Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Autumn
I did not smash my heart into a million pieces just so Ezra could come back here. Love is far from his dreams and exactly where his living breathing worthless father resides. I got him out. It was hard and painful and about killed me. But I did it.
How could he come back here? He can’t live in the same town as that man.
The tight space of the office is too small to pace in. So, I’m snapping the top of a pen to a pad on the desk while I internally vent. Click-click. Click-click. The thrust mechanism moves in, then out. In, then out. Until I press just a tad too hard and the entire thing springs across the room.
My ringing phone stops with Dessie’s answer, but I don’t give her a second to greet me. “Dessie!” I bark into my phone as the pen soars through the air. “I thought you said I was conducting an interview today. Aren’t I hiring the architect?”
“Ohh.” She blows the word out with a long, whistling sigh. “No, sweet pea,” Dessie croons. The woman has lived in the western United States for more than forty years, but she’s never lost her Southern accent. I swear I’ve never heard the “R” sound leave her lips. She’ll forever be a Mississippi girl. “We already did the hirin’. I thought you understood. But you’ve got the lead on this. You tell Ezra everything he needs to know.”
“But Ezra ? Why Ezra?” I bark, anger is so much better than resorting to a sobbing pile of mush.
“Oh, he’s good. He’s very good. And we want the best for our Autumn Pie.”
I’ve never understood Dessie’s nickname for me. And until this very second, I’ve always loved it. Right now, I sort of wish I had a pie to toss through the phone and onto her lap.
“I’m sure he’s great ,” I say through clenched teeth.
Why wouldn’t he be great? He’s Ezra. I always knew he’d be amazing at whatever he chose to do. And now, he’ll be great at torturing me too.
“But Ezra ?” How long has it been since I’ve said the man’s name out loud?
Longer than long.
I tell myself every night that I don’t even remember Ezra Lee Bennett. It’s a lie. A big fat lie. But it keeps my heart intact and my head sane.
“But it’s Ezra ,” I say, certain that my older friend has obtained dementia overnight and needs someone to help her think through all of her decision-making.
“I thought you’d be happy to see your old friend again.”
I clear my throat. Maybe this isn’t Dessie’s fault. I don’t talk about Ezra. How would she know that when I saw Ezra my heart stopped? How would she know I’ve been suppressing a breakdown for ten long years? She wasn’t there—she didn’t see how I almost imploded at the sight of him. Nope, happy is not the word I would use to describe how I felt when I saw Ezra Bennett’s hazel eyes and chiseled jaw.
Shocked, sure. Horrified, yep. Happy— nuh-uh .
“But with our history—”
“Exactly, you have history,” she says. “He knows you. He’ll understand your vision and make this place every bit as special as we hoped for.”
I appreciate her we in that sentence. I'm used to taking care of everyone. Dad—after he got sick. Mom—after Dad died. Summer—after Mom shut down and couldn't function. I don't get charity, I give it. So, the Linus's cannot create this restaurant just for me . It’s theirs too and they have to want it every bit as much as I do.
Don said he wanted it. He was thrilled when I presented the idea. Dessie too. She’s been wanting to add a year-round attraction to the farm. Sure, I’ll be running it. But they’ll be the owners. We’re doing it together. Dessie and Don on the financial end while I man down the fort.
“Unless…” Dessie drawls out. “The two of you didn’t split as simple and easy as you said you did.”
I huff, not even remembering the story I gave to Dessie all those years ago. “That was ten years ago. Does it even matter? I don’t even know him.”
“Fine,” she says, drawing out the word. “Then what’s the big deal? Treat him like any other business partner. Treat him like the stranger you’d thought he’d be. What’s the big deal, darlin’?”
It’s not a big deal. Not at all. I can work with anyone.Even Ezra Bennett.
I sigh—not meaning one word of the deceptive thought.
With that, Dessie is done. She goes back to her day off, to her visit with her daughter and grandkids, leaving me to deal with Ezra.
I just need a minute. Or twenty.
