Page 68 of Pumpkin Patch Pack
Time for nap now.
29
Emma
Istand at the entrance booth, adjusting the witch hat that keeps slipping over my eyes, marveling at how much has changed in such a short time. Our social media following exploded, particularly after videos featuring Maple wearing tiny costumes went viral. The videos showcase her around the farm in everything from fairy wings to a tiny shark costume.
Tonight is Halloween, andHarvest Home Farmhas transformed into a haunted wonderland. Jack-o’-lanterns line every path, their flickering faces casting eerie shadows across the grounds. Fake cobwebs drape the barn entrances, and the maze has been reimagined as a “Labyrinth of Fear,”complete with hidden speakers playing ghostly whispers and the occasional mechanical jump scare.
“How’s it going out there?” Theo asks, adjusting my witch’s hat as I check my phone for the latest social media metrics.
“Busy,” I say, showing him the stream of tagged photos pouring in. “We’re trending locally. The haunted maze is a huge hit.”
The farm is open until 10 p.m. tonight, the season’s last event. Rowan insisted on extra security for tonight’s extended hours—burly men in discreet earpieces stationed at every entrance and patrolling the perimeter. Their presence should be reassuring, but the knot in my stomach won’t loosen. Marcus’s silence feels calculated, like the calm before a storm.
“Penny, for your thoughts?” Theo asks. He’s dressed as a pirate, with a fake parrot on his shoulder and a black patch covering one eye.
“Just thinking about how quiet it’s been,” I admit. “No word from Marcus since Mom’s visit. It’s making me nervous.”
He adjusts his eyepatch. “Maybe he finally got the message that you’re not interested.”
I give him a skeptical look. “You don’t know Marcus. He doesn’t give up—especially when his ego is involved.”
“Well, he’d be an idiot to try anything tonight,” Theo says, gesturing to the two security guards stationed at the entrance. You’re safe, Emma.”
“Besides,” Theo continues, his usual playful smile returning, “you’ve got the scariest security detail of all.” He points to where Maple stands nearby, wearing tiny devil horns that make her look ridiculously adorable rather than menacing.
I laugh, some of my tension easing. “The fearsome hell-goat, terror of the pumpkin patch.”
“Exactly. Come on, you promised to help me judge the costume contest.”
The night progresses without incident. Children in costumes race between activity stations, collecting candy and small prizes. Parents sip spiked cider and take photos. Teens shriek with exaggerated fear as they emerge from the haunted corn maze.
By nine o’clock, I’m beginning to think my fears were unfounded. The costume contest has ended, and the last hayride of the night is loading up.
My phone buzzes with a text message.
Liam: “Come find me in the maze. I have a surprise for you.”
Heat floods my cheeks as I read the message. Since that first night in my cottage, things have progressed to a comfortable intimacy. We still haven’t completed a bond—all of us agreeing to wait until I feel completely ready—but we’ve found countless ways to pleasure each other in the meantime.
“On my way,” I text back, my heart racing with anticipation.
I make my way toward the maze entrance, passing groups all wearing the same costume—a skeleton jumpsuit with a glow-in-the-dark ribcage and a white mask. It must have been popular this year.
The entrance to the maze is crowded with people exiting, laughing, and comparing which scares got them the best. I slip past them, entering the tall corn field. It is a little too dark and scary, but I push forward.
The path twists and turns, the sounds of the festival growing more distant with each step. Motion-activated speakers emit spooky sounds—owl hoots, whispered voices, creaking doors. I jump a few times even though I know exactly where they are. I assume Liam is waiting at the very center.
I pass more visitors, including another group of identical skeleton costumes. They laugh and chat as they pass, clearly friends enjoying the night together.
The maze’s center opens into a small clearing where we’ve placed a throne made of hay bales. It’s empty now; the staffmember who usually sits there as the “Maze King” is most likely done for the night.
I look around, confused. “Liam?” I call softly.
No answer.
I pull out my phone to text him when I notice a lone figure standing at the opposite entrance to the clearing. Another skeleton costume, a white mask. Something about how they stand with their head tilted slightly sends a shiver of fear through me. “There’s my omega.”
