Page 50 of Pumpkin Patch Pack
I linger a moment and nod, making my way to the pumpkin patch. For the next hour, I lose myself in the work, capturingfamilies selecting their perfect pumpkins, the late afternoon light gilding the orange globes with gold, children comparing their finds with proud expressions.
As the day ends, I relax into a rhythm I haven’t felt in months—perhaps years.
This work is joyful.
It documents moments of genuine happiness and creates an experience that people will remember.
And more than that, there’s a growing sense of belonging. With each interaction, I feel less like an outsider looking in and more like someone who has found her place.
22
Emma
Dusk is settling over the farm as I make my way toward the fire pit area near the edge of the apple orchard. The last visitors left hours ago, and the property has a different feel now—peaceful and intimate.
As I approach, I see the fire blazing, flames reaching the darkening sky. Around it, four Adirondack chairs have been arranged in a loose circle, close enough for conversation but with enough space between them that no one would feel crowded.
Theo spots me first, waving enthusiastically. “Perfect timing! I was just about to open the cider.”
As I draw closer, they’ve transformed the simple fire pit into something almost magical. String lights hang from the nearby trees, casting a warm glow that complements the fire. A small table holds an array of food—the promised ingredients for s’mores, cheese, crackers, fruit, and what appears to be a pot of mulled cider keeping warm over a portable burner.
“This is beautiful,” I say, impressed by the effort they’ve put into what was supposed to be a casual bonfire.
“Theo’s doing,” Rowan says, rising from his chair. His movement sends a wave of burnt sugar scent toward me, and my omega instincts respond with a flutter of warmth low in my belly. “He doesn’t believe in doing anything halfway.”
Theo grins proudly, not denying it. “Life’s too short for halfway experiences.” He hands me a mug of steaming cider that smells of cinnamon, cloves, and something more substantial. “Spiked with bourbon. Just enough to keep the autumn chill away.”
Our fingers brush during the exchange, and a tingle races up my arm. I have to suppress a small gasp at how intensely my body reacts to even this casual touch.
Liam, arranging wood near the fire, straightens and nods a greeting. The sight of him, all tall, broad-shouldered, and backlit by flames, makes my mouth dry and my heart beat faster.
“Sit,” Rowan says, gesturing to the empty chair between his and Theo’s. “Relax. Tonight is just about enjoying the season.”
I settle into the chair, cradling the warm mug between my hands. The fire crackles pleasantly, sending sparks spiraling upward into the darkening sky. Positioned between Rowan and Theo, with Liam directly across from me, I am surrounded by their scents—a heady combination that makes my skin prickle with awareness and dampness gather between my thighs.
For a while, conversation flows easily, light, casual topics about the farm, the successful opening weeks, and funny storiesabout particularly memorable visitors. Theo is in his element, animated and entertaining as he recounts the tale of a city couple who didn’t understand that the pumpkins grew on vines, not trees.
“They kept looking up,” he says, gesturing dramatically. “Searching the branches like they expected to see orange globes hanging there like Christmas ornaments. I didn’t have the heart to tell them to look down.”
I laugh, without restraint, and all three men watching me with expressions that make heat climb up my neck.
“Your turn,” Theo says, turning to me with bright eyes. “Best visitor story so far.”
I think for a moment, then share the story of a little girl who was convinced Maple was a princess under a curse. “She kept whispering to her that she knew the truth, and that she’d find a way to break the spell. Maple just kept eating her jacket.”
The guys laugh, and something warm blooms in my chest at the sound, at being the cause of it. Liam’s chuckle, Rowan’s deep rumble, Theo’s unreserved delight. Different notes that somehow harmonize perfectly. My omega preens at their approval, a purr building in my throat that I must swallow down.
As the evening progresses and the cider works its gentle magic, the conversation shifts to more personal territory. Refilling our mugs, Theo hesitates before speaking, his usual easy confidence momentarily subdued.
“You know, I almost didn’t come back to the farm after college,” he says, his voice quieter than usual. “I had a job offer in the city. Good money, a chance to see more of the world than justAutumn Falls.”
This is clearly news, though Rowan and Liam’s expressions suggest they’ve heard this story before. “What made you stay?” I ask, leaning slightly toward him without conscious thought,drawn to his spiced vanilla, the edges intensify, turning somewhat with his vulnerability.
Theo stares into the fire, the flames reflecting in his eyes. “A lot of things. Family responsibility, partly—Rowan was already running things, but it’s a lot for one person. But mostly…” he trails off, searching for words. “I realized I was chasing something I thought I was supposed to want, not what actually made me happy.”
“And the farm makes you happy?” I ask, my hand moving of its own accord to rest lightly on his forearm.
He looks up. “The farm, sure. But honestly? It’s more about belonging somewhere, you know? Having a purpose, a place that’s mine. I would have been just another desk guy in a suit in the city. Here, I’m…” he gestures around, encompassing the farm, the fire, the three of us, “part of something real.”
