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I swallow. “Yeah. Guess we better.”

We start walking again—still lost, still together.

I don’t think either of us minds very much.

Chapter Eighteen Knox

“What?” I snap at the groundhog in the corner of the shop. “I don’t know why you keep looking at me like that.”

It’s like he shrugs his shoulders—do groundhogs have shoulders? If they do, then his just raised and lowered.

It’s hard enough for me to focus with the thoughts of this weekend rambling through my mind. I don’t need this little guy staring me down too. Saturday has basically been on repeat since we left that maze, and if anything, it only got worse once we actually made it out.

According to Lottie, Felicity and I took over an hour to get out of the maze while everyone else sat at the exit.

That’s not too surprising; I didn’t track the time, but between my head being in the clouds from having her thighs so close to my face and Felicity’s very cute, but unhelpful, sense of direction, it’s a miracle we made it out at all. There was a point I thought a helicopter was going to have to yank us out of there.

By the time we found the exit, the four of our friends were staring at us, arms crossed, saying they were starving. Felicity and I had both managed to get rid of our blushes and guilty looks.

Lottie suggested we get food and then pick pumpkins to carve, so we went farther into the pumpkin patch festival.

You know how as you get older, Christmas seems to just feel less magical? And then you realize it was only magical because you weren’t the one having to pay for twinkly lights or all the presents wrapped under the tree? The pumpkin patches are kind of like that for me. As soon as I was thirteen, I started helping Dad, Mom, and Miller set the place up each year for fall, and once I realized how exhausting setting up hundreds of pumpkins on old wooden pallets and tables was, the whole excitement of fall kind of died down.

That being said, Saturday was the first time in a really, really long time that I enjoyed our ranch’s fall festival.

The whole place smelled like kettle corn, fried dough, and cinnamon sugar. Kids ran around screaming happily with their faces painted like ghosts or blue cartoon dogs, one of the guys that I see at the tavern regularly was propped up playing a banjo under a tent, and the massive rows of food and vendor booths had lines already wrapping around them.

Felicity lit up like she just walked into Disneyland, and I felt this boost of determination to make it as perfect of a group date as possible. And beyond Ada and Lawson’s constant bickering, I like to think it was.

Ada waves us toward the chili cook-off area where at least ten tents are lined up, all filled with steaming Crock-Pots of chili that smell so good I think we all floated our way there.

We make our way down the line, two bowls in each hand until we reach Riley’s table three tents down. She has two pink Crock-Pots with bows on them and little sticker smiley face bowls to match.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite troublemakers.” She crosses her arms. “Go on, you know I’ll win anyway.”

“Shut your mouth, Riley Gates!” a familiar voice calls down the line, and I have a feeling Rowen is still butthurt about his big loss last year. And the year before that…and the one before that…actually, come to think of it, I don’t know if he’s ever won.

Riley says, “He’s just mad he was up until two a.m. working on his, and I’ll still leave with the twenty-dollar pedicure certificate.”

I can’t see Rowen’s face, but I can picture it as he shouts back, “It’s not about the pedicure—it’s the principle!”

Riley tsks and shakes her head. “Such a sore loser.”

“I can hear you!”

“No one cares, Rowen.” She sighs and gestures to the bowls. “Go ahead.”

Felicity, Ada, and I all grab some while Lottie, Walker, and Lawson go to the next booth. We work down the line until we hit Rowen’s. He looks…manic. Dark black curls tugged in every direction and purple circles under his crazed eyes. There are two black Crock-Pots in front of him, some Styrofoam bowls, and multiple empty coffee cups scattered around.

“Hey…Ro…” Felicity grabs a bowl, and it feels a little like a pity move, so I grab one too for emphasis. “How are you—”

“Flick.”

“Yes?”

He stares her so hard in the eyes that I genuinely feel like we’re watching a wild bobcat inches away from our faces. “I’ve been a good boss all these years, right? Let you work at the shelter the minute you asked and always gave great bonuses.”

Felicity nods. “You gave me five hundred dollars once just for letting your dogs out to pee while you went fishing.”