Page 172 of Knot Baked Out For This
"You came to a corn maze to breathe?"
"I came to a corn maze to hide," he corrects. "The breathing was a bonus."
We turn another corner, and suddenly we're in a small clearing, fairy lights strung overhead despite being in the middle of the maze. There's a bench, probably for people who get overwhelmed, but it feels magical in the filtered light.
"How did you know this would still be here?"
"Some things don't change." He sits, pulls me down beside him. "The maze is different every year, but this clearing's always in the same spot. Eye of the storm."
"Poetic for a fire captain."
"I have depths."
We sit in comfortable silence for a moment, the sounds of the festival distant and dreamy. His thumb traces circles on my hand, and I realize how natural this feels now.
Being touched. Being held. Being wanted.
"I’m glad I could bring you here," he admits suddenly. "It really does invite a sense of peace. Like the calm before the storm.”
I raise an eyebrow at him, the beginnings of a grin curling at the edges of my mouth. “So is a storm supposed to be brewing, Captain Cambridge?”
He cocks his head, a tiny quirk at the corner of his lips. “Forecast’s looking dramatic.”
The space fills with a tension as gentle and charged as static in the air before a thunderclap. My pulse stutters, and the cinnamon in my scent unfurls, curling into something autumnal and a little wild. His hand, still encasing mine, shifts so our fingers weave together.
Rowan leans just enough that his shoulder brushes mine, his scent warm and cedar-spice and grounded. “Are you scared of the storm?”
I shake my head, letting the words tumble out before I can overthink them. “Not if I’m with you.”
He’s so close now, his smile more open than I think I’ve ever seen. “That’s a relief. Because I hear you’re terrified of corn.”
I laugh, the sound coming out awkward and too loud in the hush of the clearing. He reacts by tucking a rogue strand of my hair behind my ear, and the touch is so gentle I think I might combust.
“I should just kiss you, shouldn’t I?”
My smile can’t get bigger as I whisper, “Or you can see if we can do a quicky before the twins find us?”
He groans, tilting his head back for a second, exposing the strong line of his throat. I want to kiss it, trace the pulse there with my tongue, but I hold back, watching him wrestle with that protective streak of his.
Yeah…fuck that…I do what I want.
Which is why I’m already leaning in, pressing my lips to his pulse point, kissing it firmly enough to ignite that rumble of a groan.
“You can always convince me to be like the twins,” he huffs, like it’s not a compliment.
“Act now, think later,” I huff against his flesh, licking it slowly, which I’m sure is sending tingles through him.
Before he can protest—or agree—he captures my mouth in a kiss that's anything but quick. It's deep, consuming, his lips firm and insistent as one hand slides up to cradle the back of my head, fingers threading through my messy hair. I melt into it, tasting him the sugar sweetness of our earlier treats.
My hands roam, slipping under his Henley to feel the hard planes of his chest, muscles honed from years of firefighting. He's so solid, so real, and it hits me how much I've craved this—being wanted without the weight of expectations. With Rowan, there's no pressure to perform; it's just us, bickering our way into something deeper. "You're overdressed," I murmur against his lips, tugging at his shirt.
He chuckles, the sound vibrating through me. "Bossy today, aren't you? First the photoshoot, now this." But he obliges, shrugging out of his flannel jacket and pulling the Henley over his head in one smooth motion. The sight of him—broad shoulders, defined abs dusted with dark hair, that scar from some old fire on his side—makes my mouth dry. He's attractive in that unassuming way, like he doesn't know the effect he has, but I do. I've always noticed, even when I pretended not to.
"Your turn," he says, eyes darkening as they rake over me. His hands find the hem of my sweater, pushing it up slowly, exposing the pumpkin-patterned leggings and the curve of my stomach.
I help him, shimmying out of it, feeling a rush of vulnerability mixed with empowerment. After the photoshoot earlier, with Reverie yelling about "sensual bakery goddess energy," I'd felt shy, but now? With Rowan's gaze on me like I'm something precious, I feel sexy, desired. My hair tumbles down, theautumn-pumpkin strands with their black roots catching the light, and I watch his expression soften, heat with want.
"Beautiful," he whispers, leaning in to kiss along my collarbone, his stubble grazing my skin in a way that sends sparks straight to my core. I arch into him, my mismatched fuzzy socks scraping against the hay-strewn ground as I wrap my legs around his waist. We're in a bubble here, the maze walls high and enclosing, but the thrill of potential discovery adds an edge. What if Levi or Luca stumbles upon us? The thought makes me giggle, even as Rowan's mouth finds the sensitive spot below my ear.
