Page 31 of Falling for Autumn Again

“Don’s boots,” I say, head falling back and looking up at the clear fall sky.

“Why are you wearing Don’s boots? They’re way too small for you.” She huffs, drops the box beside her, and crosses her arms. She’s calling me an idiot without saying a word.

But somehow I’m just impressed that she remembers my shoe size. She knows right off the bat that wearing Don’s boots is a terrible idea. Her look says it and so do her words. And while her words aren’t exactly kind—I think there is compassion in them. It’s hidden behind pain, but it’s still there.

Chapter Fourteen

Autumn

My phone rings,breaking my trance as I watch Ezra drive away on Dessie’s four-wheeler. He can’t work without shoes. And he can’t wear Don’s boots.

I breathe out, somehow still smelling the musky man scent that clings to him like TP on the bottom of a high-heeled shoe. He's grown up in so many ways. I thought we were grown back then. But I was wrong. Ezra Bennett left this little town and became a man.

My heart aches. How could it not? It was racing a mile a minute with his closeness, with his questions, with his kindness. I had to push him away from me or he’d have heard it.

I have to remind myself again and again that Ezra and I can’t be friends. He took way too long for me to get over. I’d never make it out whole a second time.

My phone rings again.

Meg.

She’s got one day left and then she’s off. Ugh. What am I going to do without her?

“Hey,” I say, forcing a joyful tone to my voice and masking anydiscomfort I may be feeling. Meg does not need to worry about me.

“Hey, are we going to a football game tonight? Because I went by to give your mom my leftovers and she told me to have fun at the high school football game tonight.”

“Yes. We are. You have to—because I want to and you’re abandoning me. Remember? You said whatever I want.”

“And you want football?”

“I do.” I love going to the high school games and obnoxiously cheering on the Prairie Dogs with everyone else in town.

“Okay. Football it is. So,” Meg says, convinced, “how’s Ezra?”

“How would I know?” Except that I kind of do… I just watched the man fall to the ground, hobble to his feet and ride away on Dessie’s four-wheeler, shoeless. “I’m sure he’s fine,” I say. And I’m sure he is. The shoes are off. Surely he isn’tstillcramping up. He should have known better.

“You’ve given me zero details the past two days and I leave tomorrow.”

“I have nothing to tell.”

“Lies!” Meg barks.

“Not a lie.” And it’s not. “Until today, I have hardly seen him.”

Meg’s quiet for only a minute. “And today?”

“Today… he fell on the ground like a pouty little child and rolled around in pain.” My survival mode is kicking in—and it’s coming out grouchy. But I’m just trying to survive Ezra’s visit. Because he will be returning to New York, far away from Mav. And when he goes, I’m hoping to still be intact.

“Right.” She scoffs. “You really have nothing to tell?”

“Apparently nothing that you want to hear. Because that’s what happened.” But my mind flits back to him asking about Dad and contemplating a visit with Mav. Why would he do that? He’s been free of him for so long, why bring that toxicity back into his life?

I blink back to the present. “I’ll pick you up at six. Dress warm and don’t make us late, missy!”

“Doyou know how long that line was?” Billie Lee says, sitting on the row in front of us. “I had to stand in line for thirty-two minutes just to get a Diet Coke.”

“What about a root beer?” her husband asks.

---