Page 21 of The Pumpkin Spice Romance
Mr. Buttercup darted between houses, his hooves clattering like mismatched marbles on the patios as he trampled through neatly manicured flower beds. A cloud of marigold petals followed in his wake, leaving a trail of colorful destruction. Graham sprinted after him, his sneakers slipping on wet leaves as he rounded the rear of the post office.
“He’s heading for Main Street!” Autumn’s voice carried from the parallel alley. She appeared moments later at the intersection, her red hair flying loose from her ponytail, her cheeks flushed from exertion.
The goat stopped in the middle of the street, his head cocked as if taunting them. His tail flicked once. A car horn blared, startling him, and he took off again—toward the park.
Autumn groaned, pointing toward the edge of the park.
Graham didn’t need clarification; he knew exactly where they were headed.
The massive oak loomed in his memory, its red canopy casting a shadow over the park entrance. Ten years earlier, they had carved their initials into its bark, high enough to avoid being overwritten. Now, standing there again, the memories surged through him, twisting his chest in ways he wasn’t ready to confront.
Seemingly undeterred by sentimentality, the goat had made a beeline for the tree and ducked behind its thick trunk. Graham and Autumn approached from opposite sides, moving cautiously to box him in.
“Got you now, you little troublemaker,” Autumn crooned, inching closer, her hands extended.
The goat bleated sharply and darted straight between Graham’s legs, nearly toppling him. Autumn, however, was ready. She lunged and grabbed the goat’s collar holding firm.
“Ha!” she exclaimed, but her grin faded as her gaze drifted toward the tree behind him.
Their carved initials had weathered but remained visible: G.O. + A.P. The letters, though worn, were there like a time capsule of teenage optimism.
“Well.” Graham cleared his throat. “Some things really don’t change.”
Autumn didn’t immediately respond. She tightened her hold on the squirming goat, her eyes tracing the carved letters. “The tree doesn’t. But people do.”
“Do they?” he asked.
She held his stare, her green eyes searching his face. “I’d hope so. Ten years is a long time to be stagnant.”
The breeze stirred the fallen leaves around them. Graham hesitated.What can I say? That I’m not sure how much I’ve really changed? That seeing her again makes me feel more like the boy who stood under this tree than the man who left her behind?
Mr. Buttercup chose that moment to headbutt Graham’s knee. The impact jolted him from his nostalgia. “Ow! Seriously?”
Autumn laughed, the sound breaking through the heaviness like sunlight piercing storm clouds.
He rubbed his knee. “Speaking of change. I heard you’re organizing the fall festival this year.”
“Trying to.” She sighed, scratching behind the buck’s ears. “Between this escape artist and the weather forecast, I’m not sure it’ll come together.”
“I could help.” The words surprised them both. Graham fumbled for words. “I mean, I’m here longer than expected anyway, with Pops’s surgery, and—”
“You don’t have to—” she started.
“I want to.” And he realized he meant it. “Consider it community service for all those years I missed.” He chortled uncomfortably.
Autumn studied him for a long moment. Her fingers absently tangled in Mr. Buttercup’s coat. The buck, suspiciously docile now, propped against her leg.
“Okay, but you know this is small-town stuff.”
Graham smiled, nodding his head, and for an instant, it felt like the decade between them compressed into nothing.
Then his phone buzzed. He fished it out of his pocket and glanced down, a calendar reminder about his father’s pre-op appointment interrupted their moment.
I’m not here to reconnect or reminisce. I’m here because duty calls.
Still, as he watched Autumn lead her mischievous goat away, he wondered if duty was the only thing keeping him in Hayden.
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