We spend an hour walking the game aisles, and Jessie’s the only winner. She wins a stuffed monkey for each of us, and it becomes our inside joke for the rest of the night—naming the monkeys, stealing them and hiding them, then begging to give them back.
We decide to try our hand at the corn maze before we go home. The woman at the entrance gives us each a map and a puzzle piece. If you find the other five pieces hidden in the maze, you win a pie, an entire homemade apple pie. I look at Cody with puppy dog eyes when I find this out.
“Will you win me and the monkey a pie? We want pie, pweeeeese?” I say, holding the small stuffed monkey’s hand and stroking Cody’s chest with it. He busts out laughing and throws his arm around me.
“Sure, come on, Charlie—let’s go win you a pie,” he says, waving the map over his head and pointing in the air like he’s signaling to Charge!
Cody pulls me through the entry to the maze at a quick pace, and he’s jogging at first, passing up a group of junior high girls who giggle when he says, “Excuse me.”
I watch them huddle together and cover their faces while they check Cody out, and I laugh at their exchange—both because it’s adorable to see, and because I could easily join them like we were at some slumber party, making goo-goo eyes at the cute older boy next door.
“They are sooooooo crushing on you,” I joke, elbowing him in the side. He pounds his fists on his chest at my joke, like Tarzan, which only makes me laugh harder.
“I’m all man, of course they’re crushing on me,” he says, almost on the verge of howling.
“Oh my god, you realize you’re bragging about being the pin-up dream for 12-year-olds, don’t you? Don’t get all carried away,” I say, trying to hold in the rest of my laugh.
Cody’s eyebrows lower as he turns his head to look at me and slows our walking down. He’s twisting his lips together, thinking, and then finally settles into a wide smile.
“Uh huh,” he says, and leaves it at that. He walks ahead of me a little, his posture perfect, and his hands dangling from his thumbs looped in his pockets.
“What does that mean?” I ask, brushing into his arm and catching up to his pace.
“Ohhhhh, nothing,” he says, clearly tempting me now. And of course, I set the trap.
“No, really…what does that mean,” I’m actually a little irritated now at his smugness, even though I know he’s only being playful. Cody takes a sharp turn while he’s looking at the map, and I follow him. There’s a table at the end of the passage, and we both look at each other.
“We found one!” we shout, running in the direction of the table with the black cauldron on top. Once we get there, Cody reaches in and pulls out a puzzle piece. I snap it in place with the first one we were given, and I can already tell the puzzle is going to be a pumpkin pie.
Cody holds up his hand to high-five me, but I just look at it and scowl as I walk by. I’m getting my edge back, I can tell, because Cody’s the one catching up with me now.
“Hey, don’t be mad. I was just teasing you,” he says, reaching for my arm to turn me around. I’m not really angry, and I want him to know—I don’t want him thinking I’m a drama queen. I smile when I face him, and I can tell he’s relieved.
“I know, I just hate teasing like that—makes me feel like you’re making fun of me,” I admit.
Cody’s smile falls a little at my words, and he reaches around my body to pull me in for a side hug while we’re walking. “I’m not teasing to be mean. I promise,” he says. “I was just going to say that those girls aren’t the only ones crushing on me…that’s all.”
He can’t look at me while he’s talking, and I’m so glad, because my eyes are wide with guilt, and my breath has stopped. It’s the most blatant admission he’s made about our flirting, and I’m not going to deny it, because yes—I’m crushing on Cody Carmichael. Hell, I’m doing more than that—I’m freaking falling for him!
I notice his smirk, and it matches my own. I hear him almost start to speak more than once, and each time, my heart thumps in anticipation.
“I have an idea—it’s a game we can play, you know, while we trek through the rest of this farmland and spend an hour looking for four puzzle pieces so you can get a pie,” he says, taunting me.
“Hey, that’s homemade pie, thank you very much!” I defend.
“Right, totally worth it then,” he says, a sassy snarkiness to his tone. I roll my eyes in response.