Page 73 of Fall I Want
“I enjoy them all for different reasons. I studied the classics but found their life stories more interesting than the fiction they wrote. Artists are wired differently, I think. My obsession with love is why I chose romance.”
My brows furrow. “You’re no longer obsessed with it?”
She shrugs as we stand in front of our pumpkins. “I think I need convincing after the relationships I’ve had. I can’t write the end because I don’t believe my characters will get a happily ever after.”
“Because you haven’t?”
I huff, but it’s the truth. “Basically.”
Silence streams between us. “I’m happy you’ll be creating again soon.”
“It will not be easy for me.”
“Going back to something you almost gave up never is,” I tellher, knowing what it was like to be back on the snow after I thought I might never ski or snowboard again. For weeks, I wasn’t sure if I’d even walk again. “But it’s just like training a muscle. The more you work at it, the stronger you become. I believe in you.”
She meets my eyes. “You do?”
“Yes. I know you have brilliance up there. Just need some inspiration,” I say, brushing my hand across her hair, pushing it from her face.
She swallows hard and I create space between us before I lose control and cross that line. It’s something I won’t do, not when we’ve been drinking. That’s not fair to her, and I already have too much respect for this woman.
I clear my throat, removing the top of my pumpkin and placing the light inside. “And I selfishly want to read your fantasies about me because it’s only something you can write. Can’t really put a price on that.”
She does the same.
“Okay, now close your eyes,” I say, moving to the switch and flicking off the lights. We’re in darkness other than the warm glow that’s leaking from our carved gourds. I move beside her.
“Are your eyes closed?” she asks as I steal another glance at her pretty face.
“They are now,” I tell her. “Now, on the count of three we’ll open our eyes.”
We count down together, then twist our pumpkins around.
Autumn giggles when she sees my buck-toothed, different-sized-eyes pumpkin. Then I see our initials in hers with hearts surrounding them. The fake candles shine bright enough light for me to see her.
“Okay, you win.”
“Yes.” She looks up at me and I almost fall into her trance.
“Food,” I say, lifting her chin, not daring to slide my lips across hers again. But fuck, I want to.
I step back. “Pizza time.”
I cut slices and put them on plates, then we carry them to the living room, leaving our pumpkins to cast their shadows in the kitchen.
“There is a remote on the table at the end,” I tell her.
She snatches it up and clicks on the ultra large TV that takes up a huge portion of the wall above the mantel.
“Pick something,” I tell her, taking a bite.
“Oh, what about this?” She stops on one of the Friday the 13th movies.
“Works for me.” We’re close enough that our legs touch, but she doesn’t move away from me.
“Jason is the hottest,” she mutters between bites. “Classic slashers are my thing.”
“Really? I’d have guessed you’re more of a Hallmark fall festival lover.”
