Chapter 31 Pumpkin Patch Photoshoot & Corn Maze Chaos
Pumpkin Patch Photoshoot & Corn Maze Chaos
~HAZEL~
The Maple Hollow Pumpkin Patch Festival is where dignity goes to die and Instagram content is born, apparently.
"I'm not doing this," I announce for the seventh time, standing at the entrance to the festival grounds while October shows off with perfect seventy-degree weather and light that makes everything look like a Hallmark movie.
"Yes, you are," Rowan says calmly, hand on my lower back, guiding me forward like I'm a skittish horse. "You're modeling professionally now. Consider this practice."
"I model clothes! Not... whatever this is!"
"This," Reverie says, appearing with enough camera equipment to film a documentary, "is marketing genius. 'Local Omega Baker and Her Three Alphas Take On Fall'—it'll go viral instantly."
"I don't want to go viral!"
"Liar," Levi calls out, arms full of props that definitely weren't approved. "You loved the viral cookie video."
"That was different! That was about baking!"
"This is about baking, too," Luca says, carrying what appears to be professional lighting equipment because of course he owns that. "You're literally sponsoring the pumpkin pie backdrop."
The backdrop I agreed to sponsor when I was wine-drunk and feeling generous. Past Hazel makes terrible decisions.
The festival sprawls before us—pumpkins as far as the eye can see, hay bales arranged "artistically," corn maze looming in the distance like a vegetable-based labyrinth.
Families everywhere, couples taking selfies, children covered in caramel apple.
And at the center, my bakery's backdrop: a rustic wooden frame decorated with gourds, fairy lights, and a sign reading "Hazel's Harvest Haven" that Reverie definitely designed without asking.
"It's beautiful," I admit grudgingly.
"You're beautiful," Rowan murmurs against my ear, and my face immediately heats. "And the agency specifically requested 'candid pack photos' for your portfolio."
"They did not!"
He pulls out his phone, shows me the email. They absolutely did.
"Besides," he continues, pocketing his phone with a smirk, "we need proof you can smile without flour on your face."
"I smile without flour all the time!"
"When?"
"Right now!" I bare my teeth in what's definitely not a smile.
"That's terrifying," Levi observes. "You look like you're about to bite someone."
"I am! You!"
"Kinky."
"LEVI!"
But he's already bouncing toward the backdrop, laying out his props with the enthusiasm of a child at Christmas. There's a whole picnic blanket, multiple scarves in fall colors, a basket of mini pumpkin pies that smell suspiciously fresh, and—
"Is that whipped cream?" I ask suspiciously.
"For the pies," he says innocently.
"Those pies already have whipped cream."
"Extra whipped cream."
"Why do I feel like this is going to end badly?"
"Your instincts are excellent," Luca says, setting up a tripod with military precision. "But we're doing it anyway. Lighting is everything, and right now you're backlit perfectly."
He's got that focused look, the one that means resistance is futile. When Luca decides something needs to be done properly, it gets done properly.
"Positions!" Reverie claps her hands. "Hazel in the middle, Alphas arranged aesthetically!"
"We're not props," Rowan protests.
"Today you are. Extremely attractive props that smell good."
And somehow, I end up sitting on a hay bale with three Alphas arranged around me like some kind of harvest-themed romance novel cover.
Rowan behind me, hands on my shoulders. Levi sprawled at my feet like a golden retriever who found the perfect sunny spot.
Luca standing to my left, one hand in his pocket, looking brooding and mysterious.
"This is ridiculous," I mutter.
"This is marketing," Reverie corrects, already snapping photos. "Hazel, relax your face. You look constipated."
"I look concerned!"
"Same thing in photos. Think happy thoughts."
"I'm thinking about murder."
"Think happier thoughts."
Levi suddenly springs up, grabs one of the mini pies. "I have an idea!"
"No," we all say simultaneously.
"You haven't heard it yet!"
"We don't need to," Rowan says. "Your ideas always involve—"
Levi shoves a forkful of pie at my mouth.
"Mmmph!"
"Candid!" Reverie shrieks, camera clicking rapidly. "That's perfect! Feeding your Omega! Classic pack behavior!"
I manage to swallow the bite—and okay, it's delicious, made fresh this morning—but glare at Levi.
"Warning next time!"
"Where's the fun in that?" He grins, and there's whipped cream on his nose because of course there is.
"You have—" I gesture at his face.
"Where?"
"Just—here—"
I reach up to wipe it off, and suddenly Rowan's caught my wrist, redirecting my hand to his mouth. He licks the whipped cream off my finger, maintaining eye contact the entire time.
Oh. Oh fuck.
