Pumpkin patch pack, p.7
Pumpkin Patch Pack, page 7
I nearly jump out of my skin at the sound of my name, thumb ready to blast some Alpha-Away.
Theo appears beside me, his features creasing with concern as he takes in my crouched position and what must be a terrified expression. I tuck my spray back into my pocket, hoping he didn’t see the logo.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” He drops to a crouch beside me, keeping his usual respectful distance, his voice low. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
His mere presence makes my heart beat steady. I subtly lean into him, taking comfort in his cinnamon scent.
“I’m fine,” I whisper, but my voice shakes. “Just… getting a different angle for the shot.”
Theo’s eyes narrow, clearly not buying my excuse. My slight shift in posture has not lost his attention. His gaze sweeps the crowd as he searches for whatever threat has me spooked.
“That guy bothering you?” he asks quietly, nodding toward Marcus, who’s now sampling apple cider. “The one in the expensive jacket who looks like he’s never been on a farm?”
When I look again, he turns entirely around towards us.
It’s not Marcus—not him at all.
Fuck. I’m seeing things now.
Theo’s expression hardens at my silence, and a protective edge enters his voice that I’ve never heard before.
“Stay here,” he says. “I’ll handle this.”
“No!” I grab his arm before he can stand. “It’s not him. Sorry. I’m an idiot. I thought it was… someone else.”
Theo studies my face for a long moment, then nods. “I’ll get rid of him anyway, OK? Just take a break.”
He disappears into the crowd, and I watch as he approaches the man with his trademark charm turned to full wattage.
“Sir! Perfect timing!” Theo’s enthusiastic voice carries across the farm stand. You look like someone who appreciates quality. We’re offering an exclusive VIP tour of our apple orchard, only for our most discerning visitors. Would you like to join?”
The man preens at being singled out, his ego clearly flattered. Within minutes, Theo has shepherded him and several other visitors toward the far end of the property, away from where I’m hiding.
I go to the petting zoo area, seeking the one creature who won’t ask questions. Maple spots me immediately, abandoning the children fawning over her to trot to the fence where I stand. Her insistent bleating draws a watery laugh from me as I slip through the gate, finding a quiet corner behind the small shelter.
“Hey, troublemaker,” I whisper, sinking onto a hay bale.
Maple butts her head against my knee, then climbs awkwardly into my lap as if she were a much smaller animal. Her weight is comforting as I wrap my arms around her warm body, burying my face in her soft fur. She smells like sun-warmed hay.
“You’re too big for this,” I tell her, but make no move to push her away.
Maple responds by pressing closer, her steady heartbeat against mine, gradually slowing my racing pulse. I don’t know how long we sit there—me clinging to a goat like she’s a lifeline—Maple seemingly content to be my emotional support animal.
The panic recedes in gentle waves, leaving exhaustion in its wake.
“What am I doing here, Maple?” I murmur against her fur. “I can’t keep running forever.”
She bleats softly, as if in agreement.
Movement at the entrance to the petting zoo catches my eye. I tense, but it’s only a family with small children. From my hidden corner, I have a clear view of the main path and the man who looks like Marcus—but is not Marcus—who is now walking toward the parking lot with a woman on his arm.
“He’s gone,” I whisper to Maple, who bleats as if to say, “I told you so.”
I gently nudge her off my lap, brushing hay from my jeans as I stand. My legs feel steadier now, though the double dose of suppressants still makes the edges of my vision blur slightly when I move too quickly.
“Thanks for the therapy session,” I tell Maple, scratching behind her ears. “Your rates are very reasonable.”
A deep voice behind me nearly makes me jump out of my skin. “She prefers payment in apple slices.”
I whirl around to find Liam leaning against the shelter doorway, his large frame filling the space.
How long has he been there? Did he see my near-panic attack?
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I manage, aiming for casualness and probably missing by a mile.
