Page 133 of Again, In Autumn

He points to a basket by the entrance where my cookies have all been placed in plastic bags and stacked delicately in rows, and says, “I had no idea you were going to do that in the kitchen, I thought you just baked for fun. Can I get your contacts? I’d love for you to make some more for our opening weekend, maybe even the Christmas festival we’re hosting in a few weeks.”

I put up a hand and argue, “Oh, I don’t do this for a business. I’m not a professional –”

“I’ll text you her information,” Adam interrupts. He pulls me to him and squeezes my shoulder. We say goodbye to Mackenzie and walk outside to wait for my car.

“I can’t make cookies for an event,” I say.

“You just did,” he counters.

That’s kind of true.

I always imagined myself in a building with a cute name on it, filling my counter with cakes and cookies and muffins. However, the idea of spending a day decorating cookies to celebrate big events and milestones, watching them be devoured by kids and families, ignites a little spark inside.

“So, when do we tell them back at the lake?” Adam asks.

“About my cookies?”

“About us.”

I switch my brain to the other topic in my mind. Adam’s reached for my hand again, as though we might get lost from each other in a crowd. He’s probably as excited about this little action as I am, seeing as we’ve had few opportunities to be affectionate in public.

“It’s Thanksgiving.” I lay out my thoughts. “I think it would be weird for everybody to find out today.”

My car comes around, and Adam tips the valet and puts our bags in the backseat. I collect my keys and climb into the driver’s seat.

He’s being quiet.

“Tell me what you think, please,” I insist.

“I understand.” He sighs. “We’ll do whatever you want.” He buckles his seatbelt, and I drive out of the long driveway.

I glance sidelong. “I want to tell them. We are going to tell them. It’s just…”

With Francesca, things need to be handled delicately because I never know how she will respond. If she doesn’t take this well, for whatever reason, the entire day is ruined. I wouldn’t just be telling her that Adam and I are seeing each other, I’d be telling her that we snuck around, and I kept it secret for fourteen years.

Adam sits up in his chair. “I will do whatever you want, Vee.” He picks up my right hand and kisses my palm. “Both today and tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow.” I roll the word on my tongue, sensing what the future feels like.

“I was originally heading back to Chicago on Sunday. I’ve got a few days until I have to be back in the studio.” His voice breaks with nervousness when he says, “But I don’t have to go back on Sunday.”

I frown, focusing above my steering wheel. “I have to be back in Atlanta on Monday.”

“I know.”

I look at Adam looking at me. “Do you want to come stay with me in Atlanta for a few days?”

He claps his hands. “Well, what a lovely idea, Vienna! I would love to, thank you for inviting me.” He smiles. “But you misspoke. I’m not coming to visit you.”

“Oh?”

“The words you’re looking for are ‘shack up.’ As in, Adam would you like to shack up with me in Atlanta for a few days.”

The image he conjured makes my stomach feel loopy. The two of us putting up my Christmas tree, eating takeout, keeping each other warm in my full-sized bed. “Yes. I like that phrasing better, too.”

He asks, “Is it okay if I bring Copper? Maggie can watch him for me, if not.”

I think about Amber prancing through my apartment, her sweet face looking up at me when her head snuggled into the comforter. The pang of pain I felt for months when the clock read 5:30 and she wasn’t there to whine at the pantry for her dinner.

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