Page 92 of The October Arrangement

The second we stepped out of the Range Rover, Bella stopped dead in front of me.

“Oh, my God!” Her eyes lit up.

I looked around. There were fucking pumpkins everywhere. Big ones, small ones, orange ones, pink ones, blue ones, green ones that looked disgustingly diseased, and painted ones. Wooden booths were lined up along the wide path beneath the trees that were no longer green, but saturated in orange, red, and gold leaves. Music played, and the air smelled like cinnamon, apples, fried donuts, and woodsmoke.

“Isn’t this amazing?” Bella grinned.

“It’s a farm, Bella.”

“You’re wasting your time, Bella. He was born an eighty-year-old man,” my father said, and Bella had the audacity to laugh.

“I’m thirty-two, in case you didn’t get the memo, Dad.”

“Emotionally, son, you’re eighty.”

“Thanks a lot, Dad,” I sighed.

Bella hooked her arm around mine. “Don’t worry. I’ll fix you.”

“I’m not sure I like the sound of that.” I frowned.

“You won’t.” She smiled. “There’s the ticket booth. We need to get our tickets.”

“I already bought them.” I pulled out my phone.

“You what?” She stared at me like she couldn’t comprehend what I’d just said.

“I bought the tickets online,” I said.

“When?” Her brows furrowed.

“Last night after you fell asleep.”

“But why?”

“Because that’s what normal people do before they go somewhere that requires tickets,” I said.

“No.” She shook her head. “That was you planning.”

“So?”

“Ugh, sometimes you’re impossible. Don’t you ever just do something on a whim? No plans and no thinking about it?”

“No,” I said.

“Don’t you want to know what it feels like just to wing it, and pray for the best?” she asked.

“No.” My brows furrowed.

“Well, just so you know, Mr. Montclair, I was going to purchase the tickets.”

“I already have, so stop complaining.”

“My only complaint is the fact that you think you have to pay for everything,” she said.

“I generally do,” I smirked.

“I hate you.” She shook her head.