Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Ezra
“I’m driving,” Autumn says, walking past me and hopping onto the four-wheeler.
“Sounds good.” I am as cool as a cucumber Ezra… because the cooler I am, the more she seethes. I’m not sure why it’s suddenly my mission in life to make Autumn seethe. But then, maybe she’ll finally get upset enough to actually tell me the truth.
Because that’s what I want. The real Autumn. The truth about all those years ago and today. I can’t explain how I feel, but I need this. Dr. Appleby was right all along, and Bre may have been too.
I wait for her to saddle the seat and then I climb on behind her, the warmth of her body close. It’s been far too long since I’ve been this close to Autumn.
I wrap one arm around her waist, finding the button on her jeans—just like I used to.
Her head tilts. She doesn’t look at me, but the action tells me she’s talking to me. “What are you doing?”
“Holding on.” I splay my fingers over her slim waist, my fingers coming to life with the memory of her form. “I’d rather not go flying off.”
“That was one time,” she says, referring to the first time she drove me around this farm on a four-wheeler. I didn’t know her well until I started on the farm—sophomore year. I learned quickly that Autumn Green drives fast and when she makes a decision, she’s all in. It didn’t matter that she was driving close to forty miles per hour, she’d committed to the turn around the shed. Only I didn’t know that. I flew off, got my first set of stitches—two pretty wimpy ones—and then a whack from my father for giving him an emergency room bill.
Ironically, I paid for the visit with my first Linus Farm paycheck. He didn’t have to pay for anything.
I couldn’t have stopped Autumn from taking me to the hospital though. She was determined.
That’s the day I knew I’d fallen for Autumn Green. It took many more days before I owned up to it. But I knew it then.
“I’m not taking any chances. Not with your driving.” In fact—yep, I wrap my other arm around her. As long as we’re getting Autumn feisty, let’s go all in. “You can never be too careful.”
“It’s true,” she mutters under her breath. “The second you loosen that grip, I’m throwing your pansy waist off this machine.”
It’s meant to be a threat, but it only makes me tighten my hold on her. “Noted,” I say, my cheek millimeters from hers.
Torturing Autumn is a double whammy. I'm torturing myself in the process—her soft cheek next to mine, her warm body electrifying each square of my skin touching hers, and that sugar cookie scent that lingers whenever she's near.
“What about your lunch?” Dessie moans, yards away. She holds out the paper bag she packed for Autumn.
“Give it to Don. I won’t be needing it,” Autumn says. She gives Dessie a placating grin, then pushes in on the throttle. Which only makes me hold her tighter.
“She made you a sandwich,” I tell her in her ear. The machine is too loud to talk any other way. It’s necessary. At least, that’s what I tell myself.
Autumn doesn’t turn to talk in my ear or lessen the throttle so I can hear her better. She just drives, yelling above it all. “I bet she did! But only as an excuse to get you out here!”
It’s a five-minute drive back to the bungalows and I am snug in my spot—no flying from a four-wheeler for me today.
“Everything’s just inside my rental,” I tell her, peeling myself from her side.
“You can bring it all to the office. This is a business meeting.”
“What does it matter? It’s all right here,” I say, motioning to the little white house I’m staying in. “Are you afraid to come into my house? What might happen, Autumn?” I’m egging her on—purposely. I shouldn’t, but I’m suddenly a high school kid again—one who might not be willing to admit to himself that he still likes the girl. I’ll pull her pigtails if it’s the only way to get her attention.
The thing is, while Autumn and I haven’t had the heart-to-heart that I’m hoping for. I have learned things. Yes, Autumn sent me away, broke my heart, and confused the heck out of me. But she also has a secret to tell. A reason I’m not aware of. And I don’t think it has anything to do with her feelings changing about me overnight.
Also, I’m not making it up—her words were laced with jealousy when she asked about Bre last night. A jealous Autumn means something. She’d never be jealous without cause.
She’s glaring at me. My taunt is over, but I’m still waiting for her response. “I’m not afraid of you, Ezra Bennett.”
“I’d guess not. The Autumn I know isn’t afraid of anything. Except maybe… snakes .”
She glowers. Yep—still afraid of snakes. Mice and insects, she can handle all day long; they’re like second nature on a Christmas tree farm. But snakes—that girl will wail high-pitched and jump on your back faster than you can blink.
I might be having way too much fun with angsty Autumn.
“I’ll meet you inside,” I say. There’s no reason for me to take the designs—aka my laptop—over to the office. Okay, yep, it’s just a laptop. It wouldn’t be difficult, but I’m still stirring all the minty mentos into my Autumn Diet Coke, waiting for her truth to pop.
I head into the little white house I’m calling home while Autumn beelines for her own place.
“I’ll be over in a minute.”
A minute gives me time to clean up a little. I’ve settled in. I haven’t had my own place for weeks—living in Phil’s living room doesn’t exactly allow for spreading out—and I’m taking advantage of the space I have here.
