by Melissa Tagg
“Go up and see the kitties while I do a few chores.” Blake had tried to offer his help. After all, the farmer had spent hours whisking them around the property. It’d been a blast of a day.
And Autumn had been the best part. She’d finally stopped checking her iPhone every few minutes for messages from the inn or rattling off festival to-dos to complete when they returned home. She’d been carefree and, frankly, more alluring than ever. Completely at ease.
Until the mention of cats.
He tried to keep the tease out of his grin. “If you come up here, you’ll make Vern happy. You’ll make me happy. And what’s more, I’ll promise to stop at that used bookstore on the way home.”
If that didn’t cinch it, nothing would. He climbed the rest of the way into the barn’s second level, the musty smell of hay enveloping him.
And sure enough, seconds later, Autumn emerged into the loft, hefting herself over the opening and standing up beside him. “Cats totally creep me out.”
“Kittens are different.” Piles of hay scattered across the loft mostly covered the wood floorboards beneath their feet, tiny squeaks and meows filling the quiet. “Besides, think of the bookstore.”
He sidestepped a hay bale and found three kittens running around the center of the room. He plopped down and a kitten crawled into his lap. “See? Cute.” A second kitten climbed over his leg and clawed up his shirt.
Autumn still stood near the opening, arms crossed. Finally, she dropped her arms and joined him. “The last cat I was around tried to scratch my eyes out. I made the mistake of offering to pet sit for Harry. Pretty sure he got the cat from the fiery pits of you-know-where. If I didn’t hate them before . . .”
She knelt in the hay, and a third kitten grabbed for her shoelace.
“Okay, fine, maybe they’re a little cute.” She lowered to a cross-legged position, and the kitten immediately found its way to her lap. Blake watched her lips spread into a grin, and with the way the sunrays highlighted her profile . . .
Dude, a photographer could have a field day with her.
He gently removed the kitten still trying to make its way up his shirt, then met Autumn’s eyes. Sooo pretty.
She blinked, cleared her throat, discomfort at once endearing and amusing, just like everything about her.
“Let’s name them,” she blurted.
“They’re barn cats. Not pets.”
She practically cooed as she lifted the kitten from her lap, holding it in front of her face. “Even barn cats deserve names.”
“Wow, you melted fast. From ‘I hate cats’ to deeming them name worthy.”
“I have my persuadable moments.” She was still peering at the cat as she spoke, and he could almost hear the wheels turning in her mind, searching for the perfect name.
But all he could think, could wonder, really, was if that was true—about being persuadable—then maybe all he had to do was wait for the right moment . . .
To tell her what? That sometime in the past two weeks, she’d stopped being a last name to him? That he’d started thinking of her less as a co-event-coordinator and more as a friend?
Just a friend?
“This one is Lucy.”
He coughed, causing the kitten in his lap to scurry toward Autumn instead. “After Betsy’s sister? Wait, did you leave her alone today with your mom and sister?”
“You make it sound like a terrifying prospect.”
Well . . .
“And no, she’s been spending mornings at the inn helping Betsy. Besides, I was actually thinking of the Pevensies in the Narnia books. Lucy.” She pointed to a black kitten. “And that one is Peter and the one with the white paws is Edmund.”
“I thought there was a fourth kid?”
“Susan. But she didn’t make it back to Narnia in The Last Battle. So I don’t feel bad leaving her out.”
“Obviously I will never catch up to you on reading.”
She lowered her kitten. “Did you know people have actually debated the fate of Susan through the years? Oh, and here’s a strange bit of trivia—there was a comic book a few years ago that had Susan Pevensie sharing an apartment with Alice from Alice in Wonderland, Dorothy from Wizard of Oz, and Wendy from Peter Pan.”
“You’ve got a library in that head of yours, Red.” Dust caught in his throat, and he sneezed.
Her “bless you” blended with her laughter, and he sneezed a second time as she asked, “Hey, what do you think that rope is for?”
He followed her pointed finger to the long, thick coil with a series of knots at the frayed bottom. “Have you never hung out on a farm? It’s for swinging, of course.”
“Swinging?”
“Yeah. I’ll show you.” He climbed up on a high pile of hay bales. “Toss me the rope, will ya?”
She stood and swung the rope his direction. He caught it and gripped it tight, feet planted on the grouping of knots. “Here I go.” He took a running jump off the bales and swung across the loft. “Woo-hoo!” He let go and landed in a heap of loose hay.
Autumn laughed as he stood and dusted himself off. He grabbed ahold of the rope and approached her.
“You Tarzan, me Jane,” she said.
He held the rope out. “Your turn.”
“Uh, no thanks. Don’t want to get my clothes dirty.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Woman, you’re wearing jeans and a stained shirt.”
“Hey, that pulled pork Susie served at lunch was messy stuff.”
“Take the rope, Jane.”
She jerked it from him and climbed onto the same pile he’d jumped from. “Fine. But if I crash into the wall or land on a kitten and kill it, I’ll blame you.”
He gathered all three kittens into his arms. “The animals are safe. Go for it.”
