Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
Ezra
I wrap a towel around my waist and slip from the bathroom. My mirror is steamed over and my hair drips down my back. I'm a prune, but after working with pesticides in the dust and wind for hours, then ending in the rain, I need the longest, hottest shower of my life.
I sit on the edge of the bed and turn on the Giants game. I need the background noise. I need the distraction. I left that necklace on Autumn’s doorstep at an ungodly hour this morning and I still haven’t heard a word from her.
Even if she came over to yell at me about the thing, I’d be happy. At least we’d be talking. I’m guessing zero communication means she isn’t coming for dinner tonight as my note asked.
I sigh and turn the volume down to level two.
I don’t care that it’s only six—I’m done with today. I’m ready for flannel pants and food. It’s been a long time since my body has done physical labor like this. The farm and the gym are not the same. They hurt in different places.
I slip into my boxers, only to remember I tossed my sweats into the closet hamper last night.
I slide the door open, poke my head inside, and have a silent, inner heart attack. Sure, no sounds escape my mouth, but I am shaken to my toes. Because Autumn Green is sitting in the corner of my closet—like one of those scary china dolls who live in your room and come to life just to murder you in your sleep.
I hold a hand to my beating heart and look her over. Her knees are bent to her chest and her head is down, her face covered like a toddler—one who believes that if she can’t see me, then I can’t see her.
With Autumn on the opposite end of this long closet and my heart still intact, I go along, pretending I don’t see her. That’s what she wants, right? So, I give it to her.
I snag my sweats from the hamper, leaving the door open an inch or two.
I also decide my bedroom is the exact place I want to be. No reason to leave. I prop myself up on my bed, shirtless—because I know it makes Autumn squirm. Then, I lean against the headboard behind me and cross my flannel pants at the ankles. Holding the remote out, I turn up the sound on my TV and pretend to watch the game.
I like the Giants. I became a fan years ago when I first moved to New York. I’m pretty sure they’ve gotten worse each and every year, so I can’t say I’m too into the game. But I am pretty into the girl hiding in my closet.
For the first time, I notice the set of purple sheets on the edge of my bed.
It never occurred to me why Autumn might have come over—just that she did. That she’s here. Sure, she broke into my house and she’s currently hiding in my closet, but I don’t care. She’s here.
In fact, what else can I do to get under Autumn’s skin? Who needs a dinner date? This sounds like a great game.
Aww —I snag my phone and look up the number for Poppy’s Pizza, Autumn’s least favorite place in town. I hit speaker and up the volume on my cell, making sure my guest can hear the conversation.
“Poppy’s Pizza, this is Spence. What can I do to make your day pop, pop, pop?”
Huh, they’re still saying that. Autumn said she always felt like she was ordering a slew of zits rather than a pizza.
“Yeah. I would love to have the best pizza in town delivered to my door,” I say. Maybe my enthusiasm is a little thick, but I’ve got to make sure she hears me.
There’s a small eep from my closet, but I ignore it like it didn’t even happen. Nah, the Giants game is way too loud for me to hear anything else.
The kid on the line goes quiet. “Um… did you want the number for Cesare’s Pizza Pies?”
I smirk—even this kid knows how lousy Poppy’s is. “Ah, no. I’d like some Poppy’s delivered.”
“Oh,” he says, but his tone tells me he is confused.
“Yeah, can you give me all the fruits you have and just pile them on?”
“All the fruits ?” Spence clearly needs to be washing dishes. Filling orders isn’t his super skill.
“Yeah, you know pineapple”—Autumn hates pineapple on pizza— “and tomatoes. And anything else you got.”
“Like apples?” Spence asks.
I smirk and give one small glance to my closet. “Do you have apples?”
“No.”
I blink. You’re killing me, Spence. “Then no. Just whichever fruits you have.”
“Large, medium, family-sized—”
“Large—and bring me all the diet soda you have.” I hold in my laugh. Autumn always said drinking diet soda is like drinking gasoline.
“Like, all of it? There’s quite a bit in the cooler. I can see six Diet Cokes from here.”
“Like one of every flavor,” I say, wishing Spence would stop messing with me as I mess with Autumn.
“Oh. Okay. That would be Diet Coke. Just the one flavor.”
“Fine. That’s fine. Bring me a couple of those.” I give Spence my address with little to no confidence that it’ll actually make it to me, but hey, at least Autumn heard the whole conversation.
Next up: reality TV. I switch channels until I find a house full of women being bleeped every ten seconds for their foul mouths. One screams and yells at the other for stealing her hairdresser.
It’s weird. It’s also going to make Autumn’s skin crawl.
I turn up the volume two notches just to make sure she doesn’t miss a beat.
There’s a small groan from within my closet, but I can’t hear it. Julia just threatened to cut off all of Angela’s hair in the night. I hear nothing else. It takes everything in me, but I watch until the end of the episode—another fifteen minutes.
And lastly—just to get the girl’s blood boiling—I putter around my room, moving things here and there, all while singing show tunes from the movie Chitty Chitty Bang Bang . We sang 'Toot Sweets' in tenth-grade choir class and Autumn had detention every week for skipping out. She hated that song with a passion and would rather spend an hour a day with Principal Brown than sing or listen to it.