I’ve just shoved my suitcase into the closet when Autumn knocks. I peer about the place—the bed is unmade, but at least my socks are off the ground and my food wrappers are in the garbage. Besides, the girl won’t be coming back to my bedroom. The living room and kitchen are in decent shape. I’m not a slob—I’ve just been working overtime. First, creating the designs for the bistro, and second, farming for Dessie and Don.
I run my hands through my tousled hair and step over to the door. She’s changed into a clean T-shirt and jeans, and her wavy hair trails over her shoulders, the sun bringing out gold in her chestnut-brown hair.
I feel like a kid again. The kid who fell so hard and so fast for Autumn Green. She made me feel unbroken and loved. And when I see her, I feel that again—in its most raw form.
That is until she lifts her head to glower at me. Why is she so upset all the time? Oh right, because I'm here. And because I'm goading her on.
Does this big secret have something to do with me? As in—I did something wrong? Because if so, I’m not trying to be an overgrown lug here—I just don’t know what it could be.
I smile. I’m not fighting fire with fire. I’m fighting fire with rainbows. And if that bothers Autumn, that’s her choice.
“Can I get you a drink?”
She steps through the door. “Do you have anything? ”
“Aw—bottled water in the fridge.”
One of her brows sits higher than the other. “The bottled water I filled the fridge with before you got here?”
“Yep.”
She breathes out, heavy and weary. She looks so tired at this moment. "I'm fine. Can we just get to it?"
“Sure.” I open up my laptop sitting on the coffee table. There’s only one couch in this small room, so she’s going to have to sit by me if she wants to see the designs. And I’m not moving.
I don’t say anything and I don’t invite her over. She can make her own choices—she always could.
“I’ve got two to show you. If there’s something you like in one and something else in the other, most likely we can do some combining or swapping.”
Autumn paces in front of my little table, hands on hips. I peer up from my laptop. She’s gnawing on her bottom lip as if it’s a piece of jerky and she hasn’t eaten in days.
“Did you want to see them?”
She looks at me like a skittish, wild animal. “Yeah. I want to see them.”
I spent a couple weeks researching once the Linus's hired me. I knew I wanted to give them something special and unique. They were always so good to me. Don even let me sleep out in the loft a few nights when I didn't want to go home. My pride wouldn't let me ask them for a place to stay in the house. They would have let me. But I didn't want to ask and Don never made me. He knew I was out there and just never said anything. Although, I found a pillow and extra blankets after multiple nights.
She paces once more before sitting on the loveseat next to me. Her leg brushes mine and I do nothing to give her more space. I don’t want to. We’ve had plenty of space in the last decade.
I give her an entire minute to look before I speak. “This one has a slightly bigger kitchen space, but this one,” I say swiping over to the second, “has a larger dining room. You could fit six to eight more guests.”
She’s bent, peering at the design. “I like the larger kitchen, the island. Would that be possible with the other design?”
“It would be a small island. But we could do it.” I lick my lips, my mouth suddenly feeling dry. Autumn—for the first time ever—is looking at my work. I want her to like it more than I realized. “Love is small. While this concept will bring in people from neighboring towns, you could go with the smaller dining room size and get away with it. People may have to wait.”
Her breath hitches and her eyes rise up to mine, our heads bent close as we study my plans together. “You think people will come?” she asks, her voice small.
My eyes rove over her pretty face. Treading carefully at the vulnerability in her voice, I tell her what I believe to be true. “If you’re cooking, they’ll come.”
She studies my face back and I don’t miss when her eyes fall to my lips.
“How’d you know I’d got engaged, Green?” I say, just above a whisper.
She blinks, her gaze turning back to the computer screen. “Summer—Summer said she saw a save the date or something like that. I guess before you got rid of your social media pages.”
I run a hand over the back of my neck. “I never got rid of them. I just stopped using them. Bre probably tagged me.”
Her eyes turn back to me. “So, you were engaged. You proposed.”
I nod.
“What happened?” For the first time since I’ve been back, she looks at me—really looks, like she used to.
“Does it matter?” I say.
She gives her head the smallest of shakes—though I wish she’d say that it did matter.
“What happened with your dad? ”
Neither of us can say that doesn’t matter.
“Cancer. He gave up the fight five years ago.”
“I’m really sorry, Autumn.”
She sniffs and stands, hands clutching to her hips, no longer looking at me. "And we can change those colors, right? Because that yellow is horrendous."
Horrendous ? It’s not. It’s a fall, golden yellow, warm and welcoming. But it’s easier to complain about my work than to talk about her dad. Besides, the patterns and colors aren’t really what I do. That’s for the owner or interior designer.
I stand too. “Does this mean you like one of them?”
She didn’t study them long. But she did email me her wish list. I’d studied and prepped beforehand, had designs in the works and in my mind, and knowing Autumn the way I do, it all came together pretty quick.
“The first. The larger kitchen.” Her eyes pop up to mine. “You’re good at this, Ezra.”