time," "Utopia Now," "A Lovely Little Affair," and "Saved by the Bells." I hope that you enjoy it.
"Stop the car!"
"What-? Amanda, I don't see anything that-"
"Just stop the car, Lee. There's a farm stand ahead on the right with great-looking pumpkins."
"Pumpkins, hunh?" Lee repeated with a mixture of resignation and amusement, but he slowed the Corvette and pulled off onto the gravel shoulder near the stand. Glancing over at her, he noticed the rapt expression on her face as she took in the rough pyramids of pumpkins, some still sporting dried leaves and curling tendrils of vine. Clearly, she was focused on pumpkins rather than on their previous unnecessary shop talk, which she'd dropped unceremoniously. Still, the routine surveillance they'd been doing of a Virginia estate had ended early when the owner had driven off unexpectedly in his station wagon with two kids and a chocolate Lab, and he wasn't relishing the idea of taking Amanda home so soon. He'd hoped for four or five hours of her company but had gotten only a little more than one. The hollow feeling he'd experienced when he'd realized that their assignment today would be a brief one didn't startle him, as it would've even last year; he had grown used to caring—consciously caring—about how much time he spent with his partner. Lately, he'd never gotten enough to satisfy him. He hoped that this feeling was mutual, but who knew for sure? "Why are we stopping for pumpkins, Amanda?" he asked curiously.
She had already gotten out of the Corvette and was hurrying toward the orange stacks, tossing her reply back to him as he struggled a bit to extricate his long legs from the car. "Well, I had some beautiful ones out on the front steps for decoration—you saw them, I think, to the left of the door—but the squirrels got into them and chewed them all to pieces. I don't know why they do that; it just seems so wanton to me. I mean, why would squirrels go after pumpkins when there are several perfectly good oak trees dropping acorns like crazy just down the street? And I like pumpkins in the fall. They're so cheery. You know what I mean?"
Lee didn't know exactly what she meant, but he smiled contentedly anyway. Amanda didn't ramble now as much as she had when he first met her, and he missed that a little. At some point, he'd discovered that he found her quickly-spoken streams of ideas endearing rather than annoying—most of the time. He could hardly ever anticipate what she was going to say once she got going. Who else but Amanda would talk about wanton squirrels? And who else would sound so passionate about pumpkins? Lee felt something gently expanding in his chest. She amazed him, constantly. There was no one like her. He loved her warmth, her energy, her kindness. He loved … Amanda's textured voice broke into his musings.
"What do you think of this one, Lee?" She held up a squat, deeply-ribbed pumpkin that was so dark orange that it was almost vermilion. It glowed against the cream and brown banded woolen coat that she wore, appearing to create its own light in her arms on this overcast October afternoon. 'She had that coat on when she told me to pull the blue wire,' he thought, surprised that he would remember this. He didn't usually retain clear memories of other people's clothes, especially Amanda's. Except for those stunning evening gowns, of course, and the red rain jacket that she'd unfortunately lost during the Sacker case. And the fluffy robe in that blue-ish purple color. He's only seen her in that once, he was sorry to say. And she always looked lovely in pink, come to think of it. But the woolen coat… A memory of impulsively embracing Amanda in Arlington Cemetery over a disarmed bomb flashed through his mind, of feeling giddy with relief that she had chosen the right wire to pull, that he had chosen to trust her instincts, that she was safe, that everyone was safe. He could recall perfectly the napped fabric of the coat beneath his hands and his awareness of Amanda's slender form, the soft strands of her hair against his face, the sound of her delighted chuckle in his ear…
"Lee? Hey, you with me here, partner?" She was looking at him quizzically, her head cocked to one side, her cheeks slightly flushed from the cold. He nodded slowly, his eyes drinking her in. 'She has that elfin beauty,' he thought, and then realized that this was the first time in his life he had ever used the word "elfin," even in his mind. God, this was driving him crazy—this "thing." What was it that he and Amanda had together? More than a partnership, more than a friendship, but not yet a romance. "She thinks we're having a 'thing,'" Amanda had told him on a case, years ago. He'd been amused at the time that Penny had thought the two of them were lovers—amused and intrigued, even then, if he had only admitted it to himself. Now, nearly three years later, he was smitten, entranced. Full of hope and longing. Those were the only words he could think of to describe his current state.
