Page 72 of Falling for Autumn Again

I cough and do my best not to sputter. “That was—rain. Just rain. Nothing more.”

“Mm-hmm.” She taps the screen, then picks up our card runner, testing the thing with the credit card from her own back pocket. “Rain can start all kinds of trouble. I’m thinking Don and I should get caught in the rain. Sounds like fun to me.”

I roll my eyes. “Are we good in here?”

“For today.” Dessie nods. “Where are you off to?”

“I’ve got two Airbnb’s to clean.”

“Oh, that’s right.” She taps her chin, drawing out the words. “What about Ezra’s place?”

“He’s still in it,” I say. That’s the best part of a long stay: we don’t clean until they leave.

“Yes, but I’m sure he needs fresh sheets by now.” Dessie’s blue eyes blink, pleading.

“Then he can use the washer and dryer in the house and freshen them himself.” I shake my head. I will not be cleaning up after that man. Once he leaves, I’m hiring a cleaner—even if I pay for it out of my own check. Okay… I won’t be doing that because I’ve got a mountain of doctor bills I’m still working on paying off.

But I will for sure be getting one of the new hires to clean Ezra’s place!

“Just take in a clean set. You don’t have to change his sheets, just hand them to him. Or leave them on his bed. He’s still helping Don. Pretty please?”

Can I actually say no to Dessie—Dessie Linus, my second mother, the woman building a bistro on her farm and giving me the job of running it?

No. No, I cannot.

I blow a raspberry between my lips. “Fine. I’ll take him some clean sheets but nothing more. And I’m not cleaning that place when he leaves!”

Sure, I can’t say no to her, but I can still stand my ground and be a little stubborn.

I spend the next two hours cleaning the two vacant houses on the farm and avoiding Ezra’s place like a Taylor Swift concert filled with Harry haters.

It’s a lot of sweeping, scrubbing, and switching out dirty towels and sheets—nothing difficult. The places are cleaned so often, they’re fairly easy to spruce up. And yet, I’m sweating.

By the time I finish with house number two, it’s raining and I’m okay with that. I need a cool-off.

I peer out the window, I can’t avoid my dumb Ezra task any longer.

For the record, I know Ezra isn’t dumb. In fact, the man is kind, unselfish, and brilliant—all things that make it really difficult to stay away from him. Which is why I’ve found referring to him asdumb Ezraso helpful.

It keeps me on course. The course of getting Ezra Bennettback to New York and keeping my heart in its slightly used and abused but stitched-up form. It doesn’t need any more cracks. It may never recover.

I find a garbage bag beneath the sink and slide Ezra’s Downy soft, lavender-fresh cotton sheets inside. With the hood of my sweatshirt up, I race out into another fall rainstorm. I’m not sure where all the precipitation is coming from. But we’ll take it. At least it isn’t snow—yet.

I knock on Ezra’s door, but when he doesn’t answer, I take advantage of the situation. I can leave these sheets on his bed and sneak out before the man ever knows I’ve been here. And when he asks, I’ll tell him Dessie must have brought them by.

Ezra’s only been here two weeks, but I slip into his unlocked door and I’m immediately assaulted with his aftershave. Cedarwood and musk fill my senses and attempt to seduce me. But I am on a mission. Sheets in. Autumn out. Before Ezra is ever the wiser.

Which is exactly what I would have done… had I not had to pass by the kitchen table to get to the hall to get to his bedroom. But I do. And atop the table is empty packaging for a Harry Styles necklace. Apparently, it didn't come in the nice white box I found it in, Ezra relocated it to that box.

“Dang you, Ezra!” I slap a hand to my collarbone, where the locket sits beneath my wet sweatshirt. I growl and groan, then drop his perfectly dry sheets to the ground—they’re protected in that garbage bag. I’m not dirtying them up. I tug the wet, clinging sweater over my head and toss it onto the floor.

My thin cotton tee beneath it is wet through, but at least it might have a chance to dry now.

I huff out a breath, cross my arms, and nose around Ezra’s place.

It’s mostly neat, with a few dishes in the sink and shoes by the couch. It’s a space that’s normally perfect—and right now it looks lived in, but not messy. I pad back to his bedroom, rain peltingdown on the roof. I dump the sheets from the garbage bag onto his bed, and just Ezra’s luck, they tumble out still in their neat and tidy Dessie fold.

I grunt, tempted to unfold them and maybe rub my soaked sweatshirt into the soft fabric. I don’t—only because I love Dessie. And Harry. But not Ezra.

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