Page 22 of The Pumpkin Spice Romance
Autumn
The aroma of roasted coffee beans and freshly baked scones greeted Autumn as she stepped into Bell & Whistle Coffee Shop, Hayden’s one and only café. The bell over the door jingled, blending with the hum of conversation and the gentle clatter of mugs on saucers. A chalkboard near the counter displayed a festive message in swirling white letters:Pumpkin Spice Everything is Back!Autumn smirked. Apparently, the seasonal craze hadn’t skipped Hayden.
After the brisk walk from the farm, she tugged her scarf loose and rubbed her hands together while blowing on them. Her boots left damp marks on the wooden floor, evidence of frost melting under the pale sun. Outside, the air still carried the bite of early morning, sharp enough to make her cheeks tingle.
It wasn’t until she reached the counter that she saw him.
Graham Oakley, standing in line with one hand tucked casually into the pocket of his tailored wool coat, the other holding his phone as he scanned the menu above the barista’s head. The coat alone probably cost more than she made selling pumpkins in a week.
He looked . . . normal. Almost too familiar, given how out of place he’d seemed in Hayden just days ago. She wasn’t sure if that made things better or worse.
He turned. “Morning.” He said with a smile that seemed both genuine and cautious. His eyes, a piercing blue, brightened as they met hers.
“Good morning,” she replied, suddenly hyper aware of the way her curls frizzed in the damp autumn air. She resisted the urge to pat them down. No use pretending she wasn’t fresh from the farm.
“You a regular here?” he asked, stepping up to the cashier to place his order.
She shrugged. “When I’m not chasing goats through town.”
Graham laughed, a warm rumble. “Good to know Mr. Buttercup keeps your mornings interesting.”
“Interesting isn’t the word I’d use,” she muttered, though her mouth twitched into a smile.
After they had ordered—him, a black coffee, and her, a chai latte—they lingered by the counter, each waiting for their drinks. The silence between them fizzled like the static humming in the air between radio stations.
“Any plans for the day?” he asked subsequently, breaking the tension.
“Farmers’ market. Just picking up extra fall decorations for the festival.”
His eyebrows lifted. “Mind company?”
She blinked, surprised. “You want to come to the farmers’ market?”
“Why not? I’ve got time, and it’s been years since I’ve been to one.”
Autumn hesitated. It wasn’t like they were strangers, but the idea of spending time with Graham outside the occasional run-in felt . . . complicated. Still, there was sincerity in his expression that made her want to say yes.
“Sure. Why not?”
* * *
The farmers’ market buzzed with life, a kaleidoscope of color and sound. Stalls overflowed with gourds, apples, handmade wreaths, and jars of golden honey. Autumn’s boots crunched over the gravel pathways as she led Graham past a stand displaying stacks of fresh-baked bread. The warm, yeasty aroma curled around them like a familiar embrace.
“This is exactly how I remember it.” Graham admired a table of pumpkins arranged by size and color. “It’s like stepping into a postcard.”
“Hayden doesn’t change much,” she replied, glancing at him sideways. “That’s part of its charm.”
A vendor waved at her from behind a table of homemade preserves. Autumn raised a hand in return, feeling the comfort of being known in her small-town bubble. Graham shrank a little, though his smile never faltered.
Graham bobbed his head but didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he inspected a table of knit scarves, running his hand over the soft wool. “I used to hate how small it felt. Like the world outside was just waiting, and I was stuck here.”
Autumn stopped at the neighboring stall, where bundles of dried corn stalks were tied to a wooden display. “And now?”
He exhaled slowly, his breath visible in the cool air. “Now I think I miss that simplicity.”
A pang of recognition struck her. For a long time after Graham had left, she’d clung to the same sentiment—that Hayden was too small, too stifling. But while he’d escaped, she’d stayed, learning to see the beauty in the life she’d built here.
Her hands stilled over a bundle of miniature pumpkins. “You didn’t have to leave so completely, you know. There were other ways.”