If anything is going to drag her out of that closet—it’s this.
I start into the second chorus when the sliding door to my closet comes skidding open, only to hit the opposite wall and pop closed again.
The girl does not disappoint.
She skates the sliding door open once more, and with eyes as wide as a crazed koala, Autumn comes crawling out on her hands and knees. She stumbles to her feet, breathless. She points one threatening finger my way. “How long have you known? ”
I smirk. “Since I grabbed my pants from the hamper. You’re not very good at hiding, Green.”
“Well,” she says, brushing back the long chestnut lock that’s flipped into her face. “Joke’s on you, l love Diet Coke now.” She storms past me and out of the room.
I scramble to keep up. “Autumn. Whoa. Hold up.”
She pauses at the front, her hand on the doorknob.
“Aren’t you staying for dinner? I sent you that invite and thought maybe—”
“Maybe I’d stay for some fruity Poppy’s pizza. Ick .” She shakes her head. “Wait,” she says, rotating her glare my way once more, though it’s more confused than angry. “You sent me an invite?”
“Yeah. With the necklace.”
“So, it is from you?” she says. I can’t believe she didn’t know. Even if I hadn’t left her a note at the bottom of the box, she should have known it came from me. Or has she started confessing her unhealthy obsession with Harry to the rest of the world?
Autumn straightens up and crosses her arms. “Joke’s on you again. I haven’t listened to Harry Styles in almost ten years.”
Lie.
“Autumn, we need to talk. You can’t kiss me one day and hate me the next. It doesn’t work like that. Clearly, we have some things to work through.”
“All I need is for you to keep your lips and your hands and your minty fresh breath to yourself. And then we’ll be fine.” With that, she swings open the front exit.
She’s out the door, past the pizza boy walking up with my overloaded pineapple pizza and two Diet Cokes, and over to her place in seconds.
Great . That’s got to be some kind of record—how fast can Ezra Bennett get rid of a girl? Ten point two seconds.
I pay the pizza guy, pick off every single piece of pineapple, and muster up my courage. There’s one thing Autumn hates more than any other. One that she can’t stay quiet about. One she’ll have to share her opinion on. Of course, I’m basing all of this on ten-year-old facts.
With two Diet Cokes beneath my arm, my non-pineapple pizza in one hand, and my phone in the other, I lightly kick on the bottom of her door to knock.
Phillip stares back at me from my cell. “What am I doing again?”
“Just stating your honest opinion. That’s all I need.”
“And that will get your girl to talk to you?” He breathes out through his nose, doubt and skepticism in every word. “I’ve never heard of a girl so in love that she refuses to talk to the guy.”
“Well, there’s a first for everything,” I say and give the door one more kick.
“Are you sure she still loves you?”
“Nope. But I gotta try.”
"Because you love her?" Phil says, needing to state the obvious. He has to have all the facts laid out. Or possibly he's saying, I told you so .
“Yep,” I say, just as Autumn opens up the door. “I do.”
“What are you doing here?” She’s in a different shirt and her damp hair is pulled back at the nape of her neck in a hair tie. She’s got one hand on her hip and her glare isn’t lacking. No, it’s award-winning.
“One—I brought a peace offering.” I hold up the Coke and pizza.
“Ew,” she says. “Pineapple does not belong on a pizza, Ezra. You know that.”
“Of course it does,” Phillip says from my phone. See? Honest opinion . I knew he wouldn’t let me down.
Autumn’s eyes bounce from me to the phone in my right hand. “Excuse me?”
“Phil, this is Autumn.” I hold my left hand out for her to see the face of my best friend .
“Right,” Phil says. “Childhood love. Girl of your dreams. You might have mentioned her.”
Autumn blinks. “Um— no . Not girl of his—”
“That’s her,” I say. “Autumn, meet Philip—”
“Your crazy college roommate who has zero taste in pizza. Got it. You mentioned him.” She speed-talks, gulping down those last three words.
“Can we come in?” I ask, my arms still full.
Her eyes widen on me. But all she says is, “I’m not eating that.”
“Guess what, they forgot all the pineapple. It’s just a cheese pizza.”
“Liar,” Phil and Autumn say in unison.
Autumn’s eyes dart to my phone with her echo. She takes the pizza from my hands and I walk in behind her all the way to the kitchen, setting Phil on the counter before grabbing the Cokes beneath my arm and handing one to Autumn.
She drops her drink to the countertop and picks up my phone, smothering a virtual Phil into her stomach. “Why are you here? Why is he here? Why are you letting him call me the love of your life?” If those eyes were daggers, I’d be a dead man.
“I can still hear you guys,” Phil says, though the sound is muffled as Autumn has him pressed into her abs at the moment.
She sets my phone back on the counter and doesn’t hide her glare. She doesn’t care what Phil thinks of her. And I love that about her.
“I have a question that I thought you’d both like to weigh in on.” Here we go—if Autumn Green is going to share an opinion on anything, it’s this.