Page 16 of Falling for Autumn Again

“Any particular reason?” See? I can be just as rigid.

“Yes. Christmas tree shoppers park near the barn to load their trees.” She stares at me as if this is obvious—and maybe it should be. I did work here for multiple years. “Remember?”

“I remembereverything,” I say, my way of telling her I haven’t forgotten a thing. I haven’t forgotten how the night of graduation she kissed me goodnight, telling me that our lives were just about to begin, only to declare the exact opposite less than eight hours later.

“Perfect,” she says, her soft, amber-brown eyes never wavering from mine. “Then you know that we can’t move it.”

“What square footage do I need to keep it under?”

She spouts off a list of things she’s memorized. She’s done her research and she proves it to me now. Her hands fall to her hips and she peers at me as if to ask whether I dare ask another question.

We finish at the site in half the time it should take, but I need a break. Love’s elevation is high and the September air makes me think I’ve forgotten how to breathe here. That, and the tension between us is starting to suffocate me.

Autumn walks three steps ahead of me back to the office.

“Is that it?” I ask her.

“You’re the architect,” she says.

“Right. Butdid I get the job?” I say, unable to hide the mockery in my tone. I can’t help it. She deserves it.

She spins around in her dingy tennis shoes and looks me up and down. “Yeah,” she says, that hurt sparking in her eyes once more. “You got the job.”

She stomps into the office, leaving me outside without any indication of when we’ll meet up again. I’ve got an outline made, but I can’t get down to details without more information from her.

I need the keys to my place, I need more information to get started on this job, and I’m not the guilty one here.

I head up to the office door, knock once, and storm inside. She won’t leave me out here waiting.

“I’ve booked a house,” I say, no apology in my tone.

“Excuse me?” She’s tugged the rubber band from her hair andwavy brown locks fall down her back like a waterfall. Her cheeks are pink and her eyes watery, making me check myself and my harsh tone.

I clear my throat. “Dessie said to get the keys to my Airbnb from her manager.”

“Wait.” Her head bobbles in a shake. “You’restaying.Here?” Those brown eyes may pop out of their sockets if she widens them much more. “Nuh-uh.” She swallows. “Nope. You can’t stay here.”

“Too bad. I am.” I hold out my palm, phone in hand, showing her my confirmation number. “If possible, I’d love thegreenbungalow.”

She’s frantically searching through a paper planner. Dessie always liked paper and pen. At least Autumn’s got her booking the houses online. Still, it looks as if she keeps track of it all via paper planner.

“Ha!” I tap the book, holding my finger to the page, my pointer pressing just above my title—but not my name. “Restaurant architect, bungalow number three,” I read. I raise my brows. “Is that the green one?” I rock on my heels, waiting for an answer.

“No,” she growls, just before slapping a key into my hand. “It’s not.”

Chapter Eight

Autumn

“I’m not leavinguntil you tell me the story. I know there’s more to it, Autumn.” Meg crosses her arms, staring at me like I am a misbehaving kindergartener. “Kal will not be happy if I don’t make it home. You don’t want to be on Kal’s bad side, do you?”

“Fine,” I whisper, though it’s just Meg and me sitting at my kitchen table, a half-empty pizza box sitting between us. “Shh. I don’t—” I look behind me as if we’re being watched. “I don’t know if I can tell you this withhe-who-must-not-be-namedright next door.”

“He can’t hear us.” She bobbles her pretty blonde head at me.

Oh, beautiful, naïve Meg. What if he can?

“He was that bad?” Her brows furrow in confusion.

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