Page 21 of Trick or Tease

SAbrINA

I stood at the entrance to our festival that had started out as nothing more than a pumpkin patch and a corn maze.

Things had gotten a little carried away.

It had been so fun to take the basic patch to something families would love.

They were going to make memories today that they would, hopefully, treasure forever.

But what I was witnessing was not what I expected. Or planned. I was beginning to think we might have bitten off more than any of us could chew.

I watched an endless stream of cars turn off the main road and onto our gravel driveway. My heart was hammering against my ribs as I counted vehicle after vehicle. It was a parade of SUVs, minivans, pickup trucks, even a few cars with out-of-state license plates.

It was definitely not what we had planned for.

“Holy shit,” I breathed, clutching my clipboard so tightly my knuckles were white. “Lucy! Lucy, get over here!”

She jogged over from where she’d been directing parking, her face flushed with excitement and what looked like the same panic I was feeling. “Sabrina, there are like two hundred people here already, and it’s only been open for an hour!”

I did a quick scan of the crowd gathering around our entrance arch.

Families with young kids clutching pumpkin-shaped buckets.

Teenagers taking selfies with our scarecrows.

A group of college-aged kids were taking pictures of the decorations we had made from hand.

Even some older couples were milling about.

All seemed genuinely excited about our corn maze.

“We planned for maybe fifty people on opening day,” I said, my voice getting higher. “Maybe seventy-five if we were really lucky. This is insane! We’re gonna need more cider.”

Billy appeared at my elbow, practically vibrating with excitement. “Did you see the parking situation? I had to open up the back field just to fit everyone. And there’s still a line of cars coming down the road!”

“Billy, this is a disaster,” I hissed. “We don’t have enough staff. We don’t have enough supplies. The hayride can only take twenty people at a time, and there’s got to be sixty people in line for it already!”

“It’s a good problem to have,” he said, but I could see the stress creeping into his expression as he watched the crowd continue to grow.

We wanted success but holy shit. I was worried we might have to turn people away.

And if we had to do that, it would kill the rest of the season.

Why would people bother to make the trip if they might get turned away?

We had to figure out how to get everyone through.

How to make sure everyone had a good time.

“Where the hell did all these people come from?” I demanded. “We put up flyers at the feed store and posted on the community Facebook page. That’s it. We were expecting locals, maybe a few families from neighboring towns.”

Lucy grabbed my arm. “Sabrina, look at this.” She shoved her phone in my face, showing me what appeared to be an Instagram post. “Some influencer chick with like fifty thousand followers posted about us. Look at the caption.”

I squinted at the screen. The post showed a perfectly filtered photo of our entrance arch, complete with Billy’s hand-carved wooden sign and the scarecrow I’d made holding the smaller directional sign.

The caption read: “ Just discovered this AMAZING hidden gem in upstate New York! Hogan’s Haunted Hill looks like the perfect fall adventure.

Who’s ready for some authentic farm fun?

#FallVibes #PumpkinSeason #HiddenGems #AutumnAdventure”

“Who the fuck is @FallWithFiona?” I asked.

“Apparently someone with a lot of followers.”

I clicked on the woman’s profile and it didn’t take a genius to figure out how she figured out we were here.

“Garrett,” I said.

“What?”

“Garrett must have done this. He has to know her.”

Jealousy raced through me. And then, as if saying his name conjured him out of the depths of hell, there he was.

I watched Garrett stride through the chaos like he owned the place. He was wearing a blue button-down with the sleeves rolled up and dark jeans somehow making him look more authoritative than any of us in our worn farm clothes. He surveyed the scene for maybe thirty seconds, then walked toward us.

“Tyler, Madison,” he called out to the high school kids who’d been standing around looking as overwhelmed as I felt. “I need you two in the back field directing parking. Make rows, keep the cars organized so people can actually get out when they’re ready to leave.”

Poor Tyler, who had looked like a deer in headlights just moments before, straightened up. “Yes, sir. How many cars per row?”

“Eight to ten, depending on size. Leave space for people to walk between. Madison, you take the entrance to the field, Tyler, you work the back section.” Garrett pointed toward our makeshift parking area. “And smile. These people are excited to be here. We want them to stay that way.”

I watched in amazement as both kids nodded and jogged off toward the field. How the hell did he do that? Five minutes ago they’d been standing around looking lost, and now their heads were held high.

“Jake, Emma,” Garrett continued, turning to two more of our teenage helpers. “I need you at the corn maze entrance. One of you takes tickets, the other explains the rules and hands out the maps Billy made.”

Lucy and I exchanged a look. She burst into laughter. “Alright, then. I guess the boss is here.”

I wanted to be angry. I really did, but dammit, we needed him.

He took charge of our chaotic opening day, and despite my frustration with him personally, I had to admit he was exactly what we needed right now.

Within ten minutes, he’d transformed our panicked teenagers into an organized crew, established a proper flow for the crowd, and somehow made everything feel manageable instead of overwhelming.

Billy always said Garrett could figure out solutions when things went wrong.

The time their treehouse collapsed, Garrett had drawn up plans for a better one.

