Page 30 of Falling for Autumn Again

Last I heard—and that was a long time ago—none of their children were interested. Maybe they’ll sell. Maybe Autumn will do it.

We’ve worked an hour before we’re anywhere near one another. She purposely placed me far away from her.

With my knees on the ground and Autumn just across from me, I open my mouth. “What happened to your dad, Autumn?”

She pauses for a second, her hands in the dirt, and her eyes on the tree she just planted. “I thought you’d come back for the funeral.” She sounds so small—not accusing, only sad.

I swallow and my throat tightens. She thought I’d come back? Did she want me to? Then why send me away? “I—I didn’t know. I don’t do social media. I never heard.” Mostly true. I don’t do social mediaanymore—because of her. I never wanted to risk seeing her wedding photo or a picture of her engagement. Or Autumn with a baby. I couldn’t see that. So, I cut myself off from Love and all things that might bring me back here.

“Meg said you didn’t know,” she says, not bothering to look my way.

I grind my teeth—something Autumn would normally do. “People keep asking if I’m going to visit my dad,” I say without thought. I never handled Autumn hurting very well. Maybe my subconscious is trying to transfer her pain to me.

Her head pops up and she’s staring at me now. “Who? What people?”

I clear my throat at her strong tone—so much more forceful than before. Autumn was always easy to talk to and she always stated her mind. That’s another reason this close-lipped Autumn is making me crazy. Still, I hadn’t meant to tell her that.

“My friend, Phil.”

“He sounds like an idiot.” She scoffs like she’s met Phil and she knows.

I snort out a laugh. “And Dessie.” I press my lips in on one another and raise my brows once. She’d never call Dessie a name. She loves her like a mother.

Her jaw clenches. “Well, Dessie’s kind and forgiving. And possibly forgetful. You shouldn’t go, Ez,” she says, calling me by my nickname, the same one she used all those years ago, and making my stomach bubble with life.

“So, he’s no better than before, eh?” I say, a tinge of embarrassment lacing my words. But then I remember that I don’t need to be embarrassed by his choices, his weaknesses. I let them affect me for far too long. Somehow, I turned out pretty decent. Even with Mav Bennett as a father. Shouldn’t that make me proud? Dr. Appleby says it should. For years, I wanted to apologize for him. I wanted to hide in embarrassment for actions I have no control over.Not anymore.

She shrugs. “I haven’t seen him in years.”

“That makes two of us.” I wait for her to say more, pausing my work.

Autumn stands, her long chestnut hair pulled back at her neck raining over down the back of her plaid shirt. She walks to the truck and I scramble to my feet, following after her.

“Autumn,” I say, standing next to her and feeling the tension roll off of her. “You seem sad. Do you want to talk about it?”

“Sad?” she says, eyes darting up to my face. “My best friend just moved away. We lost my dad five years ago. I’m not exactly thrilled. But there’s nothing I can do about either.” She shrugs and looks away from me. “I’m fine.”

“Youaresad.”

She groans, and all at once she presses both of her hands to my chest. She shoves me back, pushing me into the truck bed. “Yes,” she says. “I’m sad. Are you happy now?”

I grunt, more surprised than hurt by the force of her actions.

She huffs out a tired breath and grabs the box of the opened saplings. “Just go, Ezra.”

“What did I do?” I bark. She wants confrontation, I’ll give it. I charge after her, but I’ve been in these boots too long. I’ve taken a hundred too many steps, and with my last step, both my feet choose this minute to cramp up. Another cramp hits as I attempt another step, sending me to the ground. I groan—not unlike a dog who just had his tail stepped on.

Autumn stands over top of me. “What are you doing?”

“Cramp,” I manage to get out.

“You have a cramp?” Her head tilts, her brown ponytail flopping over her shoulder.

But instead of worrying over Autumn’s judgments and lack of compassion, I squirm until I get my hands around the heel of the boots Don loaned me and tug. I toss off the left and stretch my toes. Then I reach for the right. I fling it too—not on purpose, but right at Autumn.

I mean… she kind of deserves it.

“Hey!” she yells, dodging the black work boot. “What is wrong with you?”

---