Liam steps fully into the shelter, moving slowly in a way I’ve noticed he always does around me, like I’m a skittish animal he doesn’t want to startle. “You okay? Theo mentioned you might need help.”
So, Theo had sent Liam to check on me. The thought should annoy me, I don’t need minders, but instead, I find it oddly touching.
“I’m fine,” I say automatically. “Just needed a quiet moment. Opening day is a lot.”
Liam nods, studying me with an intensity that should make me uncomfortable but doesn’t. “It can be overwhelming,” he agrees. “All these strangers in our space.”
The way he says, “our space,” spreads warmth through my chest… a dangerous feeling of belonging that I can’t afford.
“I should get back,” I say, gesturing vaguely toward the crowds. “More content to capture.”
“You don’t have to. Theo’s got it covered if you need a break.”
The simple offer nearly undoes me. I’ve been so long without kindness that I hardly know how to receive it.
“I don’t want to shirk my responsibilities,” I protest weakly.
Liam shrugs those broad shoulders. “Taking care of yourself isn’t shirking. Besides,” he smiles, “Maple appreciates the company. She gets grumpy with all these strangers around.”
As if to emphasize his point, Maple looks up at me with those expressive eyes.
“Well, we can’t have a grumpy goat,” I concede, and am rewarded with one of Liam’s rare full smiles that transforms his entire face.
“I need to check on the ponies,” he says, backing toward the door. “But I’ll be around if you need anything.”
After he leaves, I sink back onto the hay bale, Maple climbing into my lap again. Through the shelter doorway, I can see the farm bustling with activity—families laughing, children running, the perfect picture of autumn joy they’ve worked so hard to create.
For the first time, I let myself imagine being part of it instead of just documenting from the sidelines.
“Just for today,” I whisper to Maple, who tilts her head like she’s considering whether this is a reasonable life goal. “Just for today, I’ll pretend I belong.”
She bleats, settling more comfortably against me, and I take that as her agreement.
13
Emma
Sunday passes without incident, but I’m down to my last three suppressants by Monday morning. I swallow two with water.
The persistent headache, dizziness, and nausea from doubling the dose are getting worse. But I don’t have a choice.
I need more suppressants, which means a trip into town. The thought makes my anxiety spike. Small towns notice newcomers. People talk.
But with only one pill left, I’m out of options.
My reflection looks back at me, pale and tired. Dark circles shadow my eyes, and my skin has a sickly pallor.
“You’re fine. You’ll get new pills today.”
The farm isn’t open to the public on weekdays right now, giving the staff time to restock and prepare for the next wave of visitors. This means a quieter day but more direct interaction with the permanent farm residents, A.K.A., the three men I’m starting to crave and fear being around, even if today is technically my day off.
When I reach the main house, I find Theo in the kitchen, flour dusting his hands.
“Just in time!” he chirps when he sees me. “I need a taste-tester.”
Before I can respond, he’s guiding me to a stool at the island counter and placing a small plate in front of me. On it sits what appears to be a miniature apple pie, golden-brown and still steaming.
“New recipe,” he explains, handing me a fork. “Apple cranberry hand pies. Thought we could sell them at the farm stand. People go crazy for anything handheld they can eat while walking around.”
The pie does look delicious, and as I take a small bite, the flavors burst on my tongue: tart cranberry, sweet apple, and buttery crust.
“This is amazing. You made these from scratch?”
Theo beams. “This is a Family recipe, with some tweaks. The secret is in the crust; you must keep everything cold.” He gestures to the flour-covered counter where more dough awaits shaping. “Want to learn? I could use an extra pair of hands.”
There’s something about Theo that makes me feel at ease; maybe it’s his beta status or the fact that he’s always joyous, like I want to soak up as much of his good vibes as I possibly can. “Sure. I’m not much of a baker, though.”
“Anyone can bake,” he says confidently, handing me an apron with ‘Betas do it Betta’ written across the front. “It’s just following directions with occasional creative flourishes.”