Lee swallowed, but his voice was still husky when he spoke. "That's a nice one, Amanda. It'll look great carved with a candle in it." He shifted his feet restlessly in the gravel. 'Well, so much for bowling her over with your scintillating conversation, Stetson,' he thought weakly. Bits of dried pumpkin leaf and a few crumbs of dirt clung to the front of her coat. Lee's nervous fingers twitched with his desire to gently brush them off, set the pumpkin aside, and smooth back the tousled hair from her temples, but he restrained himself by shoving his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket.
"A candle? This pumpkin isn't right for carving, Lee. It's too shallow. Cinderella pumpkins are for decoration and pies, not jack-o'-lanterns."
"Oh." At the name "Cinderella," his mind careened away again. What was wrong with him today? He couldn't seem to stay out of the past. "It's way after midnight, Cinderella," he had told her when she'd come home from dinner with Delano. He felt his skin grow chilly at the remembrance of his jealousy, and then, much worse, at the memory of her lying unconscious on the bed in Delano's mansion, the syringe next to her. In his mind, he advanced on her attacker, enraged, seeing again Hollander's meaty hands, his implacable craggy face. It would be Delano who had to tell him what the poison was, after all. "Damn it, man, don't you apologize!" he'd shouted at Delano while Amanda lay limp in his arms. She'd seemed so light, as if her soul were already half-gone from her body. Now, standing only a few feet away from a healthy, energetic Amanda, he felt the strength drain out of him. He'd had nightmares about that case for months. And once he knew more fully what an amazing person Amanda was, what a hole in the world her absence would've caused…
Taking in Lee's stricken expression, Amanda felt a wave of sympathy for him. He looked bereft, and she thought she knew why. He needed a distraction. 'This man has obviously never carved a pumpkin in his life,' she thought, 'and it's time that changed.'
Fall was Amanda's favorite season. She loved everything about it—the frosty mornings, the early twilight, the curled leaves scuttling down the street in the wind like delicate crabs. She'd loved it even more ever since Lee had shot into her life one October morning nearly three years ago. (She noticed that now she mentally labeled the recent events of her life as either "BL" or "AL"—"before Lee" or "after Lee.") She would always associate Halloween with him. Perhaps this was because she'd seen him in a series of costumes the first three times they'd met, first, in a waiter's uniform at the train station, next in pirate garb at Moby's Dock (the memory of those white knee socks and the eye-patch still made her snort with laughter), and then in an immaculate tuxedo at the Agency party.
He'd nearly taken her breath away, standing on that curving staircase, and he knew it, too—the rascal. The party had been a costume type, attended by people in alien antennae, pig masks, and bishop's hats. It hadn't taken Amanda very long to figure out that his tux was as much a costume as any of the others he wore. She remembered dancing with him at that Halloween party for the first time; her fingers cupped lightly by his warm slender hand; her other palm resting on his shoulder over the smooth fabric of the tuxedo jacket; his scent of tangy lime aftershave, Ivory soap, and a hint of something slightly sweet—like meadow grass or maybe beeswax. ('That's his own scent,' she remembered thinking at the time, and she was right, she found out later.) He had dipped his head forward to gently press his cheek against hers, and his hand at the small of her back had a sheltering feel—a claiming feel.
And then fifteen minutes later, he had berated her in a parking garage for not bringing his package to the party. "That's how your mind works?" he had demanded of her. Gosh, he was complicated. They were complicated together, and always had been. Yet underneath all of the complications was a shining core of red, gold, and blue—true colors that they shared. And lately, he seemed ready to admit that, welcome it, even. His clothes didn't seem like costumes anymore. No one had ever moved her like he did with his fierce protectiveness, his thoughtful gestures, and his aching loneliness. His expression as he stood before her with his hands in his jacket pockets, was open, vulnerable. His beautiful eyes, green with golden flecks in this light, looked straight into hers, beseechingly, it seemed.
"Hey, Lee, since we don't have to work this afternoon, and it's Saturday, why don't we celebrate our anniversary? We could buy some cider and caramel apples—you know, fall food. What do you say?"
His handsome face froze in response to her question. 'Oh, no,' mourned Amanda inwardly. 'He's going to retreat way back now. He doesn't think of that meeting at the train station as an anniversary, or he's forgotten, or that word has pushed a bad button. Whatever it is, he's gone.'
