Page 54 of Falling for Autumn Again

Sitting on the end of the table, he lifts my foot again, setting it in his lap. He washes off the dirt and needles clinging to the bottom. “Why are you so mad at me, Autumn? What did I do?”

You left and, somehow, I survived. But now you’re here—stirring up feelings—only to leave again.

I swallow and opt for a part-truth. “You shouldn’t have come back.”

He doesn’t look offended. No, he just gently rubs the dishcloth over the heel and pad of my foot. His chest fills, breathing in, heavy and thoughtful. “I didn’t have much of a choice.”

“What does that mean?” No one forced him to take this job. I know Dessie can be persuasive, but that’s no excuse.

“Well, I was jobless… and homeless. So, this sounded like a fairly decent alternative.”

My gaze softens. That’s not what I expected. Jobless? Homeless? As in, nowhere to sleep at night?

I lick my lips and watch him. It’s so much easier to watch him while he’s studying my foot. “You never mentioned jobless and homeless before.”

“Yeah, well, when you’re trying to one-up the person who broke your heart, you don’t usually mention things that make you look like a big fat failure.”

“I didn’t break your heart,” I say, but my words are small. And untrue. Even as I say them, I don’t even believe them. The fact is, I broke both our hearts. In my effort to save him, I caused a lot of pain too. I’ve never wanted to acknowledge that before. I just told myself he’d gotten out of a terrible home. I’d made sure of it.

“You did,” he says, finally looking up at me. “And you know it. But it sounds like you didn’t have much of a choice.” He sets the rag down and holds my ankle higher, returning to inspecting my foot. “You could have always told the truth, of course.” His brows flick upward once—clearly, he thinks I chose wrong.

I clench my jaw. It wasn’t wrong. He couldn’t stay here.

“You’ve got a pine needle stuck in your foot. It’s pretty deep. But I can get it out.”

I wrinkle my nose. Stupid rain. Stupid shed. Stupid pine needles. Stupid,stupidEzra Bennett.

His fingers slide over the heel of my foot as he pinches the needle. I cram my eyes shut with the sting, a low hiss slipping through my clenched teeth. He tugs, and pain stabs through my foot and up into my ankle, though it’s quickly followed by relief. Respite washes over my foot the minute the long needle is out and in Ezra’s grasp.

My mother would be annoyed with my ingratitude, but it’s knowing that my father would be saddened by my rudeness that makes me open my mouth. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” His warm hand slides over my ankle as he sets my foot back onto the table with care. “Autumn, I think youhave this preconceived notion that I went away and found a perfect life. That’s not true.”

I swallow… okay, I may have had that notion.

He huffs out a laugh. “Perfect is pretty boring, anyway.”

I’m confused. So is his life great because it isn’t perfect? Or difficult because of hardships? Homeless and jobless sound pretty hard, pretty non-boring.

I don’t ask because as much as I want to know, I’m not sure either answer will help in the end.

Before he goes, he leaves me with a cup of hot apple cider—remembering my dislike for hot chocolate—and a bandage for my foot. How did he know where to find my band-aids?

I lick my lips and swallow, watching him move about my space. He reaches out with a bottle of antiseptic. "Every day, a couple of times a day," he says as I take the tube. Then without another word, Ezra walks out my front door. He leaves.

And once again, I’m left alone.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Ezra

I pacein my small living room, phone in hand.

Me: She’s lost her trust in me. In herself. In us. But I’m going to win it back.

Phillip: Wait. I thought we weren’t there for the girl. You going for her now?

Me: Yes. You were right. I was wrong. I want the girl.

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