For the next hour, Theo teaches me to roll out dough (“Don’t overwork it; that’s what makes it tough”), fill the small circles with apple-cranberry mixture (“A little heaping is good, but don’t get greedy”), and crimp the edges with a fork (“Firm pressure, but don’t puncture through”). His instructions are clear and patient, and his praise makes my heart flutter when I get something right.
It’s fun.
As we work, Theo keeps up a stream of light conversation: stories about the farm, childhood memories of baking with his mother, and plans for future seasonal treats.
“You’re overworking it.” His hands cover mine, guiding my movements with the rolling pin. The warmth of his palms seeps through my skin.
“Feel that?” His voice drops low, close to my ear. “Gentle pressure, smooth strokes.”
My breath catches. The warmth of his body behind me, the cinnamon scent wrapping around me like a warm hug, makes my head spin. I lean back, seeking more heat.
Then I freeze. Shitballs.
Theo steps away, leaving cold air where his warmth had been.
“You’ve got it now,” he says, his voice rougher than before.
Silence hangs between us as he slides a batch of pies into the oven.
“So,” he says, casually, “how are you settling in? Really?”
“Fine,” I say automatically. “Everyone’s been very welcoming.”
Now that the baking is done, standing this close to Theo with nothing to keep my hands busy is… distracting.
He gives me a look that says he’s not buying it.
“Come on, Emma. It’s been over two weeks. You still eat dinner alone. You flinch when anyone comes near you. And you’ve only been to town once.” His tone is gentle, not accusing. “I’m not trying to pry, but… we care. We want you to be happy here.”
I look down at my hands, fiddling with the strings on my apron.
“I’m just… not great with new places. New people.”
“Bad experience?” he asks softly.
I nod, still not looking up. “You could say that.”
Theo is quiet for a moment, then says, “For what it’s worth, I get it. Not in the same way, maybe, but…” He trails off, then starts again. “Being a beta in an alpha-dominated family isn’t always easy. People make assumptions. They see you as less-than or just… overlook you.”
This makes me glance up, surprised by the hint of pain in his voice. Theo always seems so confident, so comfortable in his skin.
He shrugs—a small, self-deprecating smile on his lips. “Hard to compete when you’re always standing next to someone who naturally commands attention, you know? Rowan walks into a room, and everyone just… notices. Same with Liam, though he hates it. Me? I have to work for it.”
Here I am, hiding everything about myself, and he’s genuinely opening up about his feelings of being overlooked.
“That’s not true,” I say. “You’re the heart of this place. Everyone responds to you.”
Theo’s eyes widen. “That’s… thank you, Emma.” His smile returns. “You’re observant. You notice things. I bet you notice a lot more than people realize.”
Something about how he says it makes me wonder if he’s fishing for information, but his expression remains open and without guile.
“I try to stay aware of my surroundings,” I say carefully. “It’s safer that way.”
Theo’s smile fades, concern replacing it. “You know you’re safe here, right? With us?”
The oven timer saves me from having to answer. As Theo turns to remove the pies, I take a deep breath, steadying myself. I want desperately to trust him. But I’ve been wrong before, with devastating consequences.
After helping Theo package the cooled pies, I excuse myself, claiming I need to update the social media accounts. It’s not entirely a lie; I have posts scheduled, but I mostly need space to clear my head. The warmth of the kitchen, Theo’s cinnamon scent, and easy companionship, the domestic scene we created together… it all feels dangerously like belonging.
Once outside, I decide to check on Maple. The goat has become a strange comfort over the past few weeks, her uncomplicated affection a balm for my constant wariness.
I find her in the petting zoo, but she’s not alone. Liam is there, repairing a section of fencing. His back is to me, and his flannel shirt is stretched across broad shoulders as he hammers a nail into place. Maple spots me immediately, bleating a greeting that makes Liam turn.
