"You have to be careful, little pumpkin," Peter had called me that way many times in the past. That time I was even thinking of letting him call me whichever he wanted, I didn't care, just to see that soft smile and those gentle eyes fixed on me.
Though I told him that I was not a pumpkin, how can I resemble a pumpkin? The one that should have that nickname should be Irina. Her hair was red and when she was shy and blushing she was the description of a tomato, well, near a pumpkin, right?
"Tch… I am not a pumpkin," I muttered, and he chuckled.
"Yes, you are not," he smiled again and cover his mouth, "you are a full-grown lady."
"…" Oh my, I am now a pumpkin. I bet my face is red from the shame. How can he make me recall my embarrassing show a few hours ago? "Don't… you forget it!"