I’m not sitting in here watching Harry Styles videos on my phone to keep from having a mental breakdown. I’m not listening to “As It Was” over and over again to avoid a conversation with Ezra…
Okay, maybe I am. But I do this before every important event in my life. It puts me in my Zen and gets me ready to go. This event happens to be very important. So I need double the Harry.
A singer goes through scales, warming up their voice. An athlete stretches their limbs and muscles. A chef sharpens their knives.
I watch Harry Styles. It’s my thing.
I’m not hiding.
The door to the office creaks open and Meg pokes her head inside. She opens her mouth, but seeing me sitting, phone out, she steps into the small one-room space. Poking her head back outside, I hear her say, “One second. She’ll be right out.” With the door shut, she rounds on me. “Did you talk to Dessie?”
“Yep.” I pop that “p” so loud there is no missing how overjoyed I am.
She takes three steps closer and I pause my video of Harry dressed like a cowboy, sitting on the back of a white steed, to look up at her. It’s a look that says, Is this important? I’m in the middle of something.
“And?” she says.
“She hired him.” I blink, slow and once. “Without even talking to me.”
Meg clamps her teeth onto her bottom lip and sits across from me. “We’ve never talked about him.”
And we aren’t going to. I turn back to Harry—who I am certain would understand the situation and take my side. I press play because Harry is about to ride off into the sunset, and I don’t want to miss it.
“Autumn,” she says, smacking my knee. “Stop watching Harry Styles videos and talk to me!” She hasn’t even seen my phone. Sometimes my very sensible friend is psychic. A super adorable, super tame, super intuitive psychic .
“How is Kal surviving without you? He doesn’t like separation. He’s kind of like a puppy that way.”
“Oh, no. We aren’t talking about me. We’re talking about you and him . For once in your life, Autumn Green— talk !” She slaps my knee once more. Violence —I never would have guessed Meg could resort to something so crass. “Tell me about Ezra.”
“You don’t have enough time left in Love.”
Her brows lift, and they might get stuck up there if she isn’t careful. It’s more than I planned to say. But that’s Meg for you. She swooped into town two years ago, became the bestie of my life, someone I can’t live without, and now she’s swooping out. Hmmm… reminds me of someone else I know.
“Autumn,” she says, peeling me open like an orange. Because I’m no onion, I’m sweet—and a little sour when I need to be. Just like an orange.
“We dated.” I shrug, glancing out the window where a stupidly hot, all-grown-up Ezra Bennett stands outside. Why didn’t God curse him with warts and early pattern baldness? Don’t I deserve that? Have I not done enough good deeds to earn baldness on Ezra’s behalf?
Sure, he probably doesn’t deserve it. But I need it. My sanity needs a bald Ezra.
“And…” she coaxes.
I bring my gaze back to Meg. "For a long time." I swallow. "Like two years in high school. And then," I say before she can prod me on again, "we made plans." My heart isn't flesh and spongy. It's hardened clay, and with every word, a crack forms, breaking it apart a little bit more. "We planned to go to college in New York together. He'd study architecture—which clearly he did."
Oof , those words taste bad in my mouth. He did everything we always said we wanted to do while I’ve done nothing. I have nothing to show for my life. See why I need Ezra to at least go bald?
“I was supposed to go to culinary school. We’d earn our degrees, and then”—I pull in a shaky breath, angry that after ten years this still hurts—“we’d get married.”
“ Whoa .” Meg blinks. She looks like one of those funny cat videos where the cat can’t stop its excessive blinking until it sneezes.
I wait for Meg to sneeze, but she doesn’t. She sinks deeper into her chair a little, forgetting that Ezra is outside waiting for us. Meg does not like to keep people waiting. She is Punctual Patty, always ready to go. But with this story, Ezra is waiting, as are the teachers she’s supposed to be meeting with.
“What happened?” she asks and to her credit, she slumps into the chair across from me, not rushing me.
