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“So, I’ve thought of a theme.”
My best friend pulls me from my thoughts. “The theme for what?” I ask.
Oakleigh sits across from me in my living room, scrolling through her phone as she aimlessly stuffs popcorn into her mouth. She glances over at me as if I’ve asked the dumbest of questions.
“Um, the theme for my thirtieth party, duh?”
My eyebrows rise at her playful tone. “Let me guess … The Nightmare Before Christmas?”
“Mm-hm, red wig and everything.”
I pause, waiting for her laugh, which never comes. My smile slips and I shift to face her properly. “Wait, you know I’m joking, right?”
All she offers me is a wicked smile and a glint in her chocolate-brown eyes.
“You scare me sometimes,” I say, shuddering.
“And yet, you’ll miss me when I’m gone.”
We’d treated ourselves to a rare (not so rare) night in, loaded with endless snacks, non-alcoholic beer, and hours of ogling Alan Ritchson.
“Hey, how about a fall theme for the party since it’s at the end of October?” I ask, just as Reacher takes out six guys on the TV.
I watch her genuinely consider it. A fall theme would allow for Oakleigh to incorporate certain spooky elements from The Nightmare Before Christmas, whilst still displaying the class, mystery and beauty that the season has to offer—the warm colors, the slight chill, the pumpkins and the freshly fallen leaves. It’s exactly why fall is my favorite time of year.
After a minute, she nods with a smile across her tan face. “A fall theme sounds perfect, actually. It leaves room for open interpretation. We could find some fake leaves and gold silverware.”
“Can we even afford gold silverware?” I snicker.
“Hell no, but we can afford gold-sprayed ones from Target.”
“Same thing, right?”
“Exactly.”
I’ve been friends with Oakleigh since high school, back when our chemistry teacher, Mr. Larson, decided it was a good idea to sit us together during our first lesson of sophomore year. For that entire year he suffered through terrible experiments and poorly controlled laughter, and yet he never once separated us. I think he—wrongly—assumed that the laughter was us enjoying the lessons.
Around midnight, Oakleigh decides that it’s probably a good idea to go home and give her cat, Ollie, some food and attention, so she packs up half of the snacks and gives me a hug and kiss goodnight.
Just as I’m about to close the door behind her, she pauses in the courtyard. “Oh, my God, I almost forgot!” She doesn’t move from the end of the small courtyard as she reaches for her phone and types frantically, brown eyes wide with excitement.
My phone pings in my pocket just as she tucks hers away, swapping it for the keys to her red Fiat 500. I check my phone and see she’s sent me a link to a website for this farm two towns away, in Eaglewood.
“What’s this?”
“My cousin ordered a bunch of pumpkins from this place last year for that big Halloween party she had, and she had good things to say. Said that the owner was a bit weird, but other than that, the stuff was really good quality.”
I lock my phone and shove it back into my pocket. “Amazing. I’ll take a look at it tomorrow and see. Maybe even go over there. Gives me a place to start with the planning.”
Oakleigh gives me a sympathetic smile. “I seriously appreciate you doing this for me, Wrennie. I hope you know that. Please don’t think I asked you for any reason other than you’re a kick-ass planner. The fact that you’re also my best friend and that you know me better than I know myself is just a bonus.”
We exchange the kind of smile that only comes with years of friendship before I blow her a kiss and head back inside. I watch out the window until I see her car pass by, content that she’s safely on her way home.
Now that I’m alone, I let the smile fade and the worries flood to the surface. I let it mar the smooth brown skin of my forehead and show the wrinkles that are probably already setting in at the ripe old age of twenty-seven.
I knew that leaving my old job at the dentist was a risk. Yet things with my party planning business, Second Nature Events, were picking up and it was almost impossible to juggle two full-time jobs. So, I quit. I took a chance and dived into the unknown that is being a self-employed business owner full-time. But business has been slow the past couple of months.
