Page 83 of Fall I Want
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Autumn lightly taps her fingers across the front door of the log cabin built on an adjacent mountain. A few hand-carved rocking chairs are on the porch and they look comfortable. Pumpkins line the railing along with autumn-inspired decorations.
No one answers and Autumn turns to me, glancing at the flowers in my hand with a grin. “They’re probably in the back.”
Her phone buzzes in her pocket and she reads a text message.
“The rumors are spreading,” she says, showing me.
Julie
ALL HAIL THE PUMPKIN KING AND QUEEN!
Below it is the photo someone snapped of us making out on the park bench.
Autumn sighs. “By nightfall, we’ll be the talk of the town.”
“Great. Looks like our fake dating plan is in full effect.” I grab her hand, gently pulling her back, spinning her toward me. Those walls that she’s let fall are back in place. “What’s going on? Tell me.”
“This is happening fast.”
She’s right. I met her the first day of September and I already can’t imagine a life without her in it.
“We can explain we’re just friends,” I offer. “No lies.”
“After that photo was posted in the town group, no one will believe it, especially not my parents. I haven’t dated anyone since Sebastian. I’m never caught kissing someone in public.” She meets my eyes. “They’ll think you’re my forever person.”
“I am.” I chuckle and she playfully slaps me. I pull the four-leaf clover from my pocket. “I’ve got this. We’ll be fine.”
She glances at it and slowly smiles. “I bet you think this is a really stupid way to spend your birthday.”
“There is nowhere else I’d rather be,” I admit, glancing down at the picture of us on the phone. It was just us, and I replay the moment like a hazy dream.
She grabs my hand, pulling me from my thoughts, and leads me off the porch and around the house. In the backyard is a freestanding garage with the door open. Music drifts out of it as her parents dance and laugh.
I smile, seeing how in love they are, knowing this is the standard that Autumn stacks her relationships against.
“Mom, Dad,” she says, crossing the grass as I match her stride.
They turn toward us, surprised, as they glance between us.
As soon as we’re close I hand the bouquet to her mother. I required one stop in town before we drove over.
“My favorite,” she says, smelling them. “Very thoughtful. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“This is myboyfriend, Zane. He typically goes by Alexander,” she says confidently. Hearing her call me that, like I belong to her, does something to me. By her tone, it sounds like she means it.
I thought she’d at least introduce us as friends. Their smiles widen as they glance between us.
“Nice to meet you, Alexander,” her father says, and I catch the hint of a Southern accent. His handlebar mustache is intimidating, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he rides a Harley around town during the summer months. As I take a step closer to shake his hand, I see the bike I imagined he’d ride. It has slick black paint, fat tires, and leather saddlebags on the back. It’s the trophy in the room, surrounded by his neon signs. An outdoor pool table takes up the other half of the garage, along with a dartboard.
His grip is tight, his hands rough, and he oozes confidence. “I’m Daniel, but my buddies call me Danny. And this is my wife.”
“Diane,” she says in a friendly tone.
“It’s an honor to meet you both,” I say. “Truly.”
