Chapter 15 Autumn
AUTUMN
The next morning, I needed something to keep my mind from circling back to Dom. To last night, to the way he’d almost kissed me. Correction: I’d almost kissed him. So I did the most logical thing. I went shopping.
Luckily, I’d had the sense to wear a crossbody bag on the trail. It kept my phone, my wallet, and everything that still tethered me to real life.
Lulu trotted beside me. Bless Mr. Gunn for thinking one step ahead with the leash. Without it, she’d be halfway across town, charming her way into a free breakfast by now.
I kept pace with her, the crutch tapping along. At this point, I was basically a professional. If crutching were an Olympic sport, I’d at least make regionals. Maybe nationals, if style points counted.
The town center was already alive with motion.
On one side, the river curved past the town park, with picnic tables, tire swings, and a few kids tossing bread to ducks.
On the other side stretched a line of small shops, their mix of aged brick and sun-warmed wood giving off the kind of charm you couldn’t fake.
The first shop was a corner store, the kind that might still sell you bubblegum for a quarter if you asked nicely.
A few doors down, the bakery windows were stacked with cupcakes and donuts so perfectly frosted they looked like they’d been styled by a food blogger.
People wandered in and out, clutching coffee cups and crinkled paper bags.
Then I passed the diner. The scent of bacon and fresh coffee drifted into the street. A hand-painted sign out front read: If You Leave Hungry, That’s on You.
Ominous.
I wasn’t in the mood for a big meal. Not even coffee.
A little farther down, I spotted the town’s harvest shop. It must’ve been the place Dom had mentioned. Locals chatted in front of crates overflowing with tomatoes, peaches, and wildflowers, baskets in hand. It was the heartbeat of this town, the kind of rhythm that tempted you to fall in step.
But I kept moving.
Lulu walked close beside me, her gait loose. Still, my guard stayed up. I scanned faces and watched for any shift in energy. But nothing felt off.
Eventually, I ducked into a narrow little boutique that smelled of linen and dried lavender. The woman behind the counter looked effortlessly flawless, with country grace all over her smile.
I wasn’t there for anything in particular. But then I saw it. A floral, flowy dress made for slow afternoons.
It was not something I’d usually splurge on. But I bought it anyway. Because why not?
It was easy to picture myself here, to imagine this life. This version of me.
Even though, before long, I’d be back in Idaho Falls.
That should’ve brought clarity. Instead, it left a pressure in my chest.
I dug through my bag and pulled out the prepaid phone.
Dom had picked out a grab-and-go model, exactly what I’d needed.
The moment he gave it to me, back when I was still hooked to a drip in the hospital, I’d deactivated all my socials.
It might take a while for the platforms to scrub every tag and mention, but eventually, I’d fade into digital anonymity.
For now, I’d use the phone to call my mom.
She picked up on the first ring. “Hello?”
“Mom, it’s me.”
“Autumn. Finally!”
There it was. The mix of relief and exasperation that only a mother could pull off.
“I called you only a few days ago,” I reminded her, already knowing it wouldn’t matter. “I told you I’d be hiking for a bit longer.”
“Yes, and a bit is already stretching into too long.”
I sighed. “Mom—”
“I know, I know. You’re an adult, you can take care of yourself. But that doesn’t mean I stop worrying.”
I smiled faintly. “I’m fine. Really.”
“How come your number keeps changing?”
“My phone broke. The other day, I borrowed a friend’s. Just don’t call that one back, okay?” I should’ve warned her then. I hoped it wasn’t too late.
“Oh. So this one’s yours now?”
“Yeah, it is.”
A pause.
“I’ll be home in a few days,” I added.
“Good. You know offseasons don’t last forever. Fall club meets are coming up soon. Tell me you haven’t forgotten.”
Forget? No, I hadn’t forgotten. But as I glanced down at my calf, reality settled in. The “twig trauma point,” as Dom called it, would take weeks to heal.
Forget about swimming.
But I didn’t say it.
Instead, I forced a light tone. “Nope. I haven’t forgotten. I still have time.”
Mom wasn’t buying it. “You know you’ve got to train before the training. Don’t go thinking you’ve got all the time in the world, missy.”
“I know.” I sighed. “Relax, Mom.”
She exhaled, the worry still there but softening at the edges. “All right. Just keep me updated, okay? And don’t do anything reckless.”
I let out a dry laugh. “Me? Never.”
She huffed but didn’t argue. “Love you, baby.”
“Love you too, Mom.”
I ended the call and slipped my phone into my pocket.
Around the corner, Lulu barked. A German Shepherd answered back, hackles raised, its focus pinned on her. Lulu tugged at the leash and almost took me with her.
