Page 101 of The Autumn We Fell in Love

“What?” Despite my reservations, I find myself waiting breathless.

He leans forward. “That you’re a hell of a woman.”

It’s not the first time I’ve had words like these aimed at me.

But it’s the first time I believe them — and believe the man who uttered them.

I don’t know if it’s the many beers I’ve consumed or the fact that I’m so relieved to find a flesh and blood person who isn’t vilifying me after hearing my story, but my hands find Xander’s face, cradling his cheeks in my palms, both of us staring deep into each other’s eyes like we’re in some chick flick.

And then, before common sense can talk me out of it, I’m kissing him. I’m tentative at first, but when he wraps a strong hand around the back of my neck and pulls me into him our kisses turn hot and hard.

Jed’s words echo in my memory —we shouldn’t stop hoping for happiness. Is this what hope feels like, my insides roiling like the liquid magma of a volcano, cheeks on fire, with eyes only for a man I barely know?

The roar of the ocean fills my ears. No, not the ocean, of the erupting of the volcano. No, that’s not right either.

Pulling away from Xander, I gaze around me dazedly, half surprised to find I’m still in The Bison. The roaring is actually a raucous cheer from the other speed dating participants, led by Hannah who’s dancing at my side.

“We’ve got our first match of the night, folks!” she crows, beaming down at me. She bends down to murmur in my ear, “Who would’ve guessed, huh? You found your boo boy when you weren’t even looking. Love is crazy.”

Crazy . . . that’s exactly how I feel. But not in a negative way. More like in a jumbled, tumbled, turned-upside-down way. Like Xander picked up my whole life, shook it, and now I don’t recognize a damn thing — except for him.

Given how my life’s been going, I’m not mad about it. Not even a little.

I stand, looking down at Xander, feeling like we’re on the precipice of a fantastic adventure. “Want to get out of here?”

His eyebrows raise in surprise. “Uh, sure,” he says after a moment, rising to his feet. “I can drive you to your parents’ place.”

I shake my head. “I don’t want to go there. Not yet. Take me somewhere else.”

Xander rubs the back of his neck. “The Bison’s pretty much the peak of Deadwood nightlife. I’m not sure where else we could go.”

I slip my hand into his, feeling bolder than I have since arriving in New York. “I showed you a piece of my heart. Show me a piece of yours.”

“You sure you’re ready for that?” he asks. “You don’t know me. You don’t know what you’re asking.

“Well,” I lean into him, voice teasing, “we’ve only just met. But the way you listened to me shows that you’ve got a kind heart. Your offer to take me to my parents’ home tells me that I’m safe in your hands. And the way you make me feel . . .” I let my eyes trail over his warm eyes, his strong jaw, the wide expanse of his shoulders, “ . . . that tells me I’ll follow you pretty much anywhere.”

He squeezes my hand. “Then let’s get out of here.”

Xander

Ilead Autumn to my truck. Helping her inside, I throw her suitcase in the back and slide behind the wheel. We take off with a roar, the truck’s motor a calming vibration as my heart skips and races.

She said she wants me to show her my heart, just like she showed me hers. At first, I was dumbfounded.

Then, in a crack of clarity, I knew exactly where to take her.

That’s why right now I’m driving toward the graveyard.

I press the gas harder, the truck speeding us faster toward our destination. I’m excited to show Autumn the cemetery, I realize, that I’m showing it to her not just because of her request but because I want her to see it.

Like maybe, if she sees the graveyard, she’ll see me as I truly am.

I think of Andrew. On the way out of The Bison, I’d swung by and whispered a few words of explanation in his ear. I’d tried to press some cash into his hand for a taxi, but he’d laughed me off.

“Go get the girl,” he’d said to me, low enough that only I could hear. “If she’s anything like Anya, she’ll change your whole damn life for the better overnight.”

I can’t stop thinking about this as we drive. Is Andrew not the golden boy I’d always thought of him as? Maybe he hadn’t skipped out on Deadwood or on our family — maybe he was as lost as I feel. Desperate for direction, he struck out in search of it as best he could.

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