Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 137077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 685(@200wpm)___ 548(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 685(@200wpm)___ 548(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
“Yeah, why not? Sounds fun.” His assertion would almost be believable if I didn’t see the tic in his cheek. He’s irritated, likely at me for dragging him along on this escapade. But he opens the door and gets out. Grace and I lock eyes, both confused at Cameron’s uncharacteristic agreeableness, but then do the same and climb out of the car.
“Welcome to Peter’s Patch,” a teenager calls from beneath an archway created entirely from pumpkins, hay, and corn stalks. Well, there’s probably some supporting structure, but if there is, it’s all hidden by the fall-themed bits and baubles. “Three? That’ll be thirty bucks.”
Having read all the details on the patch’s website, I reach into my pocket for the cash I brought. But Cameron clears his throat and pushes my hand away from the attendant. “I’ve got it.”
Normally, I’d argue. This is my idea, and I’m basically dragging them along with me, so it should be my treat. But I’m a little dumbstruck by the feeling of Cameron’s hand touching mine. It’s the only excuse I can come up with for why I let him pay our way.
“Now what?” Grace asks as we pass the archway and head into the activity area. She’s looking around like she still has serious reservations about this, but her eyes linger a little longer on the maze.
“How about the corn maze?” I suggest, running with it.
Cameron side-eyes me, knowing exactly what I’m doing because he can read his daughter too and is just as big a sucker for her as I apparently am. But he silently escorts the two of us toward the stalks which are so tall you can’t see over them. The lady working there tells us the rules, which basically consist of ‘find the exit as fast as you can, but don’t go through the corn’. As soon as Grace hears it’s a race, she lines up at the official starting line.
“Readysetgo!” she announces, like it’s one word. She takes off before she even finishes the phrase, sprinting ahead, a trail of dust and corn leaves rising behind her.
Cameron and I glance at each other, smiles blooming. “Guess it’s not so little-kid, after all, huh?” I joke sarcastically, and he laughs.
Grace turns a corner ahead but almost instantly reappears. “Dead end. Come on!” She waves for us to follow her, and though we momentarily feign reluctance, we chase after her.
It turns into a race for the ages, each of us trying and failing to beat the others… around corners, down straightaways, and ultimately to the exit, which we can’t seem to find. It gets so serious that Cameron even holds Grace back at one point, despite her loudly shouting that he’s cheating. Laughing, I agree with Grace, mimicking a referee, “Interference on the corn maze! Penalty, one ear.”
“Every man for himself!” Cameron cries out gleefully, taking off and nearly blurring past me.
Grace has youth on her side and Cameron’s fit as hell, so it’s mostly a battle between the two of them as they run laps around me, but I’m getting a good ab workout by laughing at their antics. This is what they needed, what we all needed. A bit of silly, a dash of goofy, and a whole lot of rowdy.
By the next turn, Grace is ahead, leaving Cameron and me behind in another dead end. Or shit, is it the same one? I have no idea, and apparently less than zero knack for mazes because I’m completely turned around and all the corn looks the same. “Have you really never been to a pumpkin patch?” he asks, his breaths a little quicker from racing his daughter. Morning workouts only go so far, not that I’d be any better.
I shake my head. “No. Have you?”
He cants his head like he’s thinking back. “Yeah, probably. Mom always took us to stuff like this. I don’t remember anything specific, but it’s probably because it was just the normal thing in the fall.”
I can see that. It’s not that Cameron didn’t appreciate it, but when something’s an automatic, it doesn’t have the same impact that it does when it’s a one-off, special thing.
“What do you want to do the most?” he asks.
Kiss you.
That’s the truth, but I can’t say that. Not here, not now.
“Everything,” I answer. “The hay ride, the petting zoo, the pumpkins, the picture with the scarecrow. All of it.”
“Then let’s do it.” He nods like that’s been decided, then rolls his eyes. “But first, we’ve got to find our way out of here.” He looks around, but given we’re at a dead end, there’s only one way to go. Back the way we came.
I groan, dramatically throwing an arm to my forehead and proclaiming, “Leave me behind. I’ll only slow you down. Save… yourself…” I trail off, my voice getting weaker. “Cough, cough.” I don’t actually cough, but rather say the word for effect.