“Lulu, stay!” I said.
The owner tugged hard on the harness, mumbling apologies as he struggled to pull the dog away. But Lulu barely gave the shepherd a second glance. Her body had gone rigid, her ears locked forward on something else.
Something I couldn’t see.
“I’m so sorry,” the man with the shepherd said before dragging his dog down the street, and I let Lulu lead us a few steps farther before stopping just behind the bus shelter.
She was still keyed up, still growling low in her throat.
“Lulu,” I warned quietly. “Shush.”
But her eyes stayed fixed on the opposite end of the block.
I followed her line of sight.
A black Jeep idled at the curb, its windows smudged just enough to keep its occupant hidden.
From the open car window came a voice, the speaker unseen. “Pickle! Let’s move!”
Seconds later, the bakery door swung open, and a man lumbered out. He was definitely not the coffee-fetching intern type. You’d need a cryo tube the size of a minivan to pickle this guy. He was fucking massive!
“What’d you do, grind the beans by hand?” the voice continued.
Lulu let out a warning breath, ready to bark again. I stopped her with a quick hand.
“What’s up with you?” I whispered. “You know that guy?”
She looked up at me, hesitant. There was no bark this time. Just a low whine.
“Didn’t think so,” I muttered.
The pickled bouncer climbed into the passenger seat. The Jeep peeled off a moment later and disappeared down the street.
I gave Lulu a pat. “Let’s keep moving.”
And we did. But I didn’t stop glancing over my shoulder for at least two blocks.
“You were scaring the hell out of me, Lu.”
Back at the motel, I tried the dress on.
I smoothed my hands over the fabric, liking what I saw in the mirror.
I’d wear this anywhere—porch coffees, river walks, maybe even in the kitchen making jam.
Okay, more like eating bread with jam. Still, they were scraps of a life I’d never let myself picture.
Then came a knock.
I instinctively moved away to a spot where no one could see me from the window if they decided to peep in.
Lulu ran to the door first, her tail whipping in excitement. I pushed the curtain aside just enough to peek through.
Dom?
I hadn’t expected him to come to me first. Not after last night. Not after I’d practically thrown myself at him, and he’d pulled back.
And yet there he was, in a snug T-shirt and khaki shorts, looking too attractive for a man I was trying not to think about. The cap nearly did me in. Seriously. He was too charming for his own damn sake.
Taking a breath, I opened the door but didn’t let him in.
Dom stood there, and for a second, he looked…stunned.
His gaze flickered over me as if recalibrating. The dress must’ve reset something in his brain.
Then, he recovered, clearing his throat. “Well. Didn’t you scrub up well.”
Dom didn’t usually go for a cliché, but I’d let it slide. Especially since my decision to buy this dress had already paid for itself in full, albeit unintentionally.
I smirked. “Thanks.”
Something unspoken stretched between us. But before I could dissect it, he rubbed the back of his neck.
“Hey, look. I still remember I owe you Mrs. Sutton’s glazed meatballs.”
I tilted my head. Meatballs? Really? A small part of me, mildly delusional, had wondered if he might show up with flowers. Maybe even a sorry.
“Oh, that’s okay,” I said coolly. “I barely remember.”
Dom squinted. “Uh-huh. That’s your ‘definitely remember, definitely hungry’ face.”
“I don’t have a face for that.”
“You do. You’re wearing it right now.” He paused. “Come on. Have lunch with me.”
I hesitated, and not for effect, though that was tempting. I was still trying to figure out how to exist around him and not remember how I’d leaned in last night, and how he hadn’t.
Not exactly the highlight reel.
I crossed my arms. “What, like a pity lunch?”
“A what?” He laughed. “You think I’m pitying you? Autumn, I wouldn’t dare.”
“Could’ve brought me flowers.” I couldn’t help it.
He shrugged. “I thought about it. But I figured you’d toss the bouquet straight at my head.”
My mouth twitched. Rookie move, trying to out-banter an ex-lawyer who never walked into a room without a strategy.
I tried to recover, buying myself a second. “Fine. But only because of Mrs. Sutton’s meatballs. And because eating alone makes me sad and mysterious.”
“I’ll take it,” he said with a smug little smile. “But just so you know, I wasn’t planning to share.”
The moment we stepped inside Mrs. Sutton’s harvest shop, I was hit with the scent of baked goods, warm honey, and fresh-cut herbs.
Wooden crates overflowed with apples and plums, and a basket near the door held jars of buffaloberry preserves.
A chalkboard menu listed the day’s specials, but my attention snagged on the glass display case lined with hand pies and golden pastries.