Page 128 of Rattle the Cage

“Was not!” Tess blushed.

But before we could get into it, Cyrus was rounding the corner, shoving a canvas bag and a picker pole against my chest. Nash was close behind her, lofting four orange wristbands in the air. “Where to first, Blade?”

With the group reassembled, it was go time. I led the way to the hayrides first, knowing that the last stop on their route was the best view on the farm. While Nash helped Tess up the steps and Cyrus tipped the driver, I rushed to make sure that Tess had the best seat possible for our ride.

Ultimately, my haste was unnecessary. If there was a god, he was looking down on us today, because it seemed like we were the only ones taking this ride out.

Thanks, big dog.

Only once the tractor started up the big hill did I loosen my grip on the donut bag, passing it around so everyone could get a taste while they were still hot. “Perfect, right?”

“They’re pretty fucking good,” Nash murmured.

“Seriously,” Tess concurred, sucking the sugar off the tips of her fingers.

Cyrus didn’t respond, but the fact that she took a second donut told me everything I needed to know.

Once our scenic snack was done, it was time for a quick trip to the overlook — as if we needed another reminder of just how stunning the valley was. Once we finished up there, we worked our way through all the attractions on our way down the hill.

The pig pens, the mini corn maze, and the giant crop contest were all particular hits. And clearly, if the giant fucking smile on her face was any basis, Tess was having an awesome time.

But I was antsy until we reached our last and most important stop: the pumpkin patch.

Stretched across the base of the hill, the pumpkin patch was easily the size of a football field. Unseasoned pumpkin pickers might have seen this as a great thing — plenty of suitable pumpkins for everyone to take home.

But I knew the truth: more choice meant the stakes were higher than ever. With this many pumpkins present, it was statistically true that there was a perfect pumpkin. One supreme gourd to rule them all. And I wasn’t leaving until I found it.

While Nash, Cyrus, and Tess meandered through the rows, gibbering about which pumpkin was the cutest, I began my search, scouring the far reaches of the field for any piles that hadn’t been picked over.

“She always does this,” Cyrus murmured, nudging a rogue squash into line with her boot. “Can’t even pick a pumpkin like a normal fucking person.”

“You’re just jealous you lack my gift!” I called out, never lifting my eyes from the hunt.

After ten minutes, the others had their pumpkins sorted. Nash had gone for a green-speckled pumpkin with a curlicue stem. Tess had gone for a classic orange pumpkin with just a few blemishes on the underside. And Cyrus had picked up the first pumpkin she saw before throwing it hastily into one of the little red wagons on site.

“Any day now.” Cyrus growled, earning a nudge in the ribs from Tess.

“This is, like, her one day.” Nash glared.

“This is stupid,” Cyrus crossed her arms. “We all know what she’s going to do. She does this every fucking year.”

But another dirty look from Nash was enough to shut her up so I could focus. I was down to my final two choices: a round white pumpkin with perfectly plump sides, or a nice big orange one that was just a hair taller.

Taking a deep breath, I held my hands out over the two pumpkins and closed my eyes, trying to feel their energy.

Big dog, if you’re up there, it’s time to choose.

When no message came through, I dropped my hands before scooping up the orange fucker. “We have our winner.”

“I fucking told you!” Cyrus threw up her hands, storming off across the patch.

“Cy…” Nash paced after her, placing a placating hand on her shoulder.

“What?” Tess furrowed her brow, gaze flicking between the three of us. “It’s just a pumpkin?”

“She always picks the biggest fucking pumpkin in the patch,” Cyrus snarled, pointing an accusatory finger my way.

“It’s the best one!” I snarled back, lurching as I adjusted my grip.