Page 24 of The Pumpkin Spice Romance
Graham stepped in beside her, his arm pressing briefly against hers as he helped secure the tarp. “Come on,” he urged, pulling her toward the goat barn at the edge of the square. “You can’t save everything.”
They burst through the barn doors moments later, laughing as they shook rain from their hair. The air inside was warm and earthy, filled with the bray of goats shifting in their stalls. Autumn rested against the wall, catching her breath as the storm outside drummed steadily on the tin roof.
Through the window, the harvest moon’s silver gleam spilled across the wooden floor, illuminating the dark interior. Autumn glanced up at the giant moon.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he said softly.
Heart pounding, she answered, “Yeah. It is.”
Graham stepped closer, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from him. “Autumn . . .”
She turned to face him fully, her pulse racing. Before she had time to second-guess herself; his lips were on hers—warm, insistent, familiar. The kiss felt like the answer to every unspoken question that had lingered between them for years.
The moment interrupted when Mr. Buttercup let out a loud bleat and nosed his way between them, radiating irritation. Graham pulled back, laughing breathlessly as the goat butted his leg.
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Guess he’s not a fan of competition.”
Autumn laughed, though her cheeks burned. “He’s got terrible timing.”
The rain had slowed to a gentle drizzle by the time they left the barn. The air, thick with the scent of damp hay and rain-soaked earth, felt heavier now. Each step on the gravel path seemed to echo louder than it should, amplifying the silence between them.
Autumn walked beside Graham, the kiss still lingering in the charged space between them. Her heart teetered between racing ahead and freezing entirely, unsure which path to take. She opened her mouth, wanting to ask him what it meant, but the words wouldn’t come.
His phone buzzed, the sharp sound cutting through the stillness, silencing her attempt to speak. Graham pulled it from his pocket, his brow furrowing as he read the screen. “I need to take this,” he said, stepping away without waiting for a response.
Her chin dipped in a quiet nod as he strode ahead. Tension coiled in his shoulders, his grip tightening around thephone as he pressed it to his ear. His voice, urgent, carried back to her but she couldn’t make out the full conversation, just fragments.
“Yes, I understand . . . no, that’s not ideal, but we’ll adjust if needed.”
Autumn quivered and her mind raced, filling the blanks with worst-case scenarios.What happened? Is it his father?A job offer?The moments stretched painfully, each second adding another layer of doubt to the fragile hope she’d been clinging to.
When Graham returned, his expression was carefully neutral, as though he were trying to shield her from whatever news he’d just received. “Everything okay?” she asked, cautiously.
Another buzz of the phone and he glanced at the screen, his jaw clenching. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I have to take this.” Without another word, Graham left her standing by the barn.
Autumn lingered where she was, her arms wrapped around her chest as pieces of his conversation drifted back to her. Words like “relocation” and “opportunity” hung in the air, each one dragging her spirit down. Her pulse quickened.Is he already planning to leave again? Is history repeating itself?
His shoulders were hunched, and his eyes held a weariness she hadn’t seen before. “I have to go. It’s my pops.”
With a lump in her throat, she answered, “Of course.”
Graham hesitated, as though he wanted to say more, but he only gave her an apologetic smile. “I’ll call you,” he added, though it sounded more like a question than a promise.
“Right.” She forced the word, which felt hollow and echoed in the space between them as he turned and walked away. His retreating figure blurred against the rain.
As the taillights of his car disappeared, Autumn froze in place. The rain had stopped entirely now, leaving behind a quiet so profound it felt almost deafening. Her hands formed fists at her sides as a wave of anger and sadness surged through her.How could I be so foolish to think things would be different this time?
She glanced at Mr. Buttercup and his silly bow tie markings, a few feet away, chewing contentedly on a stray bit of hay. “Well,” she muttered, trembling with forced humor, “at least I can count onyouto stick around.”
The goat bleated in response, his ears twitching as though he’d understood her perfectly. The night settled around her, cold and uncertain, as she wondered whether she’d made a mistake letting Graham back into her life.
4
Autumn
Wind howled across the pumpkin patch the next morning, an unrelenting force that turned everything Autumn had worked for into a disaster zone. Tents flapped wildly, their canvas snapping like whips in the gale. A once-sturdy canopy wrenched free from its stakes, careening toward the horizon as if it had sprouted wings. The scene replayed again and again each direction Autumn looked.
She gritted her teeth, clutching the edges of another tent that threatened to take flight. Hours of the rain soaking through her jacket, had turned her sleeves cold and heavy. The rope in her hands burned as she fought to secure the flailing tarp, her boots slipping in the mud with every step. She moved to the next tarp, the next rope, the next puddle of mud.
