Chapter 26
LIAM
The morning after the game, for the first time since Peyton moved in, I don’t wake up wrapped around her. Mostly because I didn’t allow myself to fall asleep.
I spent the night rigid on my side of the bed, afraid to let loose near her after the kiss. Kisses. Every time she shifted, every soft exhale, every rustle of sheets sent a fresh jolt of awareness through my already frayed nerves.
My body wanted to close the distance.
My brain knew better.
At the stadium, I played it cool. Acted unaffected.
But inside? Inside, I’ve been fizzing ever since. As if acid were corroding me from within—only the acid, instead of being painful, is a bubbly, terrifying delight. It’s been hours, and I can still taste her. Still feel the phantom pressure of her lips.
I drag myself out of bed and into the shower, staying under the spray until my skin turns pink, willing my thoughts to stop circling back to the moment she decided to have her way with me.
It doesn’t work.
When I emerge from the bathroom, she’s already up. I hear movement downstairs. I get dressed and join her in the kitchen.
Peyton is perched on one of the island stools, hair up in a messy bun, eating a banana.
I freeze in the doorway.
She peels back another strip, brings the fruit to her lips, and takes a bite.
My brain goes to filthy places. I grip the doorframe hard enough to splinter the wood.
She looks up, mid-chew, and her eyes widen. A flush creeps up her neck.
“Morning,” she says, swallowing.
“Morning.”
I sound like I’ve been inhaling smoke for the past eight hours. I clear my throat and walk to the coffeemaker, keeping my back to her while I fill a mug.
The silence between us is different. Charged. Skittish.
She seems as unsettled as I am. At least I’m not the only one losing my mind.
“So,” Peyton says behind me. “What’s the plan for today?”
I take a sip of coffee, stalling. My original plan was to hide in my study and stay as far from her as physically possible while still sharing a house. But I can’t say that. It would make things even more awkward.
“Did you have something in mind?” I ask, turning to face her.
She sets down the banana—thank fuck—and wipes her hands on a napkin. “Yeah. Rebecca invited us to the pumpkin patch festival at Hollow Creek Farm.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Us?”
“Yeah.” She tilts her head, studying my reaction. “Why are you surprised?”
“Because the Evanses and the Rockwoods have a… complicated history.”
“Complicated how?”
I sit on a stool. “Rival founding families. Old grudges. My father has been after their land on the coast for decades.”
She nods, processing. Then her cheeks flush a deeper pink, and she worries her lower lip between her teeth like she’s holding back on a question.
“What?” I prompt.
She hesitates. “Were you and Faye ever a thing?”
The supposition catches me off guard. “No. Why are you asking?”
“I picked up a vibe last night.” She shrugs as if it’s not important, but she won’t meet my eyes. “And Ryder looked like he wanted to punch you.”
“Ryder always looks like he wants to punch someone. It’s not personal.” I suppress a smile. “And with Faye, it’s just friendly banter. Strictly platonic.”
“Oh, okay.” Peyton hops off the stool and turns toward the dishwasher, loading her coffee mug with her back to me. “Good to know.”
Was she jealous?
The possibility hooks behind my breastbone and pulls. It agitates that volatile buzz in my blood. The fizzing sensation intensifies, bubbling up beneath my skin, spreading everywhere.
She’s possessive. Of me.
I shouldn’t like that as much as I do.
“So,” she says, still facing away. “The pumpkin festival. Do you want to come? I can go alone if you don’t feel like it.”
That would be the smart thing. Safer to put some distance between us. Let the electricity from last night dissipate.
I couldn’t care less about carving pumpkins or hayrides or whatever other wholesome fall activities the Evans family has planned.
But Peyton is new in town. She doesn’t know anyone except Lila and the handful of people she’s met through book club.
The idea of her wandering around Hollow Creek alone, making small talk with strangers while I hide like a coward, doesn’t sit right.
“Sure,” I hear myself say. “I’ll come.”
She turns, surprise flickering across her features. Then her face clears, breaking into a smile so relieved it hurts to look at. The effervescence in my chest flares and eats away at the last of my better judgment.
I should’ve said no.
* * *
The pumpkin patch at Hollow Creek Farm is every bit as corny as I expected.
Orange tones dominate the landscape—pumpkins of every size scattered across the field, hay bales stacked into photo-op pyramids, string lights everywhere.
The air smells of cider and caramel apples.
Bluegrass music plays from hidden speakers, and children run shrieking between the rows of gourds while their parents trail behind with cameras.
At least it’s a warm day. The sun hangs golden in a cloudless sky, and being outside beats hiding in my study pretending I’m not obsessing over my fake wife’s mouth.
Rebecca Evans greets us at the entrance, her smile welcoming despite the family history.
“You made it!” She pulls Peyton into a hug. “The carving stations are in the barn. Pick your pumpkins first, then head over. And don’t forget to try the apple fritters—they’re life-changing.”
She nods at me, civil if not warm. “Liam.”
“Rebecca.”
And that’s as friendly as we’re getting.
Peyton and I wander into the patch, selecting pumpkins from the endless orange sea. She picks a round, regular one. I grab a misshapen reject that no one would choose and that I won’t feel guilty for ruining with my nonexistent carving skills.
We carry our finds to the barn, where long tables are set up with tools and various paints. Lila is inside, sitting next to January and working on giving her lantern a scary pair of fangs.
We go to their table since there’s still space.
“Hey!” My best friend jumps up to hug Peyton, then gives me a puzzled frown. “You’re carving a pumpkin?”
“Yeah, why?”
Lila stares at me a moment longer, then turns to Peyton. “Mind if I steal my BFF for a second?”
Peyton laughs. “Go ahead. I’ll guard your pumpkins.”
Lila grabs my arm and drags me out of the barn, around the corner, where you’d bring a metaphorical dog to shoot.
She releases me and crosses her arms over her chest. “How was the game last night?”
“You want to talk football?” I frown at her. “Did you hit your head?”
“No, but my Instagram stories have been flooded with videos of a very hot kiss.” Her eyes gleam.
My jaw tightens. “We were on the Kiss Cam. We didn’t have a choice.”
“The court would believe the witness…” Lila’s tone mocks how a lawyer would speak in a cross-examination—or at least the TV version. “…if not for a longer video posted by one Macey Young—bless her heart—that shows a second kiss.” She holds up two fingers. “Initiated by the witness.”
“What are you getting at with this?”
“I want to know if you’re into your wife.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I say flatly. “I can’t risk anything with Peyton. I need this marriage to last.”
“Let me guess, by not getting emotions involved? What a pile of crap.” Lila’s teasing expression fades, replaced by a serious pout. “The only risk is not risking. If Peyton is the woman who can breach your unbreachable heart, you should give yourself permission to explore it.”
“Lila—”
“Fuck your dad.” She cuts me off. “Impressing Charles is not worth letting someone who could be important slip away.”
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.
She’s standing so close I can count her eyelashes, smell the apple cider on her breath. Gravity is shifting to drag me into her space.
It would only take one step.
One tilt of my head.
One mistake.