Page 18 of The Pumpkin Spice Romance
“Mr. Buttercup!” Autumn shouted, rushing forward. “Let go of that!”
With a triumphant bleat, the goat pranced away, his head bobbing with each step as though leading a parade for one.
Graham sat up slowly, brushing dirt off his pants. Dust and hay speckled his once-pristine suit, and his tie hung askew. He glanced down at his jacket—or what was left of it—and let out a dry laugh.
“That was a three-thousand-dollar Armani jacket.” His mouth twitched into a smirk, though his eyes betrayed a mix of disbelief and resignation.
Autumn froze mid step. “Three thousand dollars?” she shrieked. “Who spends three thousand dollars on a jacket?” The question slipped out before she could stop it, and her cheeks flushed.
She now hurried toward him, the clip of her boots muffled by scattered hay. “I’m so sorry. I’ll pay for it,” she responded quickly, though the thought made her insides twist. Three thousand dollars could cover an entire season’s worth of supplies.
“Don’t worry about it.” Graham waved her off and climbed to his feet. He rose smoothly and picked hay from his sleeve. “I’ve dealt with worse.”
She glanced toward the barn and the mangled sleeve still clutched within the goat’s mouth.
“I’m serious,” Autumn insisted. “Mr. Buttercup has a habit of destroying expensive things. Last week, he ate Mrs. Davidson’s designer purse. I’ll find a way to replace it.”
Graham’s lips quirked into a half-smile, his blue eyes glinting with amusement. “Still naming animals after flowers.”
Crossing her arms, Autumn ignored the heat creeping up her neck. “He came with the name,” she muttered. “Grandmother’s last addition to the farm before she . . .” Her voice faltered, and she swallowed hard. “Before she passed.”
The playful light in Graham’s expression dimmed. “I heard about your grandmother. I should’ve reached out. I’m sorry.”
Autumn shrugged, her gaze fixed on the ground. “It was five years ago. I’m fine.”
A heavy silence followed, the kind that seemed to stretch endlessly. Autumn shifted and glanced toward the goat still chewing on the sleeve with exaggerated enthusiasm.
“Mr. Buttercup!” she snapped. “Drop it!”
The goat bleated innocently, his ears twitching as though he hadn’t just caused hundreds—no,thousands—of dollars in damage. Autumn sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I swear, that goat is going to be the death of me.”
Graham chuckled, low and warm. “He’s got character, I’ll give him that.”
She shot him a withering look, but the corners of her mouth twitched despite herself. “Character won’t pay for your jacket.”
Eager to move on, she spun toward the barn and gestured to the towering hay bales under the overhang next to the barn. “How much hay do you need?” she asked briskly. The earthy dried grass mingled with the sweetness of ripening pumpkins, grounded her as she shook the tension from her shoulders.
“Four bales should do it,” Graham replied, following a few steps behind her. She felt his stare as if he was following her every movement with his eyes. “My pops is trying to make the store more seasonal. He thinks the hay will give it rustic charm.”
Autumn raised an eyebrow. “Rustic charm? In your dad’s hardware store?”
Graham chuckled, rich and unapologetically. “I know, right? He’s been on this kick lately—wants to bring in more foot traffic by making the place feel ‘festive.’ Apparently, Pinterest is to blame.”
The mention of Pinterest drew a reluctant smile from Autumn. “So, he’s really joined the modern age?”
“Something like that.” Graham shoved his hands into his pockets. “Though I’m pretty sure he still doesn’t know how to use the app. He just shows me pictures and tells me to ‘make it happen.’”
She snorted, fiddling with the coarse twine binding the hay bales. “Sounds about right.” She paused, glancing at the Tesla parked nearby. “But I have to ask: how were you planning to transport four bales of hay in that?”
Following her line of sight, his eyes landed on his car. “You know. I didn’t really think that part through.”
A genuine laugh burst from Autumn, catching her off guard. She clapped a hand over her mouth, but the sound echoed across the field, drawing a bleat of curiosity from Mr. Buttercup. When she peered back at Graham and he beamed in a way that made her chest ache with familiarity.
“Not your most practical decision.” She lowered her hand.
“I’ll admit, it’s not my best work. Though I wasn’t exactly expecting to find myself in the middle of a pumpkin patch this morning.”
“Yeah, well, life’s full of surprises,” Autumn muttered, turning back to the hay. She grabbed a bale and hefted it onto the small handcart nearby, the muscles in her arms straining with the effort. “I’ll have Tommy deliver them to the store. No charge, considering what my goat did to your jacket.”
