Page 11 of Pumpkins & Promises
The first few throws are disasters. I'm either overshooting the board entirely or landing bags so short they don't even reach the platform. Emily, meanwhile, has clearly played this before, landing bag after bag with casual precision.
"Stop thinking so much," she says after I send another bag sailing into the apple trees. "It's not brain surgery. Just aim and throw."
"Just aim and throw," I mutter, hefting another bag. "Right. Simple."
But something about Emily's confidence is contagious. Or maybe it's the way she celebrates every small success—mine and hers—with genuine enthusiasm. By our third game, I'm actually starting to understand the mechanics. By our fourth, we're developing something that resembles strategy.
"Left side," Emily murmurs as I line up my shot. "Their bags are clustered on the right."
I throw, and the bag slides perfectly into the hole.
"Yes!" Emily practically bounces, then catches herself looking around to see who noticed. "I mean, nice shot."
But she's grinning, and her excitement is so genuine that I can't help grinning back.
"We're actually good at this," I say, surprised.
"We're good together," she corrects, then immediately blushes. "At cornhole. Good at cornhole together."
Right. Cornhole.
As we advance through the bracket, I start to notice things. The way Emily automatically hands me bags in the order I prefer to throw them. How she celebrates my shots with the same enthusiasm as her own. The way we've fallen into an easy rhythm of communication, barely needing words to coordinate our strategy.
"You two are like a well-oiled machine," comments Sarah from The Copper Kettle as we beat her and her husband in the semifinals. "How long did you say you've been together?"
"Not long," Emily says quickly. "We're still figuring each other out."
But we advance to the finals against Dylan and Sienna, and something about the way Dylan watches us makes me think we might be figuring each other out a little too well.
"Interesting," he says as we line up for the championship round.
"What's interesting?" Emily asks, practicing her throwing motion.
"You two. The way you move together, anticipate each other's plays." Dylan hefts a bag, testing its weight. "Most new couples don't have that kind of rhythm yet."
I can feel Emily tense beside me, but before either of us can respond, Sienna elbows Dylan in the ribs.
"Leave them alone," she says. "Just because you were hopeless at everything when we started dating doesn't mean everyone else is."
"I wasn't hopeless," Dylan protests.
"You tried to impress me by juggling pumpkins," Sienna reminds him. "It did not go well."
The game is close. Dylan and Sienna are clearly experienced partners, but Emily and I have found our groove. We're reading each other's throws, setting up shots, covering each other's mistakes with an ease that surprises me.
"Final round," Emily says, bouncing slightly on her toes. "No pressure."
"None at all," I agree, though my heart is beating faster than it should for a casual game.
I throw first, landing a bag perfectly in the hole. Emily follows with another hole shot. Dylan gets one on the board but not in the hole. Sienna matches Emily's throw.
It comes down to our final bags. Dylan throws and gets another hole shot, tying the score. Emily lines up her throw, takes a breath, and sends her bag sailing in a perfect arc that lands directly in the hole.
"Yes!" she shouts, jumping up and throwing her arms around me before she seems to realize what she's doing.
For a moment, I'm holding Emily Holloway against my chest, feeling her heart racing with excitement, breathing in the scent of apples and cinnamon that seems to follow her everywhere. Her face is tilted up toward mine, her eyes bright with triumph, and it would be the most natural thing in the world to kiss her.
Instead, I set her gently back on her feet and try to ignore the way my hands want to linger at her waist.
