Page 57 of Falling for Autumn Again

Autumn’s eyes narrow and she seethes a bit at my wordchoice—pick her up. Not gonna lie, I one hundred percent enjoyed picking her up and hauling her off.

“I see. All is well now?” Dessie glances behind her at Autumn.

“Yes. I’m fine.”

“Yeah,” I say, winking at Autumn. “I doctored her up.”

Dessie hums a happy sigh. “Good boy.” She brushes her hands together. “Well, I’m off. I’ve got to get these new kids straightened out. Who knows what Don’s got them working on.”

“But you said—” Autumn starts, her tone high-pitched. “You said this barn wasn’t a one-person job.” Her gaze avoids mine with so much purpose she might as well be staring me down.

“Yes. That’s right.” Dessie nods as if Autumn were young and simple-minded. “And now thatEzra’shere, there’s two of you to take care of it.”

If Autumn’s eyes were lasers, they would have split Dessie down the middle by now. She watches her all the way out the door, to which Dessie smiles and waves like she was the main act at a children’s party.

I move to the opposite side of the barn, gathering up the deer netting and stakes at the right. Peering back, I scowl. Why am I on this side of the building? Everything heavy is on her side.

“Oh, hey—” I say.

“Nope. We don’t need to talk,” she says, lifting two jugs of fertilizer that probably weigh as much as she does.

I take three steps toward her. I won't waste my breath on fertilizer though. "I think we do. We have a decade to make up for. And last night—"

An exasperated groan falls from her lips and she drops both jugs onto the dirt floor. “No. No talking.”

Maybe I’ll take a play out of Dessie’s maple sugar book—I can pretend she isn’t being prickly. I walk past her, grin sweetly, and set my light haul on the bench beside her. Then, leaning close, I pick up the two jugs she’s left on either side of her. “How’s Summer?”

Her jaw moves from side to side. But she’s always been proud of her little sister.

I move my feet toward the back room of the barn, giving her a little space.

“She’s good,” Autumn says from behind me, her tone already softer.

“Is she a zookeeper in some big city?” The girl was always bringing home a stray or doctoring up an injured bird.

There’s a curt scoff behind me. “No. She writes grants to fund wildlife conservation programs though. She’s still trying to save every four-legged creature she finds.”

I peer back. Autumn’s face has smoothed its grouchy wrinkles. “Good for her,” I say. “I’m not surprised.”

We set our things in the back room and return for more, falling back into the groove of work as if no time has passed. We did this job together years ago and we’re back at it. But then, I guess Autumn never left it.

I understand she stayed to support her parents. But for how long? She had big dreams—no less than Summer’s. Why didn’t she leave five years ago? I have so many questions with so many answers Autumn doesn’t want to give.

So, I ask something else. Something easier. Slow and steady. “How’s your mom?”

“Ahh.” Her brow furrows. “Differentthan when you last saw her.”

“It’s been a while.” I gather more fertilizer and wait, hoping she’ll elaborate. It’s like I’m coaxing a snake. For every slow slither I get, I also risk getting bit.

“Yeah,” she says, hefting up the deer repellent. Her voice is small.

I look around the barn and blow out a quiet sigh, not wanting to lose her because I asked the wrong question. “Why did we always let this part of the barn get so full of things? It always made our September more difficult.”

She shrugs. “I think it feels like wasted space, not using it the majority of the year. And it’s empty. So our brains think one or two items taking up its space isn’t a big deal.”

“One or two?”

“Or a hundred.” She breathes out a chuckle. She blinks over to me, walking beside her to the back, our arms once again full. “How did you become jobless and homeless?”

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