"But Amanda," Lee ventured, looking puzzled and a little hurt, "our anniversary is next week." She laughed in sheer relief, had to restrain herself from dropping the pumpkin to throw her arms around him, felt an upwelling of joy. "What's wrong with celebrating early, Stetson? Or twice for that matter? Hmmm?" And she handed him the Cinderella pumpkin and tugged him toward the stand where the half gallons of cider stood lined up on the counter amid miniature shocks of Indian corn and trays of caramel apples, each impaled apple sitting in a disk of its own rich brown caramel. She loved fall, she loved her life, and, truth to tell, she loved Lee.
Later, as they carried the cardboard boxes of field pumpkins, cider, and snacks into Lee's apartment and set them on the kitchen counter, she felt less confident that this little party was a good idea. Would he think it was childish, she wondered? Lee had lived and worked all over the world, was at ease in casinos and nightclubs and embassy parties, wore his tux more often in one month than most of the other men she knew did in their entire lives. Why would he want to drink apple cider and carve pumpkins on a cloudy Saturday afternoon with her? 'Because he wants some real layers in his life,' a little voice in her head answered. Lee gave her a crooked smile, unzipped his jacket, and walked slowly toward her. 'And because he wants you,' the little voice hastily added. Amanda fumbled to untie the woolen belt and open her coat; if she didn't do it quickly, he'd do it for her, she thought, and she wasn't quite ready for that right now. 'When, then?' she heard, and for a moment, she wasn't sure if the little voice had spoken or Lee. He was behind her, standing close, his hands reaching over her shoulders to grasp the lapels of her coat to take it off; she could sense his solid warmth, feel a wisp of his breath in her hair. 'What a gentleman,' the little voice whispered, 'or maybe he just…'
Lee had moved around soundlessly to stand in front of her again, with her coat lying in the crook of his arm. He was gazing down at her, his face thoughtful, his hair a little disheveled from the wind. Amanda found his slightly rumpled appearance astoundingly appealing. She'd been wildly attracted to Lee from the beginning; she had always felt a magnetic pull toward him when they were anywhere near each other. She'd expended a lot of energy in the last three years resisting that pull, and it was getting harder and harder not to succumb to the gravitational force that hummed and crackled between them. And lately, seeing the tenderness in Lee's eyes and hearing his low voice confiding in her, she'd begun to think that it was time to stop resisting. That they were both ready to create a new kind of partnership. But, oh, she prayed that that their friendship wouldn't explode in the tension of romance and that she wouldn't go up like kindling against him, losing her newfound confidence in the process. Entering into a romantic relationship with Lee would take all the courage she could muster; there was no mistake about that. If together they failed to navigate this tantalizing, uncharted territory, it would break her heart. 'No guts, no glory,' she thought ruefully. And she did believe that glory lay ahead. She recalled those moments in Lee's arms, only the little fire pushing the darkness back, feeling his body heat percolate into her chilled bones, hearing his voice rumbling and his heart beating as she rested against his chest, recognizing a synergy and a closeness in the way they confided in each other, and then leaning forward, eyes closed, at the same moment he did, both of them yearning to experience the sweetness of a kiss...
Mentally, she extricated herself from that interrupted embrace and studied Lee's hopeful, slightly apprehensive expression as he stood in front of her. They were a match. Everything came back to that. Amanda knew it, and she was sure that now Lee did, too. She smiled and reached out to lightly squeeze his forearm, still in the leather jacket. "How about some cider, hmm? And then let's get started on those pumpkins."
While Amanda poured cider into a small pan and began warming it on the stove, Lee strolled around the apartment, snapping on lamps. Although it was only three o'clock, the rooms had grown grey and chilly; the new pools of light and the sound of Amanda's burry voice soothed him. He paused at a window to note the thickening clouds that foretold rain soon and the sound of the wind taking the corner of the building. There was nowhere he would rather be than in his kitchen with his enchanting partner. Suddenly, he remembered a four-line poem, written in the sixteenth century, that he had learned in the only lit class he had taken as a college student and hadn't thought about in ages: "O, western wind, when wilt thou blow,/ That the small rain down can rain?/Christ, that my love were in my arms, /And I in my bed again!" Well, maybe one place would be better than the kitchen, but he resolutely turned away from that image this afternoon. Entertaining such ideas only deepened his longing for her, but he allowed himself to imagine when he was alone in the quiet evenings, and intense dreams thronged his sleep at night. Maybe rain falling outside would be part of those dreams and imaginings now. It was oddly comforting to know that some anonymous person who had lived five hundred years ago had felt about his love the way he felt about Amanda. Some things about human experience never changed.
