Chapter 27
SIX YEARS AGO || END OF OCTOBER
Autumn Ridge knows we’re coming.
That’s the only explanation. How else could our town be so perfect?
The trees are showing off despite the lateness of the season; the weather is everything you could want from a fall day.
The sky is a crisp, clear blue, the sun bright overhead, and the air is infused with everything I love most: maple and autumn leaves and beautiful memories.
Like I said—perfect.
We pull into a parking spot on Main when we arrive in town, the truck idling as Dom looks over at me from the driver’s seat. No hat today, and his flannel button-up is open over a white shirt. He looks like the quintessential country boy I know him to be.
“All right, darling Reese,” he says with sparkling eyes. “You’re in charge. All of Autumn Ridge is at our disposal.”
“Because I got a ninety!” I say, gleeful.
A trick of the light causes Dom’s sparkling eyes to dim, a shadow hovering before it vanishes. “You did,” he says. “You studied hard, and it paid off. I quizzed you myself and you did great.”
I beam at him. I can’t help it.
“So where to?” he says.
“Bugelbach’s,” I say immediately, my smile falling away as I think.
He nods. “Pumpkin farm. Got it. What else?”
I point out the window and down Main a bit to where the world’s best bakery is located. “Keller’s, definitely.”
“And your baked good of choice is…?”
“Maple bar,” I say, an answer that needs no contemplation. “Maple bars all day, every day.”
“Mmm,” Dom says slowly. “They’re good, but…” He quirks his brows at me. “Have you tried the sticky buns?”
“I have, and they’re great,” I say. “But there’s just something about a maple bar.”
His lips twitch. “A maple bar it is.”
I nod with satisfaction. “Anywhere you want to go? Do you want to go see your dad or anything?”
“Nope,” he says, like I figured he probably would. “He calls, and I get back here every now and then. Do you want to go see your dad?”
He means the cemetery, but I shake my head. “Not today. I’ll visit next time I’m here.”
Dom shrugs. “Your call. Shall we, in that case? Are we grabbing donuts to enjoy at the pumpkin patch, or are we doing the pumpkin patch and then enjoying our donuts while resting at Keller’s?”
The seatbelt clicks as I unfasten it. “Let’s get donuts to take to Bugelbach’s,” I say, already opening the door.
“Wait,” Dom says quickly. “Wait.”
I pause, looking over to see him reaching into the back seat. He stretches for something and then emerges with the blue hat I ruined; with only the slightest hesitation, he places it on my head.
“There,” he says. “It’s yours.”
My heart leaps, but I just nod, and together we get out of the truck and head for Keller’s.
Dom gets a sticky bun while I get a maple bar, and then we drive to Bugelbach’s. The parking lot is really just a plot of dust and packed dirt, but we find a spot and trek on over; two ticket stubs later and we’re in.
Neither of us say anything, but we both drift toward a hanging bench as we dig our donuts out of their bags. The first bite hits my tongue in the way only a lifelong favorite can, and I sigh with happiness, scuffing the dirt and gravel with the toe of my shoe to get us swinging a bit.
“So?” I say through a very ladylike mouth full of food.
Dom nods. “It was a good idea,” he says. His jaw works in fascinating ways when he chews—it should not be attractive, and yet here I am.
Falling head over heels.
Because I keep trying to tell myself it’s a crush. Oh, you just think he’s cute. It will go away soon. But these feelings have only grown, and what’s worse—they’re real. They’re deep. And while I appreciate how handsome Dom is, that’s not actually where my heart is focused.
My heart is focused on his heart. His goodness. His kindness, his intelligence—his unmatched capacity for hard work. The little smile I catch on his face when I look up and find his eyes on me; his reassurances, the ones that remind me everything is okay.
“Reese.”
I blink when I realize Dom is waving at me, trying to get my attention. His cinnamon bun is gone, the paper bag folded neatly in one hand, and his gaze is full of amusement.
