Page 102 of Cinnamon Roll Set Up

“I’m going for it anyway,” I yell, and dart forward through the crowd.

Lydia and Cece cheer me on, but their hurrahs are quickly lost in the noise of all the people I have to push past.

“Coming through!” I shout, my eyes on that small break in the corn. I donotlook at the scarecrow guards.

A man who works at the farm tries to step in front of me, but I dodge him, raising my arm to reveal my pink wristband.

“I’m a contestant!”

“You’re a little late,” he yells back.

Yeah, about two years late. I’m not wasting any more time.

I dash through the corn, and I’m immediately back in the fake maze with the haunted scarecrow. Sweat beads down my back and the nape of my neck, and my hands are balled into tight fists. The faster I move my feet, the faster I can get to Miles. And then the faster we can get out of this demented version of fall fun.

It doesn’t take long to catch up to the very back of the crowd of contestants. They clog the narrow maze aisles, and I slow to a walk. I’m never going to find Miles first if I wait around at the back.

“The man I love is in there!” I shout.

“Join the club,” one of the older women shouts back.

It was worth a shot. Fine. It’s time to get pushy.

I slip past everyone I can, ignoring the tiny ball of shame in my gut that normally stops me from even considering cutting in line. But this isn’t a line. It’s a weird free-for-all, andmy Milesis up for grabs. You bet I’m cutting.

Some of the gals push back a little bit, but most just laugh as I barrel past. Someone says, “Way to be desperate,” but I don’t care. Watch me be desperate for Miles.

After a while, we’ve hit enough forks in the path that it’s less crowded but considerably more confusing. No surprise, I’ve never been in a corn maze before. I don’t know if there’s a strategy to it, or if you just take your chances and hope for the best.

I hit dead-ends and have to turn around. I find more toy scarecrows than I care to acknowledge, each one sending a jolt of panic up my spine. I stumble on one set of turns that, after three times through it, I realize is running me and everyone else in it in circles. They’re not exactly making it easy to find the guys.

That’s the point. Still.

But ladies are having success. I come across one dead-endand see a man who’s already chatting up his winner. It’s not Miles, thank goodness, but it just proves how unlikely it is I’m going to come out of here with him.

Someone could already be with him now. Ignoring the stitch in my side, I run faster.

I stumble around another corner and find a man who hasn’t been won yet. He smiles wide, but I turn around and retrace my steps.

“I’m sorry,” I shout behind me. “It’s not you. It’s me!”

The fewer women I see around me, the quieter the cornfield gets, and the quicker I run. It’s too spooky to be alone like this. Do the farm owners do a sweep of the maze every night to make sure nobody’s lost in the cornfields? It’s broad daylight, but I have a very clear picture of what it would be like in here, lost in the dark.

Nope. Not goingthere.

I keep running, but I have no concept of where I am in the maze. With zero sense of direction, I could be circling back toward the entrance. All I know for sure is that I haven’t reached Miles yet, and I can’t stop until I do.

I turn a corner, and finally,finallyI’ve found him. I might cry.

After this morning, tears are a very real possibility.

Miles looks at me for a second like he can’t believe it’s me, and then his face lights up with the biggest, brightest smile.

“Georgia,” he breathes as I jog the last few feet to him.

I stop in front of him, breathing too hard to speak, the pain in my side reminding me I am not and have never been a runner. But I can grin back at him.

“What took you so long?” he says.

---