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“Y'know, I’ve never actually done this before.”
Natasha stands to her full height, holding her chosen pumpkin in her arms as she does. “Never done what?” she asks, blowing at the stray hair that’s fallen from her braid and into her eyes. It doesn’t move – stays caught in her line of vision, and she huffs out an annoyed exhale and starts to shift the pumpkin to one arm.
But Pete just grins, stepping forward and brushing his thumb over her jawline to hook the loose hair behind her ear. “Never actually been to a pumpkin patch, I don’t think,” he clarifies. “Not that I can remember, anyway.”
Natasha can feel her cheeks warming as she smirks. “Could just be that your memory’s goin’, Mav.”
“You’re not funny,” Pete sighs, but he’s smiling, his eyes bright.
“I am,” Natasha counters, handing off the pumpkin and nodding appreciatively as she turns to pick out a second, smaller one. “My parents and I would come out here almost every year when I was little. Pick out pumpkins to carve, run through the corn maze, go on the hay rides. The smell’s always stayed the same – bonfires and hay bales and horse shit.”
Laughing, Pete follows her to another line of pumpkins, standing back a few steps as she squats to run her fingers over them. “Appealing.”
“Like jet fuel and sweat,” she grins. “Just as comforting as it is terrible.”
Natasha grabs a smaller pumpkin by the stem once she’s made her decision and tucks it into the crook of her elbow, sliding her free hand through Maverick’s arm and holding him close as they walk toward the booth at the edge of the patch. Once they’ve paid and the pumpkins are safely tucked away in the backseat of Maverick’s Jeep, he wraps an arm around her waist and slides his hand snugly into the back pocket of her jeans, steering her back towards the patch.
“We don’t have to be back at your parents’ for a bit yet. Your mom said dinner’s at six, right?”
“Yeah,” Natasha answers. “You really wanna go on the hay ride and talk to the guy about his tractor, don’t you?”
“Is that a euphemism?” Pete asks, turning and brushing a kiss against her hair. “But yes. I do. Gimme the full pumpkin patch experience, Trace.”
Natasha hums. “Y'know, when I was in high school, the hay rides got a lot more fun. We just went on it to make out the whole time.”
“Well, now we have to go,” Pete says, the hand in her back pocket squeezing gently.
The sound of her laughter carries as Pete helps her step up into the trailer. She picks one of the hay bales toward the front, curling her hands in the sleeves of her flannel and breathing in the familiar scent of the tractor’s exhaust. When Maverick sits down, he immediately shifts to one side and then the other like he’s trying to get comfortable.
“Here,” Natasha laughs, standing up and shrugging out of her sweater. “Take this.”
He just quirks an eyebrow. “For what?”
“To sit on,” she answers simply, spreading it out on her side of the bale and swatting at Pete’s thigh to get him to move. “It’s softer than the hay. Your old man ass probably needs the cushioning.”
“Phoenix, Jesus,” Maverick huffs, but he moves. Sits back down and lets out a grateful exhale against her lips as she kisses him unapologetically.
“Better?”
“You’re not funny,” he says, but he’s nodding, finding her hand and threading their fingers together. “And you love my old man ass. I have the bitemarks to prove it.”
“I am,” she replies simply. The trailer jolts forward a moment later when the tractor starts moving and her grin widens, eyes falling closed as Pete’s free hand curls over her cheek. “And I do.”