"PERFECT!" Reverie screams. "Sensual bakery goddess energy! Give me more!"
"I'm going to die," I announce. "Right here. Of mortification."
"Not yet," Luca says, and something in his voice makes me turn. He's got the whipped cream can—when did he get that?—and a look that promises trouble.
"Luca, no."
"Trust me."
"Last time you said that, I ended up burning roses at dawn."
"And how did that work out?"
Magnificently. But that's not the point.
He steps closer, and I'm frozen, watching him like prey watches a predator. He touches my cheek gently, then applies the smallest dot of whipped cream.
"What—"
Rowan leans in from behind, licks it off, and my brain completely shuts down.
"Her scent just spiked!" Levi announces helpfully. "She smells like horny vanilla!"
"LEVI!"
"What? It's true! Tell her, Luca!"
"It's true," Luca confirms, clicking the camera remote he somehow acquired. "Very horny vanilla."
"I hate all of you."
"No you don't," Rowan murmurs against my ear. "You love us."
"Temporarily hate."
"Fair."
The "professional" photoshoot devolves from there.
Levi starts a whipped cream war that has Mrs. Patterson tutting from the craft booth.
Luca takes approximately seven hundred photos of me laughing as Rowan and Levi wrestle over the last pie.
Reverie directs us through increasingly ridiculous poses—"Now pretend you're surprised by pumpkins!
Now show autumn your sensual side! Now look longingly at the corn maze! "
"How does one look longingly at corn?" I ask.
"With passion!" she insists.
"It's corn!"
"Passionate corn!"
By the time we're done, I'm covered in whipped cream and hay, my carefully styled hair is a disaster, and I haven't stopped laughing in twenty minutes.
"Perfect," Reverie declares, reviewing shots on her camera. "The agency is going to die. You look so happy and natural and—oh, this one where Rowan's got you dipped like you're tangoing? FRAME IT."
"Let me see—NO. Delete that immediately!"
"Never! It's going in the wedding slideshow!"
"What wedding?!"
"The inevitable one! I've already picked my dress!"
"We need to do the corn maze," Levi interrupts, bouncing on his toes. "It's tradition!"
"Since when?" I ask.
"Since right now!"
The corn maze looms before us, eight feet tall and professionally confusing. There's a couple at the entrance taking selfies, a group of teenagers daring each other to go in without phone flashlights, and one small child crying because "the corn has eyes."
"We should split up," Luca suggests. "Make it interesting."
"Absolutely not," I say immediately. "That's how people die in horror movies."
"In corn?"
"Especially in corn! Haven't you seen Children of the Corn?"
"That was about creepy kids, not corn itself."
"The corn was definitely complicit."
"Pairs then," Rowan decides. "Hazel with me, twins together."
"Why do you get Hazel?" Levi protests.
"Because I won't get her lost."
"I have an excellent sense of direction!"
"You got lost in your own barn last week."
"It was dark!"
"It was 2 PM!"
While they bicker, Rowan takes my hand and pulls me into the maze. The temperature drops immediately inside the corn walls, everything muffled and green-tinted from the filtered sunlight.
"This is creepy," I whisper.
"Why are you whispering?"
"The corn might hear us."
He laughs, tugging me down a left turn.
"The corn is not sentient."
"That's what they want you to think."
We walk deeper into the maze, taking turns at random—or what I think is random until I realize Rowan's navigating with purpose.
"You know where we're going."
"Maybe."
"How?"
He glances at me, something soft in his amber eyes. "Used to come here as a teenager. When pack expectations got too heavy. There's a spot in the middle where you can just... breathe."
"You came to a corn maze to breathe?"
"I came to a corn maze to hide," he corrects. "The breathing was a bonus."
We turn another corner, and suddenly we're in a small clearing, fairy lights strung overhead despite being in the middle of the maze. There's a bench, probably for people who get overwhelmed, but it feels magical in the filtered light.
"How did you know this would still be here?"
"Some things don't change." He sits, pulls me down beside him. "The maze is different every year, but this clearing's always in the same spot. Eye of the storm."
"Poetic for a fire captain."
"I have depths."
We sit in comfortable silence for a moment, the sounds of the festival distant and dreamy. His thumb traces circles on my hand, and I realize how natural this feels now.
Being touched. Being held. Being wanted.
"I’m glad I could bring you here," he admits suddenly. "It really does invite a sense of peace. Like the calm before the storm.”
I raise an eyebrow at him, the beginnings of a grin curling at the edges of my mouth. “So is a storm supposed to be brewing, Captain Cambridge?”
He cocks his head, a tiny quirk at the corner of his lips. “Forecast’s looking dramatic.”