Page 19 of Not Just Gal Pals

JENNY

Walter and I took the left turn, running as fast as we could. While I was worrying about the twins, Walter was having the time of his life, his little pink tongue hanging out as he bounded over the dried corn leaves. We reached another fork in the path and stopped. I could hear Ava and Liam yelling faintly over my heavy breathing, but I couldn’t tell which direction they were.

“Which way did they go, buddy?” I looked down at Walter. He tugged me to the left and we set off again. We turned a corner, and I saw a flash of red ahead of me, disappearing to the right. Thank god.

My lungs were starting to burn, but I pushed myself forward. I turned the corner and almost yelled with relief. The twins were about ten feet up ahead, and they were clearly losing steam. They were no longer running. In fact, they looked like they’d had one too many beers over lunch, stumbling down the path as their little legs tired. Walter and I reached them quickly.

“Stop, stop, you two!” To my relief, they obeyed. I crouched down next to them. “We have to stick together, okay? Otherwise, I’m worried we won’t have time to get donuts. Now, let’s find Auntie Blake.”

I pulled out my phone and called Blake. She picked up, breathing heavily. “I’ve got them. Meet you back at the entrance?”

“Oh, thank god. Yep, see you there.”

I dropped Walter’s leash and took the twins’ hands in mine. Out of Walter, Ava, and Liam, Walter won the “most trustworthy and least likely to run away” award by a mile.

We began to slowly retrace our steps with a few wrong turns on the way back. The twins, exhausted, began whining.

“I’m tired. Can you carry me?” Ava asked, looking up at me plaintively.

“Can you carry me too?” Liam tugged at my hand. “Or can I sit on Walter?”

I eyed them. Carrying one of them would be a struggle, two impossible. “I’m afraid I don’t think I’m strong enough to carry you both, and neither is Walter. But we should be out soon.”

“Well, can we have donuts now, then? I want to sit down.” Liam started to squat. Sitting down and eating donuts right now was extremely appealing, but unless UberEats delivered to corn mazes, it wasn’t an option. Finally, I understood why they were exploring drone deliveries.

“No, I’m sorry, Liam. We have to get out of this maze first before we can get donuts,” I said, channeling my best “fun but firm” mom voice—a voice I’d never needed to use before—and giving his hand a gentle tug.

“But I want donuts!” Liam started wailing, an ear-piercing screech. I flinched. Good lord. I suddenly had a newfound appreciation for my parents raising two children.

“We will get donuts as soon as we’re out of this maze,” I said firmly.

After a few more painfully slow minutes of walking, I spotted a familiar figure up ahead. Thank god. I’d never been so pleased to see Blake in my entire life. She jogged toward us and crouched down next to Liam and Ava, enclosing them in an embrace.

“Thanks so much for finding them,” she said, looking up at me, her brown eyes soft.

“No problem. I promised them we could go get donuts now, and I think there may be a small mutiny if we don’t follow through with it.” I grimaced at her.

Blake stood up, smiling. She stepped forward, and suddenly, unexpectedly, her hand was coming toward my face. What the…?

Her eyes firmly fixed on my head, Blake’s hand made contact with my hair, tugging something gently. Being this close to Blake, her touching my hair so tenderly, caused a quiver in my belly.

And then she stepped back. “Sorry, you had something in your hair.”

“Oh god. It wasn't Donna poop, was it?” I shut my eyes in horror.

Blake burst out laughing. “No, it was a piece of hay.” She looked at me, her eyes glinting in the afternoon sun, before quickly looking down to the twins. My heart stuttered.

I was starting to get the distinct impression Blake didn’t hate me, after all. And that maybe I’d misjudged her. To top it all off, I was, to my surprise, thoroughly enjoying her company.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, we were sitting at a rustic wooden bench near the farm stand, devouring cinnamon donuts, apple fritters, and cups of steaming-hot cider.

The twins, exhausted from their exploits and busy licking the sugar off donuts and putting them back on the plate, sat opposite us, blissfully quiet. When Blake realized what they were doing, she’d opened her mouth as if about to tell them off, and then slumped back on the bench, a look of defeat on her face. She caught me smiling at her and muttered, “I might just keep buying them donuts to lick the sugar off if it keeps them entertained and sitting for any period of time.” She picked up a pre-licked donut, examined it, shrugged her shoulders, and shoved it in her mouth.

I laughed. “Me too. By the way, have you tried these apple fritters? They’re incredible.” I took a bite of deep-fried apple-cinnamon deliciousness and then followed it with a swig of the cider.

Blake ate one and then closed her eyes and let out an appreciative moan that sent tingling between my thighs. Cinnamon-sugar dusted her mouth, and her usually pale cheeks were flushed, possibly with exertion from chasing the twins or from the steaming-hot food and drink. I took advantage of her eyes being closed to stare at her shamelessly.