Page 27 of The Pumpkin Spice Romance
A familiar blur of black and white bounded into view, interrupting the conversation. Mr. Buttercup trotted toward them with his head held high, dangling from his mouth a dark and frayed piece of fabric. Autumn squinted, her exhaustion giving way to a soft groan as she realized what it was.
“Of course,” she muttered. “He’s still got it.”
The goat approached and Graham bent over, holding out his hand. “You’ve been hanging onto this the whole time, haven’t you?” he asked, laughing as Mr. Buttercup dropped the ruined sleeve of his jacket at Graham’s feet. The fabric, now muddy and torn, fluttered limply in the breeze. “Sentimental little troublemaker.”
Autumn crossed her arms, suppressing a smile. “He’s a goat of refined taste. Apparently, Armani is his trophy of choice.”
“I guess I owe him for keeping me humble.”
“Maybe you should keep a spare jacket on hand,” Autumn said. “He’s got a history with designer clothes.”
Grinning, Graham stood. “Noted. I’ll add it to the list of things I’m learning to appreciate about small-town life.”
Laughing, a hint of disbelief colored her voice. “You’re really serious about staying?”
“I am.” He drew nearer, his expression softening. “I know I have to prove that to you. But I meant what I said earlier: I don’t want to make the same mistakes.”
Autumn inhaled deeply. “Graham, I don’t know if it’s that easy. You say you’re staying, but what happens when life here gets hard? When the small-town pace feels suffocating again? You’ve always been the guy with big dreams. What if . . . what ifthisisn’t enough?”
“You’re right—it’s difficult, Autumn. It’ll be messy, and scary, and I’m sure there’ll be days when I miss parts of my old life. But I’ve spent ten years chasing things that meant nothing, and it took coming back here to realize what does. It’s not the city or the paycheck. It’s this place and you.”
“You can’t just say that and expect me to believe it,” she said, her voice cracking. “You left, Graham. You left me, and it broke me in ways I never realized until years later. I don’t know if I can trust you to not do it again.”
Graham’s shoulders sagged, but he didn’t look away. “I know,” he whispered. “And I can’t undo what I did, Autumn. I wish I could erase the pain I’ve caused you. But I can promise you this: I’m not running anymore. I want to build a life here, with you. And if it takes time for you to believe that, I’ll wait. As long as it takes.”
Autumn pressed her hands together, her nails digging into her palms. The gentleness in his demeanor began to untangle the mixed feelings inside her, and the way his eyes searched hers, steady and unyielding, made it impossible to glance away. A part of her wanted to resist, to cling to the wallsshe’d built around her heart. But another part—the part that had never stopped loving him—was already beginning to crack.
“You make it seem so easy.” She folded her arms protectively across her chest hugging the thermos. “But this . . . this is my life, Graham. It’s not just a romanticized pumpkin party on a postcard. The work is hard and messy—full of late nights and early mornings and days where nothing goes right. Are you ready for that?”
“I’m ready for you,” he replied without hesitation. “Whatever that looks like. Whatever it takes.”
Fighting back tears, she murmured, “Is this just to make up for the past? Because if you’re not all in, Graham, I can’t . . .” She trailed off, shaking her head. “I wouldn’t survive losing you again.”
Graham gently took the thermos from her and set it aside. “Autumn. I’ve spent years looking for anything that makes me feel the way I did when I was with you. And I never found what I was looking for. You’re it for me. You always were.”
A moment passed while she stared at him. The days she’d spent alone in the barn, missing him without admitting it, came flooding in, no matter how hard she tried to suppress it.
“Okay. But if you’re staying, you’d better get used to goat duty.”
He laughed, relief and joy brightened his expression. “Deal.” He drew her into his arms.
Mr. Buttercup bleated nearby. Autumn leaned in and rested her head against Graham’s shoulder, letting herself believe—for the first time in years—that this could be the moment where everything changes. “So, this proposal is a . . . partnership?”
“Business and personal . . . but only if you’re interested.”
Autumn stared at him. The sincerity in his eyes left no room for doubt. She thought about the years they’d spent apart, the pain of his absence, and the undeniable pull she’d felt since he’d come back into her life. For the first time, the answer was clear.
“I love you.” The words carried the weight of a decade’s worth of unspoken feelings, but they came easily now, as natural as breathing.
Graham smiled, fully and unguarded. “I love you too. I always have.”
They remained motionless, the world around them quiet, save for the distant rustle of leaves and Mr. Buttercup bleating nearby. Finally, Autumn took his hand.
“Come on.” She led him toward the oak tree—that stood at the edge of the field, the heart of the town square, the place where love stories began and ended, and sometimes began again. The morning sun filtered through the branches, casting dappled light over the ground. A pumpkin sat nestled near the tree’s base, its vibrant orange a stark contrast against the damp earth.
“Got a knife?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder.
He reached into his pocket and handed her a small, worn blade. Together, they knelt by the pumpkin, a fleeting touch passed between them as she worked to carve their initials into its smooth surface. The letters came out uneven but unmistakable: A.P. + G.O.
