Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Ezra
“I’m so sorry, Paul!” And while her words are sincere, Autumn sends me an unyielding glare.
How is this my fault? Sure, I may have been flaunting the fact that I live in New York—just a little, just to get under her skin, but I didn’t smack my hand into Billie’s soda.
“I’ll get you a new one,” she says, dabbing the tail of her flannel shirt over the splatter on Paul’s hands. “From Amazon. Two-day shipping,” she says, though everyone knows that even Prime takes a week to get anything to Love.
“That’s not gen-u-ine.” Paul stares at the brown stain covering the gray of his new cap.
Autumn groans. “I’m sure I can find you one exactly like this. You can keep my prairie dog hat as a place saver.” She holds out her straw cowboy hat to the man. Paul . I didn’t remember his name until Autumn said it.
“He doesn’t want your old straw hat,” Billie says. “And what about my Diet Coke?”
Autumn huffs, clearly flustered. “I’ll get you a new one. One sec.” She stands and the crowd behind us groans. She’s blocking their view—and Gavin Frady is headed toward the end zone. She inches her way in front of the crowd because, like always, Autumn’s chosen the very middle seat in the stands.
A boom crashes into the night and smoke fills the air—I missed it, I was too busy watching Autumn, but the Dogs have scored.
"Man, thanks a lot, Autumn." A man just behind her groans. Apparently, he missed the touchdown too.
As if on instinct—as if I were ten years younger and our lives were still intertwined—I stand and follow after her, ensuing another bout of moans from the spectators behind us.
Autumn’s friend Meg watches as I crawl past annoyed fans and grumbling Prairie Dogs. “Take her hat,” she whisper-yells my way. She stands and leans over a couple to shove the hat into my hands.
I grasp a hold of it on instinct.
Why do I need this? But looking up again, Autumn’s hair is somehow mashed to her head and flying out all at the same time. She trots down the bleacher stairs in cowboy boots… the same boots she wore in high school. I’d know those red ropers anywhere.
“Is that Ezra Bennett?” someone behind me says—who knew it would be such big news for me to come home?
“Chasing after Autumn Green. Figures ,” says another woman.
I never had to chase Autumn before. She was always happy to be glued to my hip.
I don’t take five seconds to turn to see who the gawkers are—Autumn is on a Diet Coke mission and if I pause now, I’ll lose her.
“Hey!” I call, jogging to catch up to her once my feet hit the dirt floor.
Her hair flies outward, like the world’s biggest Chinese fan, and her brown eyes land on me. “What?” she barks, as if that whole Diet Coke fiasco was my fault. It was not.
“You forgot your hat,” I say—since I have no other answer. And because I’m a nice guy and her hair really is something special at the moment.
She snatches it away from me and mashes it onto her head, her ears poking out, reminding me of Don.
“Why are you following me, Ezra?”
“Why are you so angry, Autumn?” It’s just something to throw back at her. But it’s exactly the right question. She’s angry. And I don’t understand why.
“I’m not angry!” she yells, solidifying my point.
I reach for her elbow, forcing her to stop on the dirt floor behind the stands. My sore feet go weak. I peer down into those amber brown eyes and tan face and—I want to kiss her.
I have no business kissing this woman. Or even wanting to. And if anyone here should be angry, it’s me. But I can’t change the fact that it’s what I want. No matter that it’s coming out of left field.
Or maybe it’s not.
Phil and Dr. Appleby would tell me that left field is a wrong assessment. Left field means it came out of nowhere, and they would both accuse me of being dishonest with myself.
But I shouldn’t want to kiss her. Not after the way she left things between us. Still, when I look at her all those feelings, the good and the bad, they all come back.
I cup her cheek and lean my head a little closer to hers. Breathing her in is like inhaling your favorite drug after it’s been out of your system for a time. It’s never truly never gone. And that’s just it, Autumn Green has never truly been out of my system.
“What about Bre?” she says, stopping my descent.
Bre? My ex? How does she even know about Bre?
“Why are you here, Ezra? Because I don’t understand why you’d leave New York, the Yankees, or your wife to come back here.”
“My—” I blink, a thousand blinks, trying to make sense of her words. Blinking is easier than speaking, but I finally find my voice. “I’m not married, you loon.” My heart betrays me with a flutter—is that why she’s so angry? She thinks I’m married?
“But you got engaged. I saw—” She clamps her lips closed.
I tug her a little closer, my left hand still wrapped around her elbow, my right still at her cheek. “You saw what? Bre and I broke up a long time ago. I don’t know what you saw. But it wasn’t accurate.”
She swallows, her cheeks flooding a pretty pink. “It doesn’t matter.” She dips her head away from my hold and I drop my hand altogether.
“And yet it feels like it might,” I say.
I loosen my hold on her elbow, trying to find some semblance of an answer in her eyes, when she yanks her arm from my grasp and charges over to the long concession stand line.
The Prairie Dog crowd roars and the cannon booms once more, distracting me for a second. I turn toward the field, but I can’t see what’s happened. When I circle back around, Autumn is yards away, headed for the exit.
“What about Billie’s drink?” I yell.
She lifts one hand in the air, waving back. “You get it!”