They sat down at the kitchen table together, the mugs of hot cider and a bowl of kettle corn from the farm stand in front of them. (The caramel apples, covered in crushed peanuts, waited to one side.) Lee wrapped one hand around the ceramic mug and used the other to slowly stir the cider with one of the ancient cinnamon sticks that Amanda had found in the back of his top cupboard. He didn't want to tell her that he had no idea where the cinnamon had come from or how long it had languished in the dark. The spicy brown taste of the hot cider was new to him, but he didn't admit that, either. They snacked on handfuls of the salty-sweet popcorn and talked easily about Phillip and Jamie, the Junior Trailblazer camping trip that they were currently enjoying, her mother's recent near miss in finding Lee among the hydrangea bushes, and past cases.
"Do you remember when you climbed up the trellis?" Amanda asked with a chuckle, her dark eyes narrowing mischievously. "In a way, I wish that Mother had discovered you in my room. It would have satisfied her sense of drama." Lee's grip on the mug tightened. He recalled every detail of that night: the way that Amanda had helped him in through the window and then hopped back under the covers as if they had a late-night rendezvous in her bedroom several times a week; her lovely, unadorned face and instant alertness; and, most of all, the sensation of taking her small, smooth hand in his to shake on their promise and realizing that he didn't want to let go. Astonished, he had turned her hand over and trailed his fingers down the palm in an effort to prolong their contact, and when he had finally, reluctantly, separated from her, she had crossed her arms over her chest, suddenly conscious of their places on her bed at midnight and of the nightgown she wore, letting him know that she had felt the same pull that he did. Lee's breath grew quick and shallow just thinking about it—about how much he had longed to tuck her, still warm and tousled from sleep, against his shoulder and draw her close in the circle of his arms, then gently angle his face down to hers...
His reverie was punctured by a spatter of rain against the west windows. He gazed out of the corners of his eyes at Amanda, whose face wore a contemplative expression. What in the world was she thinking? Even after three years, she was a mystery to him in many ways. A compelling, enticing, fascinating mystery. He freely admitted it, to himself if no one else. "So, how about those pumpkins, hunh?" he cracked out, his voice sounding too hearty even to him.
"Would you like some music to carve jack-o'-lanterns by?" Lee asked teasingly and headed toward the stereo. Amanda waited for the sounds of the Rolling Stones or the Grateful Dead to burst forth, but instead she heard a mellow, velvety, familiar voice, which blended with the soft swish of rain streaming down the windows. "The very thought of you, and I forget to do, the little ordinary things, that everyone ought to do…" the beautiful voice sang.
"Nat King Cole?"
"Yeah," Lee was looking down, examining the field pumpkin that he had chosen from the farm stand. His mouth curved into a slight scowl, and his restless fingers drummed on the pumpkin's top. He glanced at her from the side. "What's the matter; don't you like Nat King Cole?"
"Sure, I do. I just wasn't expecting you to." She kept her voice light, but Amanda really was surprised. Would he ever stop surprising her? She thought not.
"Well, I like lots of different kinds of music." He sounded a little defensive. The timbre of his voice dropped. "And I have good associations with Nat." Amanda's heart lurched in her chest. Who did those "good associations" involve? Dorothy? Eva? Leslie? Some woman among the many from Lee's past whom she had never heard about? She felt sick, all of a sudden; her palms were clammy and her mouth dry. Amanda always tried hard to focus on the present with an occasional glance toward the future, but sometimes, unexpected blades from his past or hers got underneath her guard. She propped her elbows on the table, tipping her head so he wouldn't catch sight of her expression. She didn't trust herself to be able to hide her feelings from him any longer. She thought that she'd worn out her ability to do that.
