I stare at her. She stares back, unflinching.
“Is the lecture over?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
We return to the barn. But her words stay with me, burrowing under my skin like splinters.
* * *
My pumpkin ends up looking like a true horror show, which, I guess, fits the purpose. I butchered the orange flesh until it resembled a jagged, gap-toothed nightmare while Peyton carved a flawless, whimsical grin with smooth curves. We set them aside to pick up later and head to the corn maze.
“It should take you about thirty minutes to get out,” Rebecca explains. “Entries are staggered to prevent bottlenecks inside.”
Lila pairs up with January. “We’ll go first. See you on the other side!”
She shoots me a knowing look over her shoulder as she disappears into the towering stalks with the town’s shy librarian. Joke’s on her, though. I already spend so much alone time with my wife half an hour in a corn maze won’t make a difference.
Famous. Last. Words.
One hour later, we’re still trapped inside.
The corn rises above us on all sides, a golden-green cage identical in every direction. The paths twist and double back. Dead ends mock us at every turn.
“We should’ve gone right at the last fork,” Peyton says, hands on her hips.
“Right? No, we came from the right. You’re running us in circles.”
“I’m running us in circles?” Her voice pitches higher. “You’re the one who didn’t listen when I said we should leave clues for ourselves!”
“Because that’s cheating!”
“It’s strategizing!”
She steps closer, getting in my face. Her cheeks are flushed. Her eyes are blazing.
She’s furious.
She’s frustrated.
She’s beautiful.
“Changing direction every two minutes is how people get lost,” she argues, jabbing a finger at my chest.
But I’m not listening to the words anymore.
I’m staring at her mouth.
The memory of last night slams into me—the taste of her, the heat, the way she pulled me closer like she couldn’t get enough. My body responds before my brain can intervene, blood rushing south, pulse pounding in my ears.
If she doesn’t stop, I’m going to lose it.
“Are you even listening to me?” Peyton demands.
No, I’m imagining kissing you again, pushing you against these cornstalks, and finishing what the Kiss Cam started.
“Liam?” she asks on an exhale.