“Yeah,” I say breathlessly. “Yes.” Then, clearing my throat, I go on, “Sorry. What were you saying?”
“I could tell you anything right now, and you’d never know the difference,” he says, and I duck my head as my cheeks heat. But he just gives a huff of laughter. “Come on. Finish your food, and then let’s go pick out pumpkins.”
We spend quite a while at Bugelbach’s, wandering aimlessly around as we talk, picking pumpkins, and even going down the slides. Being here with Dom is different from being here with friends or family or by myself. It’s new—golden and bright and meaningful.
When we leave the pumpkin farm, we go over to the straw maze and navigate our way through, leaving our fat, happy pumpkins in the bed of the truck. Dom’s sense of direction is infinitely better than mine, but we’re not really there for the actual maze.
We don’t say the words out loud, but I think we just want to spend time together, whatever that looks like.
So we meander, taking our time, our fingers brushing as our arms swing at our sides.
That golden feeling in my chest grows lighter and more giddy with every step we take, until I know in my heart that this is a day I will remember for the rest of my life.
Every second is imprinting itself on my soul.
The rest of the day passes in this dreamlike state, until when the sun begins to hover low and we head up to the Ridge to watch the sky.
Everyone calls it Make-Out Ridge, my mind says, very unhelpfully. I push this thought away.
Dom backs into a parking spot overlooking the town, and then we get out to sit in the bed of the truck. He has a few blankets, thank goodness, because a chill is in the air, so we lay one down and then drape the other over our legs.
I let out a contented sigh once we’ve settled, leaning back against the cab and watching the sun-stained sky. Pinks and oranges and yellows line the horizon, stark against the green of the rolling hills.
It’s never been this beautiful before.
“Incredible,” I murmur, and out of the corner of my eye, I see Dominic look at me.
“You’ve been up here before, right?” he says.
“Yeah,” I say with a nod. “In high school. But not like—like this.” The words are out before I can think better of them. I shift uncomfortably, hoping Dom won’t ask further—but of course that’s futile.
“Like this?” he says, and when I chance a glance at him, a smile is tugging over his lips. “You mean…with a very handsome man?”
My awkwardness dissipates as I laugh. “Yeah. With a very handsome man.”
He hums, pulling one knee up and resting an arm over it, the other still stretched out. “And…what about with any fumbling boys?” There’s hesitation in this question.
“No,” I say quickly. “Not like that at all. I mean—” My cheeks heat until they’re probably the same color as the dying sun. “I told you I’ve never kissed anyone.”
“All that means is that lips never touched,” he says, but his body relaxes, and his voice is easier. “It does not take into account missed kisses or teenage idiots.”
“No missed kisses,” I say. “No teenage idiots. Happy?”
“I don’t care either way,” he says, a little too nonchalantly.
“Really?” I point at his face. “Because you’re trying not to smile. Right there”—I poke the corner of his lips and laugh as he swats my hand away—“that’s a smile trying to happen.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, grinning now.
“Liar,” I mutter, but I’m grinning too. I nudge him with my elbow, and he dodges out of the way with a laugh, catching my elbow and wrapping one hand around my upper arm.
We both freeze as we find ourselves pressed together, my side and shoulder leaning across his chest. I turn my head ever so slightly and find him right there, his face inches from mine, and his eyes widen as his grip on my arm releases.
My heart pounds in my chest, and I swear I can feel the racing beat of his where we’re pressed together. A rhythm frantic with longing and the ache of first love, surrounded by the sweetness of trust and comfort.
I don’t know who moves first. All I know is that one second I’m breathing air and the next I’m tasting him, the intoxicating slide of our lips as I climb onto his lap and run my fingers through his hair—everything I’ve dreamed of and wanted and more.
And the sun hides its head and dips below the horizon—unwilling to witness the birth of something that cannot be.
Because the sun, at least, knows better.