It is a truth, universally acknowledged, that when the pumpkins get ripe they all get ripe at once and must be picked immediately. At least, it’s a truth universally acknowledged if you’re a pumpkin farmer or have lived next door to a pumpkin farmer for most of your life.

When I see Mr. Stroker toddling up the hill in his starched khaki overalls, swiping a bandana across his forehead in the early morning heat of our third Indian Summer day in a row, I know what’s coming.

So do the twins.

Blake pumps his fist in the air, biting off another giant hunk of the turkey sub he made for lunch. “Yes! Pumpkin tossing time. I’m going to kick your ass so hard this year Jacob. I’m tossing two hundred. At least.”

“Oh no, not today!” Jacob shakes his head, as if he can banish the old man if he rocks his head back and forth enough. “Raney and I were going to the fair. I already have tickets.”

“Looks like it’s time to call Raney and make your apologies.” I do my best to keep the disappointment from my own voice. It’s Sunday, my one day off, and a certain dirty librarian and I had plans to take a picnic, some books, and no clothes down to my secret swimming hole.

I want to see Emma naked and jumping off my makeshift diving board into the river more than I want oxygen, but when duty calls, it calls.

I shoot off a text to Emma, knowing better than to let the twins overhear me talking to a girl. They pretend not to care about “the old folks’ love lives” but they haven’t stopped giving Rafe shit since he made it his mission in life to make a mockery of Chastity Sutter’s first name.

Dylan: Sorry, I won’t be able to take you swimming this afternoon, after all. It’s harvest time for the pumpkin patch. Mr. Stroker’s on his way up the hill right now.

Emma: Bummer, but I understand. You’re sweet to help him every year. He told me you won’t even let him pay you.

Dylan: Lies. The twins and I take home as many pumpkins as we can carry.

Emma: LOL. So, what’s that? Three pumpkins in exchange for a day of back-breaking work?

Dylan: Don’t insult our manliness. We can carry at least two pumpkins each. Jacob has monkey arms, so sometimes he can manage three.

Emma: Oh, well, I stand corrected. ;)

Still. You’re all sweet, and I won’t believe any different. Be sure to pack water bottles for everyone. It’s going to be another hot one.

Dylan: I heard. Will do. You stay cool, too, princess, and don’t read any naughty books in the nude without me. Especially not with your glasses on.

Emma: I’ll try, but you know how wild we librarians get on our days off…

I laugh, and Jacob is immediately there, peering over my shoulder. I hit the home button on my phone and slip it into the pocket of my jeans fast, but not too fast, hoping to avoid arousing suspicion.

“Who was that?” he asks. “Uncle Rafe? The asshole who was smart enough not to come home last night?”

“Don’t call your uncle an asshole,” I say by way of answer, jabbing a thumb toward the door. “I’m heading out so Mr. Stroker doesn’t have to walk all the way up the hill. Get your brother and meet us in the patch in fifteen. And bring the water cooler and cups. We’re going to need ’em.”

And we do. Holy shit, we do.

By midmorning, we’re swiping sweat out of our eyes every few minutes. By noon, we’ve shed our shirts and are tossing pumpkins half naked, causing more than a few collisions on the bike trail as teenage girls get too busy gaping at the twins to keep their eyes on the road.

The third time I see a girl go head over handlebars, I can’t help but laugh.

“I hope you two are behaving yourselves with the girls at school.” I cast a meaningful glance first at Jacob, who’s taking a water break from cutting pumpkins, and then at Blake, who has put the tractor in neutral while he devours an apple like a starving man.

We have our system down to a science by now, smoothly moving through the rotation of pumpkin cutter, flatbed-surfing pumpkin catcher, and tractor driver in fifteen minute intervals to keep any one of us from getting too miserably sore from the grunt work of cutting and tossing.

“I am,” Blake says, mouth full of apple. “But Jacob’s a total whore.”

“I am not.” Jacob flips his brother the bird as he laughs. “You are so full of shit. I’ve been with Raney since winter break last year.”

“Really?” I ask, surprised. “Why didn’t I hear a word about her until a couple of months ago?”

Jacob shrugs, squinting out across the field toward the trail. “I don’t know. Wanted to keep it quiet I guess.”

“In case she dumped his ass,” Blake pipes up.

“Fuck you,” Jacob says, good naturedly. “I like privacy sometimes, dickhead.” He shrugs as he turns back to me. “And it’s different with her. It’s nice when we keep things just between the two of us.”

“I get it.” I smile, amazed the pint-size squirt who used to beg me to give him piggyback rides through the barn is becoming such a man. “That’s how it should be. When it’s right. And real.”

“Yeah.” Jacob takes a breath, grinning as he swipes his arm across his sweat-soaked forehead. “It’s totally like that.”

I’m thinking how much I’m enjoying keeping things “just between us” with Emma—we’re not teenagers in puppy love, but a simple, straightforward, friends-who-fuck relationship is about as good as it gets as far as I’m concerned—when a girl in a red sundress and a big straw hat waves from the bike trail.

At first I think it’s one of the boys’ many admirers, but then I catch a glimpse of shoulder-length blond curls and the signature sway of her hips.

Damn, but that woman knows how to move her hips. Memories of the past seven nights at Emma’s place and all the incredible things her hips have done to my body threaten to give me a pumpkin-patch-inappropriate hard-on, but I fight it off with a long, cold drink of water.

“Who’s that?” Blake asks as Emma starts across the field, toting a jug in her arms.