She squealed as she flew through the air and dropped, pieces of straw splashing up around her. She popped up. “That was fun.”
“See, I told ya.” A kitten batted at his ear. He leaned forward to let them scramble away. When he came back up, Autumn stood in front of him.
“You know what’s amazing to me?”
She smelled like hay and some kind of fruity shampoo, and something close to wonder dangled in her voice. “What?”
“The same person who has traveled all over the world, bungee-jumped and parasailed and flew planes . . . ” She faltered, but only for a moment. “That same person seems to get just as much of a thrill from playing with kittens and swinging on a rope in a barn loft. Or boarding on a sand dune.”
He pulled a piece of hay from her hair. “Well, sometimes the adventure isn’t in where you are but who you’re with.” He heard the huskiness in his own tone. Felt the words he wanted to say play through him. Just tell her.
You’ve been the best part of coming home.
When I’m with you, my black eye and reputation don’t even bother me.
My favorite time of every day is hanging out at the inn.
But the sentiments couldn’t find their voice under the weight of a dozen why-nots: It’d only been two weeks. Their families didn’t get along. She deserved someone who had made something of himself, not wasted the past six years of his life.
And Ryan and Ava. He couldn’t forget how horribly that ended.
Still. Standing there in the hayloft, he could almost ignore all the warning signs.
“Do you really believe that?” Doubt lingered in Autumn’s question as she faced him.
He forced himself to focus on her question. Believe what? What he’d said about adventure? “Well, yeah. I’m pretty good proof, aren’t I? I have literally been all over the world. And at times, it was great. But there’s something to be said for being able to see the potential adventure in everyday life, in the people around you.”
Did he sound dumb? Was he making any sense at all?
And was there any chance she read between the lines to the truth he was just now latching onto? She was an adventure. Getting to know her excited him more than any continent-hoppi
ng trip or crazy stunt.
A mountain hike or bungee jump might momentarily satiate some thrill-seeking bent in him. But this woman who hated cats and loved books, who could probably argue better than that lawyer ex-fiancé of hers and who loved her old inn more than she even realized . . . she fed a longing he couldn’t have even named earlier, but that he now recognized for what it was.
A longing for connection. Understanding. The kind of soul-deep friendship he’d watched form between Randi Woodruff and Matthew Knox, the reporter she’d fallen for. And despite the mountain range of reasons why Autumn Kingsley was the last woman he should connect with in that same way, he couldn’t deny the desire that made him want to conquer the mountains until he arrived on the other side.
Which is where?
Possibly somewhere miles past “just friends.”
“Autumn.” His voice was raspy but, amazingly, void of the uncertainty he’d been towing around for days. Maybe there are a dozen why-nots. But what if there’s a why that’s bigger than all of them?
What if Autumn was the reason God had brought him home?
“Autumn.” He stepped closer as he repeated her name. Waited for her to step back. And when she didn’t, when her breath hitched and her eyes met his, he leaned his head down.
And then back as another sneeze tickled up the back of his throat.
Autumn jumped at his “Achoo,” bumping into a hay bale behind her and toppling until Blake reached out to catch her. “Don’t sneeze on me,” she squealed, giggles erupting and the potency of the moment fading.
And for a second, disappointment knocked through him.
But only for a second. Because as he righted Autumn and joined in her laughter, suddenly, for the first time in a long time, he knew exactly what he wanted. She was standing right in front of him, ribbons of sunlight winding through her hair and a smile a person couldn’t get tired of.
And there wasn’t any rush. He wasn’t going anywhere.
He sneezed again.
“Blake,” Autumn said through fits of giggles. “I think you’ve got a cold.”
He shook his head, hair dusting over his forehead. “Nope. Allergic to hay. Sorta forgot until now.”
And that’s when she flopped onto a hay bale, her laughter his new favorite sound.
She had to tell him.
Autumn inched off her gloves while still controlling the steering wheel, puffs of air from the heater in Blake’s new-old Jeep warming through her as they traveled toward the beckoning lights of Whisper Shore. She pushed her wind-tousled hair over her shoulder and turned the vehicle onto the road that led into town. The long day, the late hour, didn’t seem to matter under the smile of moonlight.
“You know, I totally could’ve driven.” Blake leaned against the passenger seat’s headrest, eyes closed.
“Those allergy pills said they could cause drowsiness. We’re safer this way.”
“Admit it, you just wanted a chance to drive the Wrangler.”
Somehow the rustic light-brown Jeep completely fit him. Much more than Ryan’s Firebird ever had. Though it still surprised her he’d sold the car. “It does make me feel like MacGyver.”
He opened his eyes. “Just wait ’til summer when we can drive it with the top down.”
She gulped at his we. And there it was again. That annoying inner voice urging her to tell him. But how was she supposed to say it? Actually, Blake, I won’t be here this summer. . . .
For the hundredth time during the drive, she opened her mouth to let it out. But just like every other time, the revelation stalled in her throat.
After a silent moment, she felt Blake’s glance on her, and when she turned, it was to see a grin that oozed satisfaction. “This was a great day.” His eyebrows lifted as if waiting for her agreement.
