Page 20 of The Pumpkin Spice Romance
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 appearput together.”
The first fat raindrop splashed onto the barn floor, interrupting Graham’s reply. Both of them glanced up as thepatter 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.”
2
Graham
Three days into his extended stay in Hayden, Graham found himself perched on Mrs. Peterson’s ancient fence, hammer in hand, wondering how he’d gone from corporate mergers to mending split rails in such a short amount of time. The late morning sun warmed the back of his neck, its rays filtering through the skeletal branches of an old maple tree. A gust of October wind carried the scent of wood smoke, mingling with the tang of fallen leaves and the distant laughter of children from the school nearby. He hopped down onto the sidewalk.
“More cider, dear?” Mrs. Peterson tottered across her yard, a steaming mug extended like a peace offering. The mug trembled in her frail hands, its contents spilling just enough to dampen her crocheted coaster sleeve.
“Thank you.” He accepted the drink, the warmth seeping through his work gloves—a far cry from his usual leather driving gloves. The spiced apple aroma hit him first, transporting him to brisk autumn evenings on the high school football field. He could almost hear the cheer of the crowd, feel the rough wool of his letterman jacket, and taste the stolen kisses behind the concession stand.
“No charge for the repairs,” he said, before she could mention payment again. “Pops would have my hide if I took money from his best customer.”
“Your father raised you right, even if you ran off to the big city.” There was no judgment in her words, just the frank honesty of an elderly woman who’d known him since he wore superhero pajamas to the grocery store. Her smile crinkled the lines around her hazel eyes.
“Speaking of which, how is Robert doing?”
Knots tightened in Graham’s stomach. “Dad’s surgery is scheduled for next week. They’re optimistic, but—”
A commotion down the street cut him off. A familiar black-and-white streak zoomed past, followed by Autumn’s shrieks—half cursing and half promising to turn the animal into stew.
Without thinking, Graham vaulted back over the fence he’d just repaired. The cedar rails groaned under his weight but held steady. “This way!” he shouted to Autumn, cutting through Mrs. Peterson’s yard to intercept the escape artist.