I know deep down that it’s the location. I’ve run the town of Beckford dry, and now there is nothing left for me here, personally or professionally. Beckford isn’t the smallest of the five towns that surround Lake Carlow, but
it’s small enough that there really isn’t much need for a party planner when you can easily hire out city hall any time. When I started, the hype of having someone to help host the “best party the town had ever seen” was what helped me get my name out there, but now people realize that they still have to pay me at the end of it. And yet, this is where I remain, glued to this house by the memories I’ve made in it.
My engagement ending hasn’t helped since everyone in town knows Adam and me, but it has been a temporary—albeit confidence-slashing—hindrance.
It’s okay, though. A dry spell is never forever. At least that’s what my dad always tells me. It’s going to take a lot more than a diminishing business and a failed relationship to make Wren Southwick give up! Things will get better, especially with this chance that Oakleigh is giving me. Instead of wallowing in self-pity, I plan to use Oakleigh’s party as a rebranding opportunity, a chance to both put a smile on my best friend’s face and get my name out there again.
Since sleep seems to want to evade me, I take a seat at my breakfast bar and crack open my laptop. I’m fueled by determination and a refreshed outlook—and, possibly, all the sugar from the snacks—so nothing is making me tired for at least another hour.
Oakleigh is the definition of extroverted, so her guest list is going to be long. I’ll need a large space for the event and that means that city hall isn’t going to cut it. I need somewhere new, somewhere with potential.
I pull up the link that Oakleigh had sent me.
with a fall-like hue—gold-colored leaves, hay bales scattered in the distance, and, at the heart of it all, a rustic red and blue barn that needs some love.
A photo of three men catches my attention. Three outrageously attractive men, all of whom are smiling as if they don’t have a single care in the world. I see why Oakleigh’s cousin had chosen this place. All three guys look completely different, and yet you can tell they are related. Their smiles carry the same hint of mischief, their eyes lit up with the same lighthearted glint.
Except for the guy on the end. There’s something about him that I can’t quite put my finger on. Something about the small dip on the side of his lip that tells me he’s not as genuine as his relatives’. Something to do with the way his free hand is clenched at his side as if something about the situation has him wanting it to end just as quickly as it began.
He’s the most handsome of the three, that’s for sure, with sandy brown hair that looks caramel in the sun, brown eyes that hold a softer glint than his companions, and a strain to his plaid shirt that tells me there’s more underneath it than you’d originally imagine. The man is huge, big enough to lift his biggest pumpkin right over his head without breaking a sweat. Wide, imposing shoulders fill out the fabric with ease, giving him a formidable presence that I can feel even through the screen.
I shake all thoughts from my mind, reminding myself sternly that after leaving my cheating ex less than six months ago, the last thing I need is another man.
I click through the menu to: About Our Farm.
Goldleaf Farm was established by the original Finch brothers back in 1941. Their vision began with nothing more than an acre of land, and a handful of pumpkin seeds—an active attempt to help their fellow soldiers during the war effort. Now, thanks to the efforts of three generations worth of Finches, including Edward Finch’s three great-grandsons—Samuel, Sebastian and August—Goldleaf Farm is now the proud owner of three acres of prime land, mainly focused on the production of pumpkins, corn and the maintenance of their collection of rescued animals.
Goldleaf Farm are happy to provide all of your pumpkin needs, whether that be for some Halloween carvin’, or some good old-fashioned pumpkin pie, there’s something for everyone down here on the farm.
“He looks like an August,” I think aloud as I catch sight of another photo of the three brothers, this time surrounding a man who looks to be in his late seventies or eighties. The first two from earlier are hunched down so they are level with the seated older man, but the last one—whom I assume is August—remains standing, no longer bothering to hide his displeasure as he barely smiles at all this time.
I look up the opening times for the farm and see they will be open tomorrow from 8am until 5pm, which is perfect. I shoot Oakleigh a message to say that I’m going to visit the place tomorrow and she replies not five minutes later to tell me she wishes she could come too. swallows me and I immediately feel myself drifting off, the thrill of finally getting back into planning fluttering in my chest. ...
