Chapter 31
Ari
At exactly six-fifty, Wade pulls into my parents’ driveway, which is annoying because punctuality takes thought and effort—an attractive trait.
I slip into my boots and pull the door open right as Wade walks up the porch steps.
He stops mid-step, and his brows lift. “I was coming to get you, but you came out too fast.”
“You’re complaining that I’m on time?”
He looks slightly offended. “No, I’m complaining that you robbed me of a moment.”
“What moment?”
“The knock. The wait. The grand reveal.” His eyes move over me, enough that my pulse notices. “You look really good in a sweater and jeans.”
I immediately tug at the hem of my sweater. “Oh, this is old.”
Old as in I bought it last week. I tried on eleven other old things because, apparently, meeting with Rosie Harper about the fall festival requires several different outfit changes. Which is ridiculous because Rosie is a woman who owns a princess-themed bed-and-breakfast.
There is no reason to care this much.
Wade walks me to his truck and opens the passenger door.
I pause. “Thanks, but you know this isn’t a date, right?”
His smile barely changes, but something shifts in his eyes. “I didn’t say it was.”
Great. We’re on the same page.
This isn’t a date, but there are still fake-dating requirements. Knowing my mom, she’s spying on us through the front window.
So, good. Wade understands the stakes.
He gets in and backs out of the driveway, turning toward town.
Autumn Ridge spreads out around us in full early evening fall glory.
The road curves between old maples and sugarwoods, their leaves shifting from green into gold and orange at the edges.
The ditches are scattered with fallen leaves, and every porch we pass seems to have mums, pumpkins, or some kind of scarecrow situation happening.
Wade rests one hand on the wheel, looking out at the road with an easy smile that’s easy to love.
“You seem cheerful,” I note.
“Maybe I like fall festival planning.”
“Nobody likes fall festival planning.”
“Well, I do.” He turns onto a narrow road that winds along a creek. A covered bridge rises ahead, tucked between blazing maple trees. “Man, I love covered bridges. They’re so romantic.”
I puff out a laugh. “Romantic?”
“Very.” A huge grin covers his mouth.
“Let me guess. You’ve kissed a girl or two under this exact covered bridge.”
The truck rolls onto the wooden planks, tires thudding softly beneath us.
“Not yet.” There’s a glimmer in his eye when he says it, one I absolutely understand and absolutely refuse to acknowledge.
I look out the window. “Well, I’m sure Autumn Ridge appreciates you leaving one local landmark unscandalized.”
His laugh fills the cab as we enter Main Street, parking in front of Once Upon an Inn. The house looks old and charming, like it belongs on a postcard for Vermont.
We walk up the porch steps together, and before we can knock, the door swings open. Rosie stands there, wearing overalls with a few splatters of paint on them. Her hair is in a messy bun, and there’s another speck of paint on her cheek.
“Ari!” Her smile widens, then she sees I’m not alone. “And Wade?”
Wade steps forward with all his principal confidence. “I’m here in an official school capacity.”
“Okay.” Rosie looks at me, but I just shake my head. “Come in.”
The inside of Once Upon an Inn smells like cinnamon and something buttery baking somewhere behind a door. The main floor features all dark-wood floors, dark trim, and an impressive staircase rising straight ahead.
“Rosie,” I say, looking around, “this is beautiful. I love what you’ve done with the place.”
“Thank you. I’m trying to make it feel magical.”
We follow her into the sitting room, where she has a table with papers scattered everywhere.
“Sorry, everything is such a mess.” She tries gathering the papers, but it’s no use. “Festival planning has taken on a mind of its own.”
I sit down across from her. “No problem. It’s a big undertaking.”
“Yeah, you have no idea.”
We spend the next hour reviewing the high school students’ assignments.
“I think that’s everything.” Rosie scans the schedule we just went over. “Wow, you two are going to be working together a lot next week.”
“Are we?” Wade answers. “I hadn’t noticed.”
“Same.” I nod.
Rosie presses her lips together. “I guess it’s a good thing you two have each other.”
“For help,” I say.
“And support,” Wade agrees.