“Our new neighbor,” I say. “The one who bought the Parker place.”

“That’s her?” Jacob grunts in apparent surprise. “I haven’t seen her up close yet. Dude, she doesn’t look old enough to own a winery.”

“Must be rich,” Blake observes. “Wonder how she made her money? Whatever it is, that’s what I want to major in in college.”

“There are more important things than money,” I say. “You should pick a career you love. Something you’ll get excited about waking up to do every day.”

“Screw the money,” Blake says in a softer voice as Emma draws closer. “I just want to work with girls who look like that.”

Jacob laughs, and I shush them both, warning them to be on their best behavior as I jump down from the flatbed and hurry to meet her, not wanting her to get too close to the twins. They’re usually fairly oblivious, but I’m afraid I’ll do something to give our secret away. I don’t mind people in town thinking Emma and I are an item, but family is a different story.

“Hey, you.” She stops beside a monster pumpkin we decided to leave on the ground and roll home in a wheelbarrow later, peering up at me with a grin. “Looks like you guys are tearing through it.”

I smile, making sure to keep my back to the boys. “We’re doing our best. Hoping to have some time to play at the end of the afternoon.”

“Play time sounds nice,” she says, the husky note in her voice going straight to my dick. This woman does things to me, sexy, wild things I wouldn’t be at all interested in resisting if there weren’t witnesses present.

“I brought you some lemonade,” she continues, holding up the lightly sweating brown jug. “Homemade with fresh lemons from my tree.”

I reach for the jug, touched. “Thank you. That’s thoughtful.”

She wrinkles her nose. “Nah, I just don’t want you to pass out from heat stroke before I’ve had my way with you.”

“Oh yeah?” I fight the urge to wrap my arm around her waist and pull her curvy body close. Not only are the twins watching, but I also happen to be repulsively sweaty. “So you have ulterior motives?”

“Yes, I do.” She glances over my shoulder. “You going to introduce me to your nephews?”

“They’re hellions, but sure, come on over.” I nod before turning back to the boys. “We’ve got Jacob on pumpkin-cutting duty and Blake taking point on tractor. Boys, this is Emma Haverford. She brought us some lemonade.”

Blake is off the tractor in a hot second, beating Jacob to the jug, though his brother isn’t far behind him with our cups.

“Thanks, Miss Haverford,” Jacob says. “I was dying for something other than water.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Blake agrees. “Uncle Dylan only lets us bring water.”

She grins, clearly charmed. “You’re both so welcome.”

“I’m just trying to keep the sugar intake respectable around here,” I say, defending myself. “The way your dad told me to.”

“I only used a little sugar. And please, both of you, call me Emma.” She glances around, lifting a hand to shade her eyes. “Is Mr. Stroker around? I wanted to say hello before I headed for home.”

“Nah, Uncle Dylan sent him home,” Blake says, pouring his second glass of lemonade. “He’s a worrywart.”

“It was too hot,” I say. “Older people struggle more with heat than we do. We’ll save the last row and ask him to come out and help at the end of the day when it’s starting to cool down. That way he can be a part of things without hurting himself.”

Emma’s expression softens. “Sounds wise.”

Jacob nods. “Uncle Dylan’s the smartest person I know. Even though he didn’t go to college like Uncle Tristan.”

“And he’s funny,” Blake adds, stepping closer as he lifts his third glass of lemonade. “When we were kids, he used to do this Elmo impression that slayed. Absolutely slayed. Hard.”

“Elmo, huh?” Emma asks, clearly fighting a smile.

“And he dresses up on Halloween and runs with us in the mud run every year,” Blake continues. “Not like our dad who is a total fun-killer.”

“That’s enough, boys,” I say, catching on to their not so subtle attempts at matchmaking.

“And he’s not bad to look at.” Jacob jabs a thumb toward my bare chest. “If you don’t mind a little age on the model, that is.”

“Stop it. Now,” I say, rolling my eyes as Emma hides her grin behind her hand. “Age on the model, my ass. Quit trying to set me up and get back to work.”

“But you’re a catch, Uncle Dill.” Jacob laughs as I lunge for him and just barely miss. He backs away, arms held up at his sides and a shit-eating grin on his face. “It’s okay, old man, I can slow down if you’re having trouble keeping up.”

I point a warning finger at Jacob and then one at his brother, who is yucking it up beside him. “Keep it up, and we can start doing five-thirty get-the-eggs wake-up call instead of six.”

Blake presses a hand dramatically to his chest. “That’s cruel and unusual punishment. We’re growing boys. We need sleep.”

“I’ve read that teenagers really do need more sleep than adults,” Emma says, coming to their defense because she’s a sweetheart and has no idea that beneath their boyish grins and good manners, these two are Trouble with a capital T.

“See? Emma gets it,” Blake says, batting his long lashes in her direction. “Thanks, Emma.”

“Five minutes,” I warn, eyes narrowing. “And then it’s back to work.”

The boys retreat to the shade of the tractor, laughing and muttering to each other in their secret twin language, as I turn back to Emma. “Sorry about that.”

“Why on earth would you be sorry? They’re adorable.”

I snort. “Wait until you get to know them better.”

“I hope to get the chance.” She pauses, brow furrowing as she seems to think better of the words. “Well, I guess I… Considering the terms of our arrangement, I’m not sure if I’ll…”

A sharp yelp of distress sounds from the edge of the field, mercifully interrupting the conversation before I’m forced to come up with an appropriate response.