“My dad got sick. Dad was already in stage three of his diagnosis.” Nope, I don’t talk about this part either. “Stage three, lung cancer.” Crack , crack . Soon my clay heart will be a pile of powder.
I stand up like this next part is no big deal, like it didn’t break me. Because that’s what I tell myself every day.
"I couldn't leave anymore. So, I told Ezra to go without me. He did." I swallow. I broke my own heart. My throat aches with the admission. But I ignore it. I set my hands on my hips. "You know Dessie hired him as our architect because he knew me well and she thought he'd be able to give me what I want." I roll my eyes like this is na?ve and Ezra Bennett doesn't know me at all. "Whatever. It's fine. She says he's good at what he does, and that's all I need."
"So, you're okay with this?" Meg stands too but like a zookeeper cornered by the tigress. One quick movement and it's all over.
“Yeah. I was surprised. I may have been taken aback. But whatever. It’s fine.” No woman ever, in the history of ever, used the word fine and meant it.I AM SO NOT FINE.
Meg looks at me like she knows this, but she’s still the helpless zookeeper and I’m still the unpredictable tigress. She isn’t sure that disagreeing with me is a smart idea at the moment.
“You need to get to class,” I tell her.
Her brows cinch just a touch. She does. She knows it. But she’s afraid to leave me alone too.
I ignore all her trepidation, call up all the energy and strength of Harry Styles on a month-long tour—thirty nights, thirty shows—and slap on the biggest, fakest grin I can before pushing out the office door and meeting Ezra head-on.
“Just a little misunderstanding,” I say, looking past him, not quite at him. His beautiful face may burn a hole in my retina. “You were wrong. I was right.” I shrug. “No biggie. We’ll have our chat, I’ll show you around, and then I’ll let you know if you’ve got the job— or not ,” I say in one big breath without ever making eye contact with him.
I don’t look at his shoulders either. I always loved Ezra’s shoulders, but they are no longer the shoulders of a teenage boy. He is suddenly all man. And he apparently spends time in the gym. Again, I mentally send a curse on all his household, the curse of male-patterned baldness.He gets our dreams. So, he should get baldness too. Just to even things out.
“But I thought—” Meg starts, coming up beside me. But I cut Miss Allergic To Lying off with an elbow to the ribs.
“No big deal, Meg! People mess things up all the time. I assure you, Ezra’s brighter than he appears.”
I can't help the jab. It seems to come without thought or planning. A jab to Ezra is like salve to my wounds. My brain knows that Ezra did nothing wrong. Not one thing… He left. Because I told him to. But it still hurt. A lot.
Still, I can work with Ezra. What choice do I have? I’m sure Harry didn’t want to make that music video with Lil’ Pop. But he did it anyway. I read he had a contract he couldn’t get out of. Worst video ever. But I watch it. Harry is still in it.
I can put on a smile and allow him to work up the design for my place.
But I can’t control my tongue. Not always. I can fake everything except for that. My voice has an entire mind of its own. One that isn’t attached to my actual brain. I cannot be held accountable.
Meg’s eyes are still giving me away, so I shove her backside until she’s walking toward the car lot. “This one has a meeting. She’s always running behind. Go on, girl. Get .”
Meg slaps at my wrist and I pause my slightly aggressive shoving. “Are you sure you can handle this?” she whispers. “You’re being weird.”
“You’re weird!” I murmur. “I’ve got this. Now go away.”
I watch for only a second to make certain that Meg is on her way before I turn back around to a hovering Ezra.
Why is he so darn close?
And why does he smell like that? I’m tempted to spit on his suit jacket, solidifying the curse of a bald head for his very near future.
“So, I was wrong?” he says, peering down at me. “Huh, Autumn Pie ?”
My brows lower. “You aren’t allowed to call me that. Only Dessie calls me that. You don’t know me anymore. And yes, you were wrong. So, let’s get on with the interview, okay?”
My words are harsh. I’m rash and rude.
He doesn’t deserve any of it. Not even early pattern baldness.
But anger is my only defense. Because I’m not sure my heart can survive another goodbye.