Page 44 of Falling for Autumn Again

My eyes pause for only a second on Ezra’s dark jeans and button-up shirt. The sleeves are rolled to the elbows, and I can’t help but stare at his forearms for two seconds longer than I should. There are muscles there that weren’t there before. I never imagined Ezra grown up. But he’s changed—in so many ways. He’s grown and blossomed while I am still a seedling. Yep, that’s me, a seed so easily crushed. I’d rather avoid any and all crushing in the near future.

“Hey Autumn,” Ezra says, his eyes boring into me—why is he looking at me like that?

I don’t say hello, I don’t say goodbye. I swing open the front door and make my escape.

“Indigestion,” I hear Dessie say as my feet hit the dirt.

She can tell him whatever she wants as long as I get out.

Chapter Twenty

Autumn

I stare at my phone,and if the darn thing weren’t so stupidly expensive, I might fling it out the window.

Meg: Is Dessie right?

Me: You can’t love someone you don’t even know.

Now, am I in love with the boy who left ten long years ago? Maybe. But that kind of love is a dream. A fantasy. One that breaks your heart and makes you pay for a very long time. One that I gave up and somehow survived. I’m not even sure what that love means anymore. Because—

Me: It’s been ten years, Meg. I don’t know who Ezra Bennett is anymore.

At least, that’s what I keep telling myself—because it makes sense. It’s logical. And logic never pounded someone into the ground with overcharged emotions.

Me: So, no. Dessie is wrong.

Meg: Okay.

How can there be so much skepticism and disbelief in one written word? I can’t hear the tone in her voice, but Ireadher tone. She one hundred percent has a tone! And I need someone to believe me. How will I ever believe myself if Meg doesn’t believe me?

Me: Headed out. I can’t text anymore.

Meg: Where are you going? It’s ten p.m. your time.

Me: I just need to check on the saplings.

Meg: Now?

Me: Goodbye, worry wart. Go worry about your husband.

I just need some air. I need to think. And breathe—in the wide fresh air of the field. But the windissupposed to pick up tonight, so the saplings are a great excuse. I really should cover them.

See? I didn’t just lie to my best friend to get out of a soul-crushing conversation.

I grab my denim jacket just before stepping outside. The chilled wind hits my face the minute I do. Fall in Wyoming is rarely sunshine and falling leaves. It’s more crazed wind slapping you in the face while most of the leaves are long gone, blown to Idaho.

I don't grab my truck or one of the four-wheelers. I need the quiet, time, and space to think, to breathe, to be alone, and to remember who I am.

I need the farm and not another thing. Not even my phone in my pocket, no human contact at all.

With the quiet and peace, only the rustling of the wind and outdoors, I clear my head. No bistro doubts. No oldest daughter responsibilities. No Ezra heartaches. Just me. Just the farm. My chest eases, releasing the tension that’s been built there over thepast week. The confusion in my head settles. And I find an ounce of peace.

For thirty whole seconds.

“Autumn!”

Okay—my body hadalmosteased up on the stress and tension.

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