Chapter 9
If one thing was clear, it was that Ethan’s truck was a mess. He’d cleared just enough space on the passenger side for a cat carrier—or possibly Cali—to fit, while the floor was littered with grease-smeared rags, crumpled receipts, and more of those damn tape measures.
He was still scrambling to make it presentable when the ten minutes were up.
“Hadn’t really thought this part through,” he insisted.
“It’s been a long time since I had a guest in here.
” He swept the last of the clutter into a cardboard box and slid it into the truck bed.
“There,” he said with a grin. “Should be good now.”
When Cali climbed in, she noticed the seat stretched in one continuous sweep of gray cloth from door to door—a bench seat, probably refurbished but softened with time.
The kind that ran clear across, smooth and wide, with nothing between them.
No console or cup holders. Though she imagined, since there was no headrest behind the middle, it probably folded down for an armrest.
She folded her mauve skirt beneath her and settled in, the faint smell of motor oil filling the cab. “How old is your truck?” she asked curiously. “Reminds me of one my grandpa used to own. No bucket seats.”
“Yep,” he said. “It’s old. I’ve been eyeing some newer models, but they just don’t make them like these anymore.”
The engine coughed to life, low and familiar.
As they pulled out of her driveway, Ethan rolled the windows down, letting the night air tumble through.
A hint of woodsmoke drifted from scattered chimneys.
Mailboxes leaned at odd angles along the winding road, their numbers fading, pumpkins and cornstalks tied to a few fence posts.
Glimpses of the lake behind them flashed like hammered silver through the trees.
“Leo took me fishing out here a few times this summer,” Ethan said. “Feels like you people live inside a dream.”
He wasn’t wrong. Autumn Ridge had always been that for her.
First as a child visiting her grandmother, now as the only place she could imagine calling home.
She had a house, a job, friends, The Nine, even a cat again.
So why was she testing perfection with a man who could be nothing more than a fling and then off to the next construction project?
It’s not like she hadn’t had a fling before.
She’d had a few. But those came at a time when her heart seemed to bounce back faster than it could these days.
Maybe she didn’t know what she wanted. But when she turned from the window and caught Ethan stealing a glance, the heat prickling over her skin told her one thing: she wanted more of that.
He parked the truck, and the minute Cali opened the door, her ears were filled with the low murmur of townsfolk greeting each other by name. Strings of twinkling lights crisscrossed overhead, and the sweet, buttery aroma of kettle corn found her nose.
They stood at the entrance side-by-side but then started walking in opposite directions.
“Where are you going?” he asked. “The ring toss is this way.”
“To the palm reader, of course,” Cali said.
Their eyes narrowed at each other.
“You’d rather waste money on predictions than let me win you a prize at one of these games?”
“Ha! If you think you can win anything.” She rolled her eyes. “Don’t you know those games are rigged to take your money?”
Ethan smirked. “Okay, Jacobs. Let’s do this fair and square. You humor me with one game, I’ll humor you with one fortune.”
She conceded, and he put a hand around the small of her back and led her in his direction.
Whether from fear she’d escape or something else, that hand lingered until they stood in front of Pop-a-Pumpkin, a tall board painted with pumpkins in a pile, orange balloons tethered to the front.
The game attendant swung by with enough darts for them both.
“Perfect test of focus and precision,” Ethan said. “Let me show you how it’s done.”
He launched one dart, and it bounced right off one of the balloons, not even breaking the surface. The second dart lodged into the clear blue sky painted on the board’s background. The third one sailed over the top.
He turned with a sheepish smile toward Cali.
“What happened to hand-eye coordination, Mr. Construction?” she teased. “Glad I didn’t have my heart set on anything.”
“Guess I’m not as focused as I thought. Best two out of three?” he asked.
“Won’t be necessary.”
She raised one dart to the level of her glasses, closed an eye, and directed it at the board. A fat pop sounded as it struck a balloon in the dead-center of the pile. She repeated the motions, securing two more wins. A few of the other gamers clapped for her.
She turned to Ethan and found the balloons weren’t the only thing deflated.
“But how … ?” he muttered in awe of her. “You said these things were rigged.”
“Right, and I know the tricks from a book I read at the library.” She turned to the clothesline of toys to choose from. “What do you want?”
For the next several minutes, Ethan clutched a brown and orange hoot-owl plushie between his hands as they wound through the vendor stalls. Cali tried not to laugh. He murmured something about how much Catsby would enjoy the owl, trying not to chuckle as well.
The cheerful swell of a bluegrass band tuned up in the distance, mingled with bursts of laughter.
Kids darted past with candy apples, faces sticky and bright.
One of them ran up and gave Ethan a high-five, as if they knew each other.
The kid’s dad, Tom, one of the town’s realtors, greeted Ethan with a smile.
“Ethan! Didn’t I just see you up on Mrs. Porter’s roof last weekend?” he asked.
Ethan shrugged. “Just a couple shingles.”
Cali’s brows shot up. First Leo. Then diners at the café. Now the festival. How did he already know everyone in Autumn Ridge? She’d been here a couple years permanently and still felt like an outsider at times.
As they waited in line for the palm reader, Cali rocked back and forth on her heels, her mauve skirt playing between her legs and his.
“You okay?” he asked. “I’m sure she’s paid to keep a positive spin on it.”
“Just getting a little cool,” Cali admitted. “I didn’t think to bring a coat.”
Ethan glanced down at the plushie and up at her and down at the plushie again. “One sec,” he said and ran off.
When he returned, the plushie was gone and he was extending a wool-lined jean jacket in her direction.
The shoulders were way too broad for her.
She practically swam in it, but it was a relief to cozy up inside the coat.
It smelled exactly like Ethan, a mix of sweet and spicy.
She found herself blushing at the gesture.
Ethan saddled up beside her this time, his arm softly grazing against hers, and crossed his arms over his chest. His forearms flexed beneath the Henley. She hated how her gaze lingered, how such a simple gesture could bring heat to her cheeks.
“Aren’t you getting cold, too?” she asked.
The twinkling lights above them danced. “I’ll be fine,” he said. But the wind kicked up, and she noticed his grip tighten. “Maybe we can grab some hot cider after this, though?”
“Deal.”
The palm reader’s tent was smaller than she’d remembered.
The three of them crowded under the draped purple and gold fabric, faces lit up by the pink hue of a crystal ball in between them.
Ethan’s knee brushed against hers under the table, warm and firm.
If she dared move away, her chair might topple over.
The palmist read them separately then together, explaining the right hand reflected the present and future, while the left hand was their pasts.
She picked up on Ethan’s frequent travels, his long heart line.
“Your fate line shows constant change. You’re not one to stay still.
But your heart line runs deep. When you choose to love, it’s steady—you don’t give it lightly. ”
“And you,” she said, turning toward Cali. “You’re more anchored. Home means everything. But here—see the dip? You’ve been hurt. You don’t let just anyone in.”
The palmist placed their hands beside each other then. “Lovers?” she asked, so casually it caught them both off guard. But she shook her head before they could answer. “Ah, rivals … but not for long. Everything will work out if both of you really want it to.”
Their eyes met across the crystal ball, and for once, neither of them had a clever retort.