Page 48 of You Had Me At Pumpkin Patch

It was growing dark in Rosie’s room. She’d been sitting at her laptop and hammering its keys for so long that her bum was undoubtably seat-shaped.

She hadn’t stopped to put on a light or take a break and her poor stomach was growling.

But she didn’t care. At last, she was deep inside a flow of words, and she had no intention of letting them disappear.

Although her heart felt heavy and the room filled with the melody of her sporadic sighs, as she typed, a world of revelations was opening – each one making her lighter.

If she’d once thought she could only write like magic in the peace and quiet of the pumpkin farm, that was no longer true.

Even with her sister bounding up and down the stairs, her mum constantly nagging, the gardener mowing and the cleaner trying to polish every surface including her head, the words had kept on appearing.

Like her whole body was under a spell, ideas fizzed and crackled, then shot through her tingling arms until they danced to life on the screen.

She didn’t need candles or fairy lights, or an old-fashioned typewriter, or even a dark and handsome muse across the lake. She was the creator. And from the romantic tale she’d begun to weave, she didn’t need to steal ideas from her own love life either.

Rosie hadn’t planned to start writing another novel.

When she’d told herself ‘never again’ she’d meant it.

The number of years she’d been failing to write a suitably swoon-worthy story was too large to admit.

‘Have you ever even been in love?’ incredulous publishers had asked.

When she’d started falling for Zain, everything had felt different – like a new gateway had been unlocked.

Then discovering that her best-ever manuscript had been unwittingly orchestrated by her nemesis Kimberkoo Chat had seemed like the death of everything.

Clearly her mind had other ideas.

She wasn’t sure who these characters were, but they wouldn’t stop speaking to her.

They were filling her ears and spilling onto the page like they already knew the master plan.

And surely this was what being a real writer was all about.

This was the thing that couldn’t be recreated by any AI chatbot.

Because love stories came from real, beating hearts – not software.

Though somewhere deep in her subconscious, she felt the whisper of something else coming to life. When she wrote, it helped her to escape her troubles – and when her head wasn’t obsessing, answers came.

‘Oh my gourd . That’s what I need to do.’

Rosie clicked open a fresh document and began to type. At last, the knot of problems was untangling itself. She had no idea if she could fix everything, or what others would say or do, or how they would feel. But the truth was finally rushing in.

Rosie had her own dreams to fight for. She didn’t want to be just Rachel’s stand-in or just Agnes’s pumpkin retreat saviour, as much as she’d enjoyed those roles.

Her soul was destined to write. And the opportunity that Zain had flung at her, which on the auction night had felt like throwing her under a bus, could be the stuff of dreams, if she dared.

Something else was taking over her mind too.

She still had feelings for Zain.

Huge, ginormous ones that had grown arms and legs that had wrapped themselves around her and were threatening to squeeze the air from her lungs.

Of course, there was no way she would let this be another Cassius or James situation, where she mentally hoovered up all traces of odd behaviour in the hope of a ‘happy ever after’.

Though her instinct screamed that she needed to do something .

Because like a Magic Eye picture that you couldn’t unsee, Rosie couldn’t unfeel this thing that had been growing inside her.

You deserve your own starring role, Rosie Featherstone , she’d typed on her screen. Now GET OUT THERE. Face the awkward bits. Be honest. Embrace real life, exist outside the pages of a book... and don’t be afraid to create your own, gloriously messy story – with or without pumpkins.

Tears were falling as she read. The typed words were probably a jumble of things she’d subconsciously known – but they’d needed to spin dry in her mind before they came together, like neatly paired socks.

Her thoughts were right. The best bookish protagonists got out there and faced things.

They scaled walls or galloped off on horses or marched fearlessly across stormy moors.

They allowed their lives to get wild and untamed, in pursuit of what they felt in their hearts.

Whatever the outcome, she was ready to try.

‘Chicken noodles with cheese?’ Her sister popped her head around the door, holding a bowl of something particularly smelly.

Flick barged in anyway, placing the bowl next to Rosie’s laptop and sinking into an armchair. As was customary, she was already pulling out her phone.

‘Before you have a go at me and remind me to wash, I am going to do something about my #lifeproblems . I have a plan. Want to hear it?’

‘Want to hear it? I want to be in it!’ Flick sat up straight. ‘Spill the news.’

Rosie’s brow creased, imagining her sister begging to livestream Rosie’s plight. She would be vetoing that – but there were a few things she needed help with.

As Rosie shared her game plan, her sister prodded her phone.

‘You’re not posting about this on your socials,’ Rosie warned.

‘Obviously,’ said Flick, apparently tapping onto Instagram anyway. ‘Promise I won’t, but... wow. There are a lot of people sending you love and luck after my livestream earlier. Some of them seem to know you.’

Rosie snatched the phone from her sister. ‘Let me see.’

As she scrolled, Rosie saw reams of supportive messages – many from total strangers, but some from friends past and present.

Bonnie, Luna and the swim ladies begged her to get in touch.

Even some of her old colleagues from KJ Marketing said the new chatbot software didn’t write about tooth decay nearly as well as she did, nor did it buy tasty cakes.

Rosie had already decided she was ready to step up and stop hiding – but even superheroines needed a boost.

Then her eyes landed on the most recent comment. It was from a brand-new user, with no profile picture. Zain K . Just seeing his name sent her insides swirling. And when Rosie read his suggestion to talk, she knew it was time to get moving – whatever the outcome.

‘Give me twenty minutes, then phase one of this plan is kicking off.’

Flick jumped up and gave a little hip wiggle. ‘You know, you once laughed at me for having a 4x4, even though I would never get it muddy. But let me tell you, it’s pretty spacious. I could fit several inanimate bodies in the back of that thing.’

‘Good to know,’ said Rosie. ‘But we’ll be leaving the dead-legs behind.’