“Mornin’,” he says, straightening to his full height. Today’s flannel is dark green, making his eyes pop.
“Sorry,” I say automatically. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“You’re not.” He gestures to the fence. “Just fixing what some overenthusiastic kids damaged yesterday.”
Maple trots over to me, butting her head against my hip in her usual greeting. I scratch behind her ears, smiling.
“Been waiting for you,” Liam says, and when I glance up, there’s a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Started bleating the minute you stepped outside the house. Got some kind of radar where you’re concerned.”
The idea that Maple can sense me from a distance is oddly comforting and concerning at the same time. If a goat can track me that effectively, imagine how an alpha obsessed with you can?
“She’s got a sixth sense,” I agree, watching Maple prance around my legs.
The goat suddenly darts away, grabs something in her mouth from nearby, and returns triumphantly.
I look down. “Is that… my scarf?” The blue fabric dangles from her mouth, the very one I wore yesterday. “How did you even get that?”
Liam chuckles, a deep rumble. The sound makes my skin prickle with warmth. “She likes to collect things.”
I reach for the scarf, but Maple dances away, tossing her head playfully. “Come on, Maple. That’s not a toy.”
She bleats defiantly through the fabric, then takes off running around, my scarf fluttering behind her like a victory flag.
“Great,” I mutter. “What’s next, my underwear?”
Liam’s eyebrows shoot up, and I feel heat crawl up my neck.
“I mean—” I stammer, heart hammering against my ribs.
Why can’t I just think before I speak around this man?
“Actually,” Liam interrupts mercifully, “I could use your help with something, if you’ve got time,” he says, putting down his hammer. “Some of the string lights came undone in the corn maze. Need to nail them back up.”
“Sure, I’d be happy to help.”
He nods, gathering his tools.
I manage to retrieve my scarf after a brief wrestling match that leaves me a little breathless and Maple looking entirely too pleased with herself.
Liam retrieves a small step ladder from a nearby shed, and we make our way to the corn maze, Maple trotting alongside us like she’s been invited to a very important meeting.
I follow him through the twisting paths of corn stalks, towering walls on either side of us. The path is littered with leaves that crunch beneath our boots as we walk. The maze is impressive, tall enough that you can’t see over the top, with twists and turns that would genuinely challenge visitors.
“Did you design this?” I ask, trying not to notice how the path forces us to walk closer together.
“Theo did the layout,” Liam replies. “I just helped build it.”
We turn a corner, and I see the problem immediately. A string of lights has come loose from the top of the wooden beams, dangling across the path.
“You can stand here,” Liam says, positioning the step ladder beneath the drooping lights. Just hold the strand up while I nail them back.”
I eye the three-step ladder dubiously. The double dose of suppressants has left me slightly dizzy, but it’s not too high.
I should be fine.
I tentatively climb the ladder. It’s only three steps, but from this vantage point, I can see over some of the corn stalks. I reach for the lights, lifting them to where Liam has instructed as he nails them back into place.
“Almost finished,” Liam says, stretching to hammer the last nail.
There’s a determined bleat from below, and I look down to see Maple eyeing the step ladder.
“Maple, no—” I start, but it’s too late.
Maple launches herself up the ladder, apparently determined to join me, but there isn’t enough room for both of us.
“Shit!” I yelp as I shift to accommodate her, but my foot slips off the edge of the step.
In desperation, I grab the string of lights, thinking they might stabilize me. Instead, they tear free from the freshly placed nails, and suddenly I’m swinging through the air like some omega Tarzan.
“Emma!” Liam drops his hammer and lunges to catch me.
For one glorious second, I’m airborne, suspended by nothing but Christmas lights and pure panic.
Then gravity remembers I exist.
I crash directly into Liam’s chest; the momentum sends us both tumbling to the ground. We land with a heavy thud, with me entirely sprawled on top of him, my face inches from his. His arms instinctively wrap around me, breaking my fall but trapping me against the hard planes of his body.
