Page 58 of Pumpkin Patch Pack
Emma’s eyes light up. “A surprise?”
“Just trust me. Sunset. Barn.”
“I’ll be there,” she promises.
I spend the next few hours in a flurry of preparation. I want everything to be perfect.
I raid the kitchen for my best hand pies. I fill a thermos with spiced pumpkin coffee, pack a basket with extra treats, and grab the softest blankets from the linen closet. Rowan catches me juggling all this toward the door.
“Need a hand?” he asks, eyebrow raised knowingly.
“Nope. All good.”
Rowan smiles. “Have fun. Take your time.”
When I reach the barn, Liam has the tractor and hay wagon ready for us.
“All set?” I ask him as I arrange the blankets and food.
He nods, giving the setup an approving once-over. “Looks good.”
I fiddle with the placement of the lanterns, suddenly nervous. “Is it too much? It’s too much, isn’t it?”
Liam’s mouth quirks in that almost-smile of his. “It’s perfect, Theo. She’ll love it.”
When Emma appears, silhouetted against the setting sun, my breath catches in my throat. She’s changed into a soft cream sweater that makes her skin glow in the golden light, and her hair falls in loose waves around her shoulders. She looks like autumn personified—warm, rich, and breathtakingly beautiful.
“Hi,” she says, suddenly shy as she approaches.
“Hi yourself,” I reply, offering to help her onto the wagon.
Her eyes widen as she takes in the setup. The wagon bed is covered in plush blankets and pillows, creating a cozy nest. Mason jar lanterns hang from the sides, ready to light our way once the sun sets completely. The basket sits prominently in the center, promising treats.
“Theo,” she breathes, “this is amazing.”
“Only the best for my mate,” I say lightly, though my heart is hammering in my chest. “Hop in. The tour is about to begin.”
She settles into the nest of blankets, and I climb in beside her, signaling to Liam that we’re ready. The tractor rumbles to life, and we begin our slow journey away from the main farm.
“Where are we going?” Emma asks, her eyes bright with excitement.
“Everywhere,” I tell her. “The fullHarvest Home Farmexperience. Parts of the farm most visitors never get to see.”
The tractor pulls us first through the apple orchard, where the late-day sun filters through the leaves, casting everything in a golden glow. The trees are heavy with fruit, and the air is sweet with their scent.
“These trees have been here for generations,” I explain, pouring her a cup of pumpkin spice coffee from the thermos. “Our great-grandfather planted some.”
She accepts the cup, our fingers brushing in the exchange. “It’s beautiful.”
“That’s the thing about farms—there’s always more beneath the surface.” I open the basket and offer her a hand pie. “Pumpkin spice. Still warm.”
Emma takes a bite, and the sound she makes, a soft moan of pleasure, makes me instantly hard.
The tractor continues, pulling us through fields bathed in sunset light. I point out landmarks—the oldest oak on the property, the spring that never runs dry, the hill where Rowan and I used to sled as kids. With each story, I give her pieces of myself and our history, inviting her deeper into our world.
When she shivers slightly in the cooling air, I pull another blanket around her shoulders, my arm lingering there. She leans into me, her head finding the perfect spot on my shoulder as if it was made to rest there.
“This is the best date I’ve ever been on,” she says softly.