"His voice reminds me of my parents. I don't have many clear memories of them, but one of them is of riding in the back seat of their Buick while they sang along with 'Don't Get Around Much Anymore.' It was raining then, too. I don't know why I remember that. There was nothing special about it." He turned away from Amanda to get out some knives and spoons for the pumpkin carving, rootling around in the kitchen drawers longer than strictly needed. He cleared his throat nervously and ran a hand through his hair as he searched for the proper utensils, clattering among the silverware.
"Yes, there was," Amanda replied softly, her throat tightening with love and grief for him. He was such a beautiful man, such a special man. She imagined him as a little boy with hazel eyes that blazed with energy, a secure and happy boy, listening to his parents sing on a rainy afternoon like this one, and then she ached over the pain he would endure as a child and for decades afterward. He said so little, but conveyed so much to her about his long years of loneliness and isolation. "My parents liked Nat King Cole, too," she ventured, treading carefully. "I remember watching them dance to his music in the kitchen once, on Christmas Eve. Daddy twirled Mother, and that made me laugh; I'd never seen them do that before. Mother still listens to Nat sometimes. I've noticed her twisting her wedding band when she gets to 'Smile.' I think it reminds her of him.'"
"Does she?" Lee turned to her with a quirk in his forehead that gave him a hopeful air. "I like your mother."
"She'll like you, too," Amanda said, and then wished she'd bitten her tongue before allowing those word to come out of her mouth. How much they assumed! What would he think of her, taking for granted that he would meet her family someday and be an on-going part of her life? That he wanted any kind of relationship with her mother and sons? Yet how could the two of them go forward if he didn't?
"I hope so," Lee murmured so quietly that she had to hold her breath to hear him.
They started in on the pumpkins. While Amanda worked, scraping away the seeds and the damp, fragrant strings of pumpkin guts, she thought. 'I need to trust him more. I trust him as partner and a friend, but I need to trust him as a lover, or we'll be doomed before we begin.' She glanced at him surreptitiously, the pumpkin cool and lighter in her hands than it used to be. He was frowning with concentration over the unfamiliar task, the sleeves of his pine-green shirt rolled up to his elbows, the spoon making a hollow sound as he scraped at the shell of his pumpkin. The hair over his forehead swayed with each movement. He would lay down his life for her at any moment, she knew. He looked over at her and smiled uncertainly. 'I already gave him my heart, long ago,' she mused. 'I might as well include some real faith in him to go along with it.'
"Looking good there, Lee," she said aloud. So do you think you have the nerve to carve free-hand, or do you want to draw the design on first? It probably won't surprise you to learn that I always draw first."
"I think I can manage to carve free-hand," he told her with mock seriousness. "You may not know this about me, but I'm highly artistic." And he brandished a paring knife, making dramatic flourishes in the air in front of him as if the knife were a painter's brush.
"Really," she countered, "and when was the last time you created a work of art?"
He appeared to be pondering her question, his hands curved into the hollow pumpkin. "High school. I drew a still life of a catcher's mitt that would take your breath away."
She burst out laughing, and he joined in easily. She loved to see him laugh. He had laughed so seldom when she first met him and not always sincerely then, but lately, she suddenly realized, he relaxed into laughter often. A mental image of the frozen people from The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, enduring in a snowy land where it was always winter but never Christmas, flitted through her mind. Whatever lay ahead for the two of them, she felt deeply grateful to have witnessed Lee's slow reemergence.
He was such a warm-hearted person, really. She thought of the afternoon she had turned to him for comfort after he had exchanged a Soviet spy for her, a man whom he had worked tirelessly to capture, risking prison by making the trade. They had known each other only a few months at the time, and he'd often treated her with a mixture of exasperation and impatience. But he had embraced her after that exchange without hesitation while she cried against him. When she had told him tearfully that she'd been scared, he'd said, "I know, I know. So was I," and tightened his hold. He had committed treason for her, she realized later, and then he'd held her as if he'd never let her go, his breath coming ragged and fast. His relief over her safety had come off in waves from his hands and arms and voice, and she'd felt her own fear melting away in the warmth of his emotion. Even in the early days of their partnership, he'd given her glimpses of this caring, connected, passionate person, a man with whom she'd shared a jolt of recognition on that station platform three years ago, and frankly, those glimpses of light had sustained her through some dark times with him. Gradually, gradually, with some temporary retreats back into the cold, he had allowed her to see this Lee who now sat at the kitchen table across from her, this man she loved so intensely. It occurred to her in a flash of insight that his unspoken, unconscious message to her during these past three years had been, 'Don't give up on me. Please.' And perhaps hers to him had been the same.
