Page 32 of Falling for Autumn Again

Meg attempts to hold back a grin and glances at me. I widen my eyes at Paul’s question and smother a laugh.

“I’m pretty sure a root beer would have taken just as long, Paul.” Billie huffs. “Thirty-two minutes. I missed kickoff and the Dog’s game day cheer and—”

I shake my head at Billie’s rant and loop my arm through Meg’s. A cold breeze makes its way through the crowd, making me wish I’d brought a thicker jacket.

“I am not gonna miss the wind,” Meg says, a quiver in her bottom lip.

Fall days in Love are nice, but the nights are cool—very cool. And that’s when the wind doesn’t pick up and make you freeze your tail off.

“Rub it in. Geez,” I tease and bump her with my side. “You’ll be lounging on a beach while I’m digging holes in the cold.”

“I mean, you could come with me. Kal’s mom has a spare room.”

I rest my head on her shoulder. “I’m pretty sure there isn’t a Christmas tree farm on the island ofLana‘i. What would I do all day?”

“I’m guessing you could figure it out.”

We both know I can’t go but sometimes pretending there’s a chance that I can—even for a visit—eases both our longing.

Meg rests her head on mine just as our Prairie Dog running back finds a hole in the defense and takes off.

We both sit up and as Jacob King runs, I stand with half the crowd. I hold tight to the straw cowboy hat on top of my head and howl with the rest of the town in the stands. Well, everyone other than Meg, of course.

“Where’d you get that hat, Autumn?” asks Mrs. Gard, just behind me.

“Yes, tell. Where did you get that hat?” Meg says. She smiles and flutters her lashes at me. She’s already made fun of my hat once tonight.

“This old thing?” I say, turning to face the older woman—she’ll appreciate it. “It was Summer’s the year the Dogs went to state. The entire cheer team had them. See?” I point to the prairie dog bedazzled to the front of my straw hat.

“The good ol’ days,” she says. “I’d like to get myself one of those.”

Meg snorts next to me. “Me too,” she tells Mrs. Gard.

“Too bad,” I say, giving Meg a little eye roll. “They don’t make them anymore. It’s like a lost fad.”

“Long gone,” Meg says, and I can’t help but laugh.

“Excuse me,” says a voice to my right, just past Meg. I don’t even have to look. I can smell Ezra Bennett long before I see him. Part minty fresh, part musky man.

In fact, I don’t look at him. Why should I? He settles in next to my best friend, but I keep my eyes on Mrs. Gard and then carefully switch to Meg and nowhere near that baseball cap and beard settling in next to my friend.

“Hey,” he says to Meg, his tone friendly.

“Oh, hi.” Meg peers at me in a flash, then back tohe-who-must-not-be-named—I’m still not looking. I definitely don’t see him smile at her.

“Ezra Bennett,” Mrs. Gard says with a sickly sweet swoon in her tone.

Why so sweet, Mrs. Gard? Why? He’s notthatcute. And you’re married. Going on fifty years, last week’s paper said.

“Autumn and I were just talking about you,” she tells him.

And just like that, my silent promise to not look at Ezra once tonight is broken. My eyes flash to his and I blink—as if there might be glass in my eye and incessant blinking is the only way to get it out. I swallow. “Uhhh—no. No, we were not.” I cup my mouth so that Mrs. Gard is blocked from its view.

I look at Meg, but mouth for Ezra’s sake:Pathological liar.I make a face as if to say—isn’t that sad?

“Sure we were. The good ol’ days,” she says, repeating her sentiment from earlier.

“Right. Myhat. We were talking about my hat and Summer and the cheer team and not Ezra at all!” My words seem to speed up with each syllable. “Not. At. All.”

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