When their dad’s tractor broke down during harvest season, twelve-year-old Garrett had somehow figured out what was wrong with the engine.

He’d always been the problem-solver, the one who could see the big picture and break it down into manageable pieces.

He didn’t let panic and emotion rule. Which kind of made sense. The almost-kisses were fueled by emotions in the moment. He didn’t let emotions rule, which was why he didn’t try and kiss me.

I felt a pang of sadness watching him work.

This was exactly the kind of thing he was brilliant at, and it was such a waste that he was stuck in some sterile Manhattan office instead of doing something that actually mattered.

Not that I was biased or anything, but seeing him here, sleeves rolled up and actually making a difference for real people suited him in a way I doubted he understood.

Was he really happy sitting in a big office and making people richer?

For some reason, I didn’t think he was. When we saw him in Manhattan, he had smiled at the restaurant, but it wasn’t real.

From my very uneducated opinion, he wasn’t genuinely happy.

He was faking it. I didn’t have a psychology degree, but he was measuring his happiness by the size of his bank account. That was never a good idea.

Billy was practically glowing as he watched his older brother take control of the situation.

I knew how much this meant to him, having Garrett actually invested in making the farm succeed instead of just tolerating it.

Billy had always looked up to Garrett, even after all these years of growing apart.

Even when Garrett acted like he was too good for small-town life, Billy still talked about him like Garrett hung the moon.

Billy always had hope that someday his big brother would remember where he came from.

“Sabrina,” Garrett called out, pulling me from my thoughts. “We need to establish a rotation schedule for the hayride. Twenty people maximum per trip, departing every thirty minutes. Can you handle the scheduling and make sure people know their approximate wait time?”

“On it,” I said, grabbing my clipboard and heading toward the growing line of families waiting for the haunted hayride.

He winked at me. “Thanks.”

I practically melted in a puddle at his feet.

How was he so hot? I hated being bossed around, but when he did it, hell yeah.

I was in the middle of explaining the hayride schedule to a family when I spotted the Channel 13 news van pulling into our makeshift parking area. My stomach dropped.

“Oh no,” I muttered under my breath, watching a reporter and cameraman climb out of the van. The last thing we needed was media attention when we were barely keeping our heads above water with the crowd we already had.

The reporter was a put together blonde woman in a black blazer and perfectly tailored slacks.

She was surveying our operation with a critical eye that made me suddenly aware of every amateur detail.

We looked podunk. All of our hand-painted signs, the slightly crooked scarecrows, the fact that I was wearing jeans with actual dirt stains on them.

I wasn’t ashamed of our operation but I also didn’t want it splashed all over the news for city snobs to make fun of. Like we were circus animals.

She made a beeline straight for me, probably because I was the only person standing still long enough to corner.

Oh no, no, no.

“Excuse me,” she said with that bright, artificial smile all TV people seemed to master. “I’m Jennifer Walsh from Channel 13 News. We heard about your little festival and I would love to do a quick segment about local fall attractions. Are you one of the owners?”

My mouth went completely dry. I could feel the cameraman already setting up behind her, adjusting his equipment like he was preparing to broadcast my inevitable humiliation to the entire East Coast.

“I, well, I mean, I help run things,” I stammered, acutely aware of how stupid I sounded. “But I’m not really the best person to?—”

“Perfect!” she interrupted, clearly not listening to my protests. “This is exactly the kind of authentic, grassroots story our viewers love. Just be yourself and tell us about what makes this place special.”

Be myself? The woman had no idea what a terrible suggestion that was.

I was going to sound like a fool on television, and then people would see the interview and decide we were just a bunch of amateurs playing at running a business.

Which, to be fair, wasn’t entirely inaccurate.

But America was built on big dreams and people too stubborn to quit.

I opened my mouth to try to explain that someone else should really handle this, when I felt a solid presence at my side.

“I’d be happy to help with that,” Garrett said smoothly.

He gently touched my elbow as if he was offering assurance while also taking over.

His voice had that confident, professional tone a high-priced lawyer wielded.

And I was only basing that on what I had seen on TV.

I could totally see Garrett in a courtroom dropping some huge bit of evidence that cleared his client.

“I’m Garrett Hogan, one of the owners.”

I started to step away, grateful for the rescue, but his arm slipped around my waist, holding me firmly in place beside him. The touch sent electricity shooting through my entire body, and I had to concentrate on not leaning into him.

What the hell was he doing?

I tried to step away again, but that only had him tightening his grip.

“Sabrina here is the creative genius behind most of what you see. She’s been instrumental in developing the attractions and ensuring every family has an amazing experience.”

I shot him a look that I hoped conveyed both gratitude and panic, but he just smiled that easy, charming smile that probably made panties within a hundred yards drop.

They continue to ask Garrett questions while I stood there silent as a ghost. He answered every question with ease and ended the interview by telling everyone to come check out the festival.

“Thanks,” I said when he finally released me and allowed me room to breathe.

“No problem,” he said. “Better get back over there. Looks like they’re getting backed up.”

“Yep. On it.”

“I know this is crazy but it’s everything you all were hoping for,” he said. “Let’s make sure it’s a great day.”