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Oh my God.
Damon is just twenty feet away. I stifle a gasp, clutching the necklace as he waves at me. My heart beats wildly as I take a step towards him. But before I can reach him, he vanishes into the crowd. Panic surges through me as I take off in his direction, my blood pounding in my ears as I shove my way through the crowd.
But he’s nowhere to be found.
Something catches my eye—it’s Damon, heading into the corn maze. I rush after him, taking winding turns, going deeper and deeper into the darkness.
Chapter
Twenty-One
HIM
David and I walk towards the hayride.
He whistles appreciatively. “So, who’s the chick?”
I purse my lips, battling the temptation to stab him in his stupid mouth. “That would be Mia,” I say, keeping my cool.
“First name basis, huh?” He nudges me playfully as we approach the hayride. “She taken?”
We flash our press badges at the operator, and I hop into the wagon beside Amy, the photographer replacing that fuckhead, Colton. “Yes,” I answer. “She’s taken. By me.”
David joins me in the hay, his face contorting in surprise. “You? With someone?” He chuckles as the driver releases the tractor’s brake, the wagon lurching forward.
I retrieve my notepad and pen from my pocket to distract myself from snapping at him. “What do you mean by that?”
“It’s just, you never seemed like the type,” he replies, peering around like a curious child. “Like you’re too focused on your work to settle down with someone.”
I frown and give him a shrug. “What can I say? She swept me off my feet.”
“That’s great, man,” David says as the wagon pulls up to a beautiful grove of trees. “I guess workaholics need love, too.”
Amy snaps some photos and then fiddles with her camera. I scribble notes on my notepad, hoping David will drop the subject of my love life and get on with his work. Thankfully, he’s too enraptured by the autumn scenery of the Pennsylvania countryside to push the subject any further. Eventually, he strikes up a conversation with another passenger, allowing me some semblance of quiet.
As the sun slowly sets, I look up from my notes to admire our surroundings. A patchwork quilt of oranges, reds, and yellows stretches across the rolling hills, as far as the eye can see. We stop at an apple orchard, and Amy captures some pictures in the fading sunlight. While she works, I climb out to stretch my limbs and find myself gazing at a nearby farmhouse.
A woman and her two children are outside, the young boys chasing each other around and hollering as they run in circles. Their mother gathers the laundry hanging on a makeshift clothesline. The scene stirs something in me, and I’m overcome with an intense wave of nausea. Disgust.Rage.
I try to shake off the resentment, the bitterrevulsionthat threatens to consume me. But it lingers in my mind as we continue along our journey. The deep, gnawing loathing doesn’t relent. David, thankfully, doesn’t press. I take a deep breath to calm myself.
The rest of the ride is quiet as I avoid making eye contact with anyone and keep my head bowed over my work, pretending to be lost in thought. Finally, we make it back to our starting point. The wagon jerks to a stop, and I get out, desperately needing some time to myself.
“I got some fantastic shots,” Amy states as she carefully packs up her camera.
“That’s great!” David says, tapping his notepad. “With the three of us, this article is gonna be a smash. But damn, I could really use a break.”
I’m riled up, have shit to prepare for. “Me too,” I agree, working out the kink in my shoulders.
“Let’s take a breather and meet up in half an hour for the costume contest.” He looks at Amy, then at me. “Sound good?”
Amy and I nod.
“Sure,” I say, turning on my heel. “See you then.”
I set off in my own direction, determined to find some peace and quiet before the next round of festivities begins—specifically the special event I have planned for my Little Finch. She still needs to learn the hard way that I’m the only one she can trust, the only one that can understand her.
I won’t let anyone come between us again.
