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One lucky guest. One unforgettable night. Will the Harvest choose you?

“That’s dramatic.”

“What’s the prize?” Ali asks.

“It doesn’t say.”

“Probably a pumpkin.”

“For what we paid, that pumpkin better eat pussy.” I say.

Mariah swerves.

“MARIAH!”

“I’m fine. Chill out.”

“You’re driving!”

“Then stop talking about cunnilingus gourds!”

Ali is laughing so hard behind us, she starts snorting.

I close the website before one of us dies prior to reaching the event.

“Apparently the black ribbon with red writing makes you the Harvest Bride.”

Mariah wiggles her eyebrows. “Sage McBride. Harvest Bride.”

“No.”

“Oh, come on. It’s fate.”

“It’s lazy wordplay.”

“If you get that ribbon, I’m buying you a veil.”

“I will strangle you with it.”

“Bridezilla already.” She says, clicking her tongue.

I flip her off then look down at the GPS. We’re almost there.

Then I see the glow.

“Oh shit,” Ali whispers.

Mariah turns the music down. None of us says anything for a second.

Ward Farm appears beyond the trees and holy fuck. The pictures didn’t do it justice.

A wooden sign stretches across the entrance.

WELCOME TO WARD FARM.

ENJOY THE HARVEST.

Hundreds of carved pumpkins line the road beyond it, their faces glowing orange in the darkness. String lights disappear between massive oak trees. The bonfire burns farther across the property. Music carries through the open windows.