Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Ezra
Autumn’s lying. I can see it in her face. She’s still the same Autumn and she can’t hide from me. While part of me wants to turn and run from this job, from the pain she caused all those years ago, the greater part wants to play this out. I’ve had unanswered questions for far too long.
Dr. Appleby told me to face my demons—Autumn and Mav—not necessarily for answers but for closure.
Only, I want Autumn’s answers. I always have.
When she looked me in the eye for the first time in a decade, I saw the shock. Shock, I understand. I felt it too. Even if Phil may have been a tiny bit right about me—part of me hoped she’d be here. But there was more than shock. Like looking in a mirror, there was also hurt, pain, and confusion.
She’s the one who ended it. She’s the one who sent me on my way and wouldn’t return my calls. So why was there so much pain in those amber eyes?
Maybe that’s the reason I go along with her I-was-right-and-you-were-wrong declaration. Because we both know that’s a crock. Dessie hired me. I’ve already signed on the dotted line.
But I let the girl who broke my heart go through the motions of her story because I’m hoping that, somehow, it’ll produce an answer—or ten. One for every year we’ve been separated.
We leave the office behind and head toward the four new bungalows that weren’t here when I worked on the farm a decade ago. They all look the same except for the last one. The siding has been painted a hunter green instead of the bright white panels and red trim of the other three.
We walk past the old red barn where Dessie and Don sell their homemade ornaments and other Christmas items in the fall. We stop on the grounds, still yards away from the Airbnb addition to the farm.
I wonder for a moment if Dessie told Autumn that I booked one of the little homes for the entire fall season. I’ll need time to design the space, and then I’d like to see the construction get started—for Dessie and Don. They might be the only people I regret not keeping in contact with. But we don’t make it as far as the bungalows, so maybe she doesn’t know yet.
“This is where we want the restaurant.”
“This close to the Airbnbs?”
“They’re yards away and we’d like it near the barn. It’s a pretty view.”
And it would be. The old red barn always stood out with the rows and rows of pine trees behind it.
“What are they calling it?” I ask.
“ I’m calling it TreeTop Bistro.” There’s a whole lot of emphasis on that I’m . Like she wants to make sure I know she’s in charge.
“This is your baby, huh?" I say, trying my best to keep eye contact. I don't need to look away. I know her. I've seen her, down to that skimpy two-piece she loved wearing in the summers. I know this girl. I will not be unsettled by her.
She narrows her eyes on me—her father’s eyes.
The thought strikes me, remembering the new information I've gained today. Autumn lost her father. Ed Green isn't around anymore. She lost him, and I wasn't here to help or to comfort her. To do anything.
But then, she didn’t want me here at all. So why do I feel so guilty? My therapist would tell me that guilt has a purpose and that purpose isn’t to abuse yourself. I have nothing to feel guilty about.
“This is my project,” Autumn says. “But it’s Dessie and Don’s too.” She clenches her jaw. She doesn’t like telling me this. She’s going to have to start sleeping with that mouthguard her mom bought her in tenth grade just to keep her face from aching from an abnormal amount of jaw clenching.
Maybe she already does—I’m thinking like a man who knows. And I don’t know a thing.
"Can we move it more toward the barn to keep it separate from the bungalows?" I ask, all business. That's right, I'm here for a job. A job, and then I'll move on. To where, I'm not sure, seeing how I am currently homeless. But eventually, I'll be moving on.
When Dessie got a hold of me for this job, she assured me the “saints” had sent her. So, I took the freelance job and I’ll be bunking in the Linus’s Airbnb for half the price, because where else am I going to go?
I may have thought twice if I’d known this was Autumn’s restaurant. I’m pretty sure Dessie knew as much, seeing how she didn’t mention that small fact.
Autumn still hasn’t answered my question. So I raise my brows, silently asking again— can we move it?
“No, we can’t,” she says, so unbending. So unlike the Autumn I remember. Sure, she’s always been stubborn, but never unreasonable. But then, I was a boy blinded by a girl. Maybe she was always like this.
“Any particular reason?” See? I can be just as rigid.
“Yes. Christmas tree shoppers park near the barn to load their trees.” She stares at me as if this is obvious—and maybe it should be. I did work here for multiple years. “Remember?”
“I remember everything ,” I say, my way of telling her I haven’t forgotten a thing. I haven’t forgotten how the night of graduation she kissed me goodnight, telling me that our lives were just about to begin, only to declare the exact opposite less than eight hours later.
“Perfect,” she says, her soft, amber-brown eyes never wavering from mine. “Then you know that we can’t move it.”
“What square footage do I need to keep it under?”
She spouts off a list of things she’s memorized. She’s done her research and she proves it to me now. Her hands fall to her hips and she peers at me as if to ask whether I dare ask another question.
We finish at the site in half the time it should take, but I need a break. Love’s elevation is high and the September air makes me think I’ve forgotten how to breathe here. That, and the tension between us is starting to suffocate me.
Autumn walks three steps ahead of me back to the office.
“Is that it?” I ask her.
“You’re the architect,” she says.
“Right. But did I get the job ?” I say, unable to hide the mockery in my tone. I can’t help it. She deserves it.
She spins around in her dingy tennis shoes and looks me up and down. “Yeah,” she says, that hurt sparking in her eyes once more. “You got the job.”
She stomps into the office, leaving me outside without any indication of when we’ll meet up again. I’ve got an outline made, but I can’t get down to details without more information from her.
I need the keys to my place, I need more information to get started on this job, and I’m not the guilty one here.
I head up to the office door, knock once, and storm inside. She won’t leave me out here waiting.
“I’ve booked a house,” I say, no apology in my tone.
“Excuse me?” She’s tugged the rubber band from her hair and wavy brown locks fall down her back like a waterfall. Her cheeks are pink and her eyes watery, making me check myself and my harsh tone.
I clear my throat. “Dessie said to get the keys to my Airbnb from her manager.”
“Wait.” Her head bobbles in a shake. “You’re staying . Here ?” Those brown eyes may pop out of their sockets if she widens them much more. “Nuh-uh.” She swallows. “Nope. You can’t stay here.”
“Too bad. I am.” I hold out my palm, phone in hand, showing her my confirmation number. “If possible, I’d love the green bungalow.”
She’s frantically searching through a paper planner. Dessie always liked paper and pen. At least Autumn’s got her booking the houses online. Still, it looks as if she keeps track of it all via paper planner.
“Ha!” I tap the book, holding my finger to the page, my pointer pressing just above my title—but not my name. “Restaurant architect, bungalow number three,” I read. I raise my brows. “Is that the green one?” I rock on my heels, waiting for an answer.
“No,” she growls, just before slapping a key into my hand. “It’s not.”