Page 9 of Falling for Autumn Again

"At the front office." I nod. I've got this. I have years' worth of research data and ideas burning a hole in my pocket.

This is merely a variation of the dream I had all those years ago.

Sure, I’d hoped to go away… far away, New York far.Instead, I’m still in Love.

I planned to go to one of the best culinary schools in the country, work in a prestigious restaurant, and become a Michelin chef before thirty.Instead, I never made it to school. I haven’t even worked at a McDonald’s, let alone a fancy restaurant. I’m two years away from thirty and I don’t have a lot to show for it, besides my slowly declining medical bill stack.

My subconscious reminds me, never letting me forget—Ezra. Or as I like to refer to him, at least when I have to refer to him,he-who-must-not-be-named. You know, like Voldemort. I’m not saying EzraisVoldemort… but I might as well be writhing in pain like Harry Potter wheneverhecomes up in conversation. Because, yes,hewas a part of that plan too. A big part.

Okay, maybe this isn’t the dream, opening a little sit-downbistro in Love—population nothing—on a Christmas Tree farm I’ve been working in since I was a kid.

Can't it be anewdream? No New York, no Michelin stars, no formal education.

And no Ezra.

I mean,he-who-must-not-be-named.

But without Dessie and Don, I wouldn’t have the chance to cook at all.

Instead of pining for what isn’t, what was never meant to be—AKA Ezra Bennett—and the life I’ll never have, I just need to be grateful for whatis.

And most of the time, I am. Truly.

“Ready?” Meg says. Sweet, beautiful Meg who now lives in paradise and knows nothing of my once-upon-a-time boyfriend. She wasn’t around then. That’s one of a million reasons I love her so much. She never mentionshe-who-must-not-be-named.

Although—I’m pretty sure Summer told her about him. Darn that sister of mine. If she weren’t so young and adorable and five hundred miles away, I’d make her life a little more miserable.

“I’ll walk you over. My car is that way anyway.”

I groan and tug on the ends of my flannel shirt. “When will you be back?”

“We’re having dinner tonight, you loon.”

“No, I mean, after you leave.”

“Oh.” Her nose wrinkles. “New Years. We’re visiting my family in Colorado for Christmas. And of course, I’ll come see you too.”

I groan again. Because New Years is too far away. And because I'm nervous and a bit whiny. I can't help it, I am a ball of nerves and self-doubts right now.

We step outside of my seven-hundred-square-foot home and walk toward the tiny building we callthe office. There’s a man waiting by the locked office door. His back may face us, but Iknow a nice suit when I see one. I wonder if he’s regretting his fancy shoes on our all-dirt drive.

Still, it’s got to be my architect interviewee.He’s early and I’m anxious.

Let’s get this over with.

My heart thumps. This is happening. After ten years, my life might be back on track.

Meg snatches a hold of my hand and spins me around to face her. With both of her hands on my shoulders, she dips her head to look me straight in the eye.

“This is your Hawaii,” she tells me.

“I thought that was the date with Kip?”Meg’s metaphors are confusing me today.

She shakes her head. “No,” she whispers. “Kip’s the bikini. This interview is your Hawaii. I didn’t want to go. I almost didn’t. I wanted to take that red bikini and hide away in my hotel all week.”

“Right—instead you went to a very public place where you lost your shirt in front of Kal’s whole family, showing everyone your bikini top.”

She shuts her eyes. “That’s beside the point. What I’m saying is—this is the part you want to avoid. The part that makes you uncomfortable. But this is the part that’s going to lead you to your dream. Now, go on! Grab that bikini and get on that plane!” She swats to my butt, sending me off.

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