Page 54 of Pumpkin Patch Pack
“I like that about him,” she says, her fingers playing with the hair at the nape of my neck in a way that makes me want to purr. “He’s honest. Uncomplicated.”
“And I’m not?” I tease, pressing a light kiss to the corner of her mouth.
“You,” she says, looking back at me with those beautiful eyes, “are a man who carves intricate patterns into pumpkins and licks my wounds. You contain multitudes, Alpha Rowan.”
I capture her mouth again, unable to resist, and she responds with equal hunger. This time when we part, we’re both breathing hard.
“We should probably finish those pumpkins,” I say reluctantly, though my body screams to carry her straight to my bed.
Emma nods, her legs wobble, and the knowledge that I affected her that strongly fills me with feral satisfaction.
“Pumpkins first,” she agrees, straightening her sweater. “Then maybe we can discuss this bet between Liam and Theo.”
“Oh?” I say as we return to the picnic table.
She picks up her carving knife with a mischievous smile. “I think I might need to thoroughly compare before deciding who wins.”
The implication sends heat straight to my groin. “And where do I fit into this experiment?”
Emma looks up at me through her lashes, her scent rich with promise. “You, Alpha, have set a very high standard.”
I grin, feeling lighter than I have in years. “I aim to please.”
“So I’ve noticed.” She returns to her pumpkin, but her scent remains warm and sweet, filled with contentment and arousal.
As I pick up my own knife, I find myself thinking that of all the autumn harvests I’ve experienced on this farm, this one is most definitely the sweetest yet.
24
Emma
It’s a beautiful Sunday, and I’m kneeling to photograph a particularly photogenic display of multi-colored pumpkins when—
“Emma? Emma! Oh my God, it is you!”
I turn slowly, heart pounding, to face Jessica.
She looks exactly as I remember: polished, put-together, and confident, like someone who knows her place in the world.
“Jessica,” I acknowledge, trying to keep my voice steady. “What a surprise.”
“I thought that was you!” she exclaims, looking me up and down with barely concealed curiosity. “What on earth are youdoing here? Everyone thought you’d moved overseas after… well, you know.”
The implied reference to my disastrous departure from the agency hangs between us. I force a smile. “Just working—social media management for the farm.”
“I saw the farm’s Instagram and just knew it had to be you behind those gorgeous photos,” Jessica says, pulling me in for a hug. “That aesthetic and those filters are unmistakable. Nobody does it like you do.”
I shift uncomfortably. “You drove three hours just to check if it was me?”
Jessica’s expression softens. “I was worried about you, Em. You disappeared without a word. No calls, no texts. After everything with Marcus…” She lowers her voice, glancing around. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
There’s concern in her voice, but I don’t buy it. Jessica and I were more friendly colleagues back at the agency than friends. Yet here she is, having tracked me down based on Instagram aesthetics.
“I’m fine,” I assure her, though my heart still races. “Better than fine, actually. I love it here.”
She looks surprised, and I can practically see the thoughts forming behind her eyes.
Social media for a farm? After being on track to become a senior account executive at one of the city’s top agencies? What a fall from grace.
