25. Theo
Theo
I spot Emma standing near the hay slide, watching children zoom down with looks of pure joy on their faces.
She’s been quieter since Jessica’s visit, and I’ve been trying to find ways to bring back her smile.
She has that look on her face—a mixture of longing and hesitation that I’ve come to recognize over these past few weeks, as an expression of when she wants to join in but isn’t sure if she’s allowed to have fun.
“Wanna give it a try?” I ask, bumping her shoulder playfully with mine.
Emma startles slightly, then laughs. “It does look fun,” she admits, her eyes following a little girl who slides down with her arms raised victoriously. “I’ve been watching the kids all afternoon. They’re having the time of their lives.”
“You know, this slide isn’t just for children,” I tell her with mock seriousness. “Some of us sophisticated adults enjoy a good hay slide too.”
“Aren’t we a little too old?”
“Too old for fun? Never!” I gasp in mock horror. “Come on, live a little. When was the last time you went down a slide?”
She bites her lip, considering. “I haven’t done anything like this since I was a kid.”
“Then you’re overdue,” I say, holding my hand out for her. “What do you say? Live dangerously with me?”
Her smile widens, and she slips her hand into mine. The simple touch sends warmth spreading up my arm.
“Lead the way, farm boy.”
I laugh, leading her.
“It’s higher than it looks from the ground,” Emma remarks as we climb the wooden steps to the top of the slide.
“Having second thoughts?” I tease, though I give her hand a reassuring squeeze.
“Absolutely not,” she declares, but I can see the nervous excitement in her eyes.
At the top, a teenage farm hand hands us a “slide”—a simple plastic sheet with handles that increases speed on the hay. I position it at the edge and gesture for Emma to sit.
“Your chariot awaits, my lady.”
Emma laughs and settles between my legs, her back pressed against my chest, and I resist the urge to bury my face in her hair.
As I’m about to push off, we hear an insistent bleating from behind us.
“Maple,” I groan as I spot the white goat determinedly climbing the steps, shoving past waiting children with single-minded purpose. “Your fuzzy stalker has arrived.”
Maple makes a beeline for Emma, plopping herself directly onto her lap with a satisfied bleat.
“Maple! You can’t—” Emma starts, but it’s too late. The goat’s weight shifts us forward, and I quickly wrap my arms around Emma and Maple, holding the slide in place just as we tip over the edge.
We plummet down at alarming speed. Emma’s scream and Maple’s loud bleat pierce my eardrums as we hurtle downward.
We land in a heap at the bottom, hay flying everywhere, with Maple bleating triumphantly.
“That scream!” I say between fits of laughter. “Pretty sure they heard you all the way in the next county.”
She playfully elbows me in the ribs. “I did not scream that loud!”
“Oh, you absolutely did. Even Maple looked concerned for a second there. I might need to get my hearing checked.”
“It was Maple’s fault,” She protests, laughing, “She ambushed us!”
Speaking of the troublemaker, Maple is already charging back up the steps, pausing halfway to look back at us expectantly.
“I think she wants another go,” I say, my arms still wrapped comfortably around Emma.
“She’s incorrigible,” she says, watching as Maple bleats insistently, stomping one hoof as if to say ‘hurry up!’
I stand and offer Emma my hand, grinning as I pull her up.
“What do you say? Ready for round two?”
“Race you to the top!” she says, then bolts for the steps, and it takes me a beat to process before I run after her, our laughs echoing across the farm.
* * *
“Three times down the slide. I think you’re officially an expert now,” I tell her, plucking a piece of hay from her hair.
We’re laughing so hard my sides hurt. Emma’s cheeks are flushed pink with excitement. She looks happy, carefree, so unlike the guarded woman who first arrived at our farm.
My heart swells seeing her this way.
“That was amazing!” she says, breathless as she extracts herself from our tangled limbs.
“You know what? I just realized something terrible.”
Her smile falters. “What’s wrong?”
“You’ve been at Harvest Home Farm for months and never been on a proper hayride.” I shake my head in mock dismay. “This is a serious oversight that needs immediate correction.”
“I’ve seen them running all day,” she says, looking toward the tractor pulling a wagon full of visitors.
“Those are the regular hayrides. What you need is the VIP experience.” I stand and offer my hand to help her up. “Meet me by the barn at sunset? I have a surprise for you.”
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 full Harvest Home Farm experience. 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.
“Date?” I tease. “Who said anything about a date? This is a very professional farm tour.”
She laughs, the sound vibrating against my chest. “Oh, of course. Completely professional.”
“Though,” I add, my voice dropping lower, “if it were a date, this would be the part where I’d really want to kiss you.”
Emma lifts her head from my shoulder, her eyes meeting mine. “And if it were a date,” she whispers, “this would be the part where I’d say yes.”
My heart thunders in my chest as I lean in slowly. The kiss is gentle at first, but she sighs against my mouth, and I’m lost.
Her hands frame my face, and mine find her waist, drawing her closer. She tastes like pumpkin spice and apple pie, and I can’t get enough.
In this moment, surrounded by the farm I love and holding my mate who fits perfectly into our lives, I know with profound certainty that we’re all exactly where we’re meant to be.