Page 48 of Pumpkin Patch Pack
“I know,” I say, appreciating the concern. “I’ll be fine.”
The first visitors begin trickling in around ten. I position myself near the entrance, my phone camera ready, capturing their delighted expressions as they take in the autumn wonderlandHarvest Home Farmhas become. Children squeal at the sight of the hay slide, couples pose beneath the archway of cornstalks, and families hop on board a truck for a hayride.
With each passing minute, my anxiety builds. I keep waiting for that moment when an unbonded alpha catches my scent and reacts. But oddly, nothing happens. People smile, ask directions, compliment the decorations—but no one gives me a second glance.
I can’t smell them.
At least, not in the way I feared.
There’s the general human scent of bodies and perfumes and the occasional whiff of someone who needs a shower, but the distinctive alpha pheromones are muted, almost non-existent.
Even more so than before.
The extra-strength suppressants I took for years were efficient, but I could still smell the slight lingering scent of alphas.
Now it’s gone.
Confused, I make my way toward the petting zoo, where Liam is introducing children to the animals. His tall figure is unmistakable, and as I approach, his scent—bourbon and smoke—washes over me with startling clarity. He spots me immediately, his expression softening.
“How’s it going?” he asks when there’s a lull in visitors.
“Great. The suppressants are working well. But it’s strange,” I admit, lowering my voice. “I can smell you perfectly, but other alphas’ scents are nonexistent.”
Liam’s mouth quirks in that almost-smile. “Dr. Mitchell mentioned this might happen. When compatible mates findeach other, their scents… adapt. Makes them less attractive to others.”
“Like biological camouflage,” I murmur, amazed.
He nods. “To anyone else, you probably just smell claimed.”
The word sends a thrill through me that I’m not ready to examine too closely. Instead, I focus on the practical implication—I’m safe.
For the first time in months, I don’t need to hide.
“Want to help with the rabbits?” Liam asks, nodding toward the pen where several children are waiting excitedly. “They respond well to you.”
For the next hour, I work alongside Liam, introducing visitors to the gentlest of the farm animals. I snap photos of children’s faces lighting up when they hold a baby bunny for the first time and of Liam patiently teaching a little boy how to approach the miniature pony without startling her. Watching his large, calloused hands move with such gentleness, his deep voice softening as he explains to the children how to respect the animals’ space, is mesmerizing.
“You’re good with them,” I tell him quietly. “The children, I mean.”
He shrugs, but I catch the pleased note in his scent. “Animals are easier,” he says. “But kids are okay. They tend to say whatever comes to mind—no filter.”
I snap a candid shot of him kneeling beside a small girl as she tentatively strokes Maple’s head. The contrast between his size and the child’s, the gentleness in his expression, captures something essential about him that you would not expect from such a large alpha.
“I should check on the other areas,” I say reluctantly after another group moves through. “Get a complete coverage of the day.”
Liam nods. “Come back if you need a break—some Maple therapy time.”
I go to the farm stand next, where Theo has drawn a crowd with his baking demonstration. He’s in his element, flour dusting his forearms as he explains the secret to perfect apple hand pies.
“And the key,” he’s saying to his rapt audience, “is keeping everything cold until the last possible moment.” He looks up, spotting me at the crowd’s edge, and his whole face brightens. “Ah! Our social media genius has arrived. Everyone smile for Instagram!”
The crowd chuckles and obliges, and I capture the moment—Theo in mid-demonstration, visitors leaning forward in anticipation, the golden-brown pies cooling on racks behind him.
“How’s it going?” he asks when the demonstration ends and people move to purchase his creations.
“Better than expected,” I admit, accepting the warm hand pie he presses into my hand. “I can smell the three of you perfectly, but no one else seems to notice me.”
Theo grins, leaning closer. “That’s because you’re ours,” he says, his voice dropping to a whisper that sends a shiver across my skin. “And everyone can tell.”
