Chapter 1 #2
Autumn’s hands clenched around the handle of the cart. She didn’t want to talk about her grandmother—not now, not with him. The memories—too raw, too tangled with everything she’d lost—hurt too much. “It’s just a farm.” She pulled the cart toward the barn door. “That’s all it’s ever been.”
He didn’t follow her immediately. When she glanced back, he hadn’t moved and his expression was unreadable. For a split second, it was as if time had rewound, and they were teenagers again. His silences had spoken volumes back then. They were no different a decade later.
“I should’ve reached out.” His voice was thick with regret. “After your grandmother passed. I wanted to, but . . .”
“But you didn’t,” Autumn replied, sharper than she intended. She stopped at the barn door
*. “It’s fine. That was a long time ago.”
“Doesn’t mean I don’t regret it. Nor does that make it right.”
Autumn peered at the barn, but the words clung to her like the chill in the air, curling around her ribcage.
She didn’t want to reminisce about what might have been, about the boy who’d left her behind for a world where she didn’t belong.
It was easier to keep the memories of Graham—of what they once had—locked away, safely out of reach.
“You should go,” she said, abruptly. “I’ll have the hay delivered this afternoon.”
Graham hesitated, his eyes searching hers for what she refused to offer. Finally, he nodded. “Okay. Thank you.”
The clatter of metal interrupted his departure. Both of their heads snapped toward the noise inside. Autumn’s stomach dropped when she spotted the source of the chaos. Mr. Buttercup, apparently bored with his fabric trophy, had discovered the carefully arranged display of vintage watering cans.
“No, no, no!” Autumn cried.
Graham’s longer strides kept him close behind her. “What’s he doing now?” he asked, though the answer quickly became obvious.
Perched atop a hay bale, Mr. Buttercup’s defiance was even more theatrical with the slant of his eyes and tilt of his head.
“Mr. Buttercup!” She raised her hands and pointed at the buck. “Get . . . down . . . from . . . there!”
One ear flicked in her direction, and for a fleeting moment, it seemed he might actually listen.
Then, with a gleam of pure mischief in his eyes, he headbutted the pyramid of watering cans with all the enthusiasm of a child demolishing a sandcastle.
The entire stack collapsed in a cacophony of clanging metal, scattering across the barn floor like fallen dominoes.
Autumn pressed her palms to her temples, her patience hanging by a thread. “That goat is going to send me straight to an early grave.”
Graham bent down and picked up a can. It had a large dent near the rim, and he turned it over in his hands with a thoughtful expression. “You have to hand it to him,” he said, his lips curving into a lopsided grin. “He’s nothing if not committed.”
“This isn’t funny,” Autumn snapped, though a reluctant smile tugged at her mouth. Dropping to her knees, she began gathering the cans with short, frustrated movements. “Those took me hours to arrange.”
“Hours?” Graham’s brows lifted in mock surprise. “Why would you spend hours stacking watering cans?”
“Pinterest,” she muttered, not meeting his gaze. “Everything has to look perfect for social media now. Rustic charm is apparently the only way to sell pumpkins these days.”
Graham chuckled, crouching beside her. He moved with ease, the tailored lines of his suit out of place against the scattered mess of dented metal and hay. “Well, it looks nice. Or it did before your goat decided to stage a protest.”
Autumn rolled her eyes, though her irritation had already ebbed.
Their knuckles skimmed as they reached for the same can. Autumn felt an involuntary jolt of energy race up her arm. She withdrew quickly, her cheeks flushing. “I’ve got it,” she snapped.
He didn’t argue, though his expression shifted, his affable grin fading into a more subdued expression. He rose. “You know, this might be the most excitement I’ve had all week.”
Autumn snorted, placing the last of the cans into a messy pile. “Glad to know my goat’s antics are so entertaining for you.”
“Hey, it’s not every day I get to wrestle with a watering can.” Graham leaned casually against a nearby post, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Or get chased by a goat.”
She chortled. “You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?”
“Not a chance.”
From his perch atop the hay bale, Mr. Buttercup bleated jubilantly, his “bow tie” marking catching the golden light filtering through the barn’s rafters. Autumn threw her hands up. “And now he thinks he’s the king of the barn.”
He reached for his phone, pulling it from his pocket. “Mind if I take a picture? I think this needs to be documented.”
Autumn groaned, though a laugh escaped her. “Fine, but don’t you dare post it online! I worked too hard to appear put together.”
The first fat raindrop splashed onto the barn floor, interrupting Graham’s reply.
Both of them glanced up as the patter of rain grew into a steady drumbeat against the tin roof.
Autumn moved to the pumpkin display, pulling a tarp over the rows of pumpkins with hurried, deliberate movements.
Graham followed, grabbing the other end to help without a word.
“You should go.” Autumn secured the tarp’s edges. She avoided glancing directly at him. “Before your suit gets completely ruined.”
Graham shrugged, draping his ruined jacket over one arm. The rain clung to his shirt, outlining the broad lines of his shoulders. “I think we’re past the point of saving it.” He flashed her a wry smile. “Besides, what’s a little rain?”
Autumn didn’t respond, focusing on smoothing the tarp. When she peered up, Graham was watching her again, his expression unreadable.
“It’s good to see you again, Autumn.”
Autumn forced herself to meet his gaze. “Yeah,” she whispered. “You too.”
Neither of them moved. The rain fell in steady sheets, blurring the edges of her reality and turning patches of the driveway with hardly any gravel into a slick, muddy path under their feet.
Anxiety rose from the burden of everything unsaid—the memories, the regrets, the words she’d never had the chance to say.
After a few long beats, Graham’s shoulders lifted as if preparing himself. “Take care, Autumn.”
“You too,” she said again, with a whispered breath, watching him as he walked toward the car.
The Tesla’s headlights cut through the rain, illuminating the barn and the pumpkins in a pale, ghostly glow. Autumn remained rooted in place, her hands curling into fists at her sides. When the car was out of sight, she let out a shaky breath and tears pricked at the corners of her eyes.
Nudging her leg, his earlier victory forgotten, the goat sought her attention. Autumn glanced down, a smile tugging at her lips despite the ache in her heart. “Well,” she murmured, scratching behind the goat’s ears. “At least this time I got a goodbye.”