Lee found a fine-point Sharpie for Amanda and began carving his own pumpkin while she drew the design on hers. They were comfortable without much speech, enjoying each other's company; the playful activity of carving; the cozy atmosphere of the well-lit kitchen; and the sound of Nat Cole's rich voice singing jazz, ballads, and love songs. When Amanda started carving, too, bits of pumpkin went flying. One piece from her pumpkin ended up in the dregs of Lee's cider, causing him to draw back in feigned concern and say, "I beg your pardon!" Amanda guffawed at that; prim Lee was very funny. He kept a straight face for only a moment; then his dimples started to show, indicating a suppressed grin. He was careful to sit exactly opposite of her so that she couldn't see what he was carving, and when she asked casually about the nature of his design, he said emphatically, "It's a surprise! Don't you like surprises?"
"Yes, I do," she responded, easing into an honesty with him that she found wonderfully enjoyable. "I was happy to discover that I do, Lee." He looked up quickly at that, his eyes kindling with pleasure. Amanda felt her cheeks growing warm. He set his finished pumpkin on the table carefully, the carved portion still turned away from her. The air between them seemed to hum suddenly with energy. "Say, Lee, why don't you find some tea lights while I finish up with my jack-o'-lantern," she suggested, keeping her eyes determinedly on her work.
"Tea lights?" Lee's voice was immediately tense. "What are tea lights?" Amanda felt a slight stab of worry. Oh, it would be a shame, an anticlimax, if they couldn't light candles inside the jack-o'-lanterns. She should have thought ahead and realized that Lee wouldn't have stubby candles or tea lights; they could have so easily stopped at a hardware store on their way to his apartment and bought some.
"Tea lights are those little white candles that come in silver cups to catch the melted wax," she explained, already mentally reviewing Lee's neighborhood, trying to recall if she'd seen a hardware store nearby. If they had to leave his apartment to get some candles, they could do that. It wasn't the end of the world, for heaven's sake…
Lee was already turned away, rummaging in a high cupboard. "Oh, those. I have some of those. They keep the fondue warm." He spun back toward her, a box of matches and a mesh bag filled with tea lights held high in triumph. "Are you ready for the lighting ceremony?"
As Lee clicked off the last lamp, Amanda struck a match, waited while the flame stuttered a moment, then slipped it through the jack's mouth once the flame was burning steadily. One match. Lee knew with absolute certainty that he had never seen anything more lovely than Amanda's delicate face, her eyes cast down as she concentrated on her task, illuminated by the soft firelight. The pumpkin, carved with a whiskered cat's features, came to life, glowing and mysterious. The light from the jack-o'-lantern swayed over her in gentle currents, turning her off-white sweater into a warm cream color, finding glints in the heart-shaped pendant just below the hollow of her throat, deepening her hair to mahogany. A breathless pause spread between them. "Ah, Amanda," Lee sighed appreciatively. He took up the box of matches and extracted a single stick, then scratched it against the grainy strike surface, lit the candle, and slowly revolved the jack-o'-lantern so that Amanda could see his work. Her eyes brightened immediately with surprised delight. Instead of a simple face, he had carved the graceful silhouette of a smiling crescent moon surrounded by bursts of many-pointed stars, flickering now with candlelight.
"Lee, that's glorious! I've never seen anything like it. It's a celestial jack-o'-lantern."
"Didn't I tell you I was artistic? You should've believed me." His husky voice held just a hint of teasing.
"I did believe you." The rain thrummed more intensely against the windows and Nat Cole launched into "Unforgettable," the last song on the CD. They stood facing each other, eyes locked, the jack-o'-lanterns spilling golden light onto the table in front of them, the apartment steeped in darkness behind them. Amanda tilted her head as if to get a better look at him, as if to see him anew. Lee held himself very still, but he knew that his face must be suffused with the emotion he had for so long tried to conceal from her and from himself. She reached out and plucked a stray pumpkin seed from the front of his flannel shirt. "Would you like to dance?" she asked tenderly in her creaky, beguiling voice. And feeling no need of a spoken answer, she took two steps forward into his waiting arms.