The front door opens before Rosie can say anything else.
A man steps into the entryway, carrying a paper bag from Keller’s Bakehouse and looking entirely too comfortable for someone walking into a bed-and-breakfast he does not own. Tall. Dark hair. Nice coat. The kind of man who looks like he understands property taxes.
His gaze moves from Rosie to Wade to me. “Sorry to interrupt.” But instead of excusing himself, he walks into the room like he has no boundaries.
“Dean Alden,” he says to us.
“The old Alden apple orchard that burned down,” Wade says. “You inherited it from your grandma, right? I remember hearing that.”
He shakes Wade’s hand. “Yeah.”
“Wade Stevenson.” He points to me. “Ari Langford.”
Dean looks at the festival papers spread across the table. “Fall festival?”
Rosie reaches for the folder, trying to physically shield it from him. “We have it handled.”
Dean leans closer anyway, glancing at the schedule.
“If both of you are overseeing all those activities together, you’re wasting manpower.
” Dean points to the list and all the times where both of our names are written down.
“If you divide and conquer, you cover more ground. One of you takes the cider press and face painting. The other takes tailgate and movie setup. Makes more sense.”
“No,” Wade and I answer automatically.
I clear my throat. “What I mean is, some of these students are in my classes, so it helps if I’m present.”
“And as principal,” Wade adds, “I need to oversee the broader operation.”
“Together?” Dean asks.
“Yes,” we answer at the same time.
“Teamwork makes the dream work.” I have no idea why I’m fiercely defending our need to stick together all festival long, but here I am.
Dean studies us for one more second then shrugs. “It’s not efficient, but suit yourselves.”
Thank you, Dean. We will suit ourselves.
The rest of the meeting goes quickly after that. By the time we stand to leave, the sky outside has gone fully dark.
Rosie walks us to the door. “Thank you both.” She stops and looks at me. “It’s so nice having you home and involved again. I’ve really missed seeing you around.”
It is kind of nice. I’m slowly starting to see that.
I spent years thinking of Autumn Ridge as the place I escaped. But standing here, I feel like someone who belongs in this town. It’s a new thought for me.
Wade is quiet as we walk back to the truck like he’s lost deep in thought. He opens my door again. I don’t comment this time, because maybe I like it.
Outside the windows, Main Street glows with streetlamps and early festival decorations. Pumpkins line storefronts. Bales of hay sit outside the general store.
Wade drives slowly through it all, as if he’s giving me time to appreciate it as much as he does.
“What are you doing this weekend?” he asks. I glance at him, which prompts, “We should probably make plans…for the fake-dating thing.”
I shrug. “There aren’t really plans to make. The football team has a bye week.”
“What about your mom? She still needs convincing.”
“That’s going to be hard this weekend. Friday afternoon, my family is going to Burlington to meet with the wedding photographer and then out to dinner.
Saturday morning, I’m meeting Liv at the pumpkin patch, and then Saturday afternoon is Landrie’s bridal shower with all my cousins.
It’s turning into some kind of sleepover thing, so I won’t be home until after church on Sunday. ”
Wade frowns.
Then he turns the truck in the opposite direction from my house.
“Where are you going?”
“Taking a detour.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m not done spending time with you yet.”
The words drift between us like a guilty pleasure because there’s absolutely no fake-dating reason for us to keep hanging out tonight.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
“That is the exact sentence kidnappers say.”
“I have a trustworthy mustache.”
“There’s nothing trustworthy about that thing.”
Laughter sniffs out of him as he pulls down an old gravel road I haven’t been on in years. The trees grow thicker here, their branches arching overhead. Fallen leaves crunch beneath the tires, and the headlights catch flashes of orange and yellow as we drive deeper into the dark.
The old Alden apple orchard—or what’s left of it.
“This is trespassing.”
Wade turns off the truck. “Tiny law. Besides, we’re practically best friends with Dean now.” Then he looks at me. “Want to check it out?”
I know we shouldn’t be here, but the corner of my mouth betrays me because I’m curious.
And because, apparently, Wade Stevenson is not done spending time with me yet.
And something about that feels exciting.