“A really great day.” Vern and Susie’s heartwarming welcome. All the photos they’d taken for Mrs. Satterly. The books she’d scored at that little bookstore on the way home.
And the haymow. That one intoxicating moment before he’d sneezed.
He was thinking about kissing me.
Maybe more than thinking about it. She’d read it in his eyes and heard the quickening of her own heart. It’s what had started the anxious thoughts nettling inside her in the first place. Just tell him you’re moving.
“Blake, I—” she began, but he said her name at the exact same time.
They laughed and he motioned for her to continue, but she insisted, “No, you go ahead.” Later. I’ll tell him later.
Stars flirted in winks and gleams from a midnight blue sky. “I was just thinking—wondering, I guess. . . . You asked me whether I really believed what I said about adventure and being just as happy here.” He slanted another glance her way. “Why’d you ask that?”
The temptation to brush off the question was so strong, she almost gave in. Sure, she could joke and laugh with Blake as if they’d laughed and joked as friends for years instead of only a couple weeks. But share something this vulnerable?
And yet, something had changed today. Something so poignant it was almost tangible. Or maybe it had started at the snowball fight. Or when he rescued Dylan at the lake. But it continued today with clasped hands and that moment in the barn and . . . and now, as a tentative desire to let him in spread through her.
“My parents were going to divorce. Before my dad died, I mean. And he was going to leave Whisper Shore.”
Leave me. Somehow she knew she didn’t have to say the words for him to hear them. “Oh, Red.”
She turned onto Mom’s street. “Mom doesn’t know I know. I overheard them arguing about it one day. After that, I kept waiting for them to sit Ava and me down, tell us the bad news. But a couple weeks went by. And then Dad . . . the aneurysm.”
She blinked in rapid succession, grip tightening over the steering wheel. Telling Blake was one thing. But, please, no tears. Not after a day like today. Not when she wanted to hold on to that feeling of abandon for as long as possible.
“I’m sorry.” Blake reached for her free right hand. “I didn’t realize . . . I wish I knew what to say.”
She blinked again. Swallowed. “It’s okay. Really. It’s just, I think about it, a lot. Dad wasn’t happy here. Even as a kid, I picked up on his wistfulness. As if he felt he was missing out on something.” She let go of his hand so she could turn the wheel. “I guess that’s why I asked you what I did.” She pulled up in front of Mom’s house, only a couple lights shining from its windows.
“So you’ve just pretended all these years you didn’t know they planned to split up?”
“Didn’t see what good it’d do to talk about it. I mean if Mom had wanted to . . .” Her voice drifted. “I suppose that’s part of why Mom and I struggle sometimes. I think if I’m honest, there’s a piece of me that’s always been annoyed that she wasn’t truthful with me. And what’s more, from what I overheard, she wasn’t going to fight him on the divorce. I wish she would’ve. I wanted to hear her ask Dad to stay. She seemed more concerned about what was going to happen to the inn than our family.”
The truth spilled from her now, more than she meant to share. More than she’d said even to Ellie.
And Blake—kind, surprising Blake—just reclaimed her hand and squeezed it. Listened. He was so good at that. In just a couple weeks’ time, he’d found a way to lead her into vulnerable places she’d avoided for years. And somehow, the mental journey wasn’t as emotionally taxing with him at her side.
After a moment’s quiet, Blake cleared his throat. “So you’re going to trust me to drive my Jeep home all by myself?”
She gasped. “Oh, I wasn’t even thinking. I’ll drive you—”
“Red, I’m completely and totally coherent. And I haven’t sneezed in fifteen minutes. Pretty sure I can make the drive.” At that, he let himself out of the car. He’d rounded to her side and opened her door before she finished gathering her purse and bag full of books. After she slipped out, he closed her door and reached for her b
ag.
A motion-sensor light clicked on as their footsteps creaked over the steps leading up to the porch. Autumn huddled into the collar of her coat. “Well, I’d better get inside.” She nudged her head toward the door. “Mom and Ava . . .”
“Wouldn’t be happy to see me,” he finished for her. “Hey, Red . . . ?”
“Yeah?” Her voice was breathy and uncertain.
“Thanks for telling me. About your mom and dad, I mean.”
She should be the one thanking him. For inviting her along on his quest. For an entire day free of worry about the inn. For somehow knowing there was a story behind her questions in the barn—and giving her the space to tell it. “Thanks for listening.”
“And just to reiterate, I meant what I said—that adventure is more about who you’re with than where you are. I wish your dad could’ve grasped that.”
He took one step toward her, closing what little space remained between them, bag of books still dangling from his arm. And as he hooked one thumb in the pocket of her coat, she could feel her heartbeat picking up, beating in sync with the tapping of a branch hitting the roof.
And the voice in her head amped to a command. Tell him.
“Um, you know earlier today,” Blake spoke again, his breath mingling with her own. “In the barn—”
“Blake, I’m moving.”
At her blurted words, his head snapped up. “What?”
No, no, that wasn’t the right way.
“Back to your place?” The yellow of the porch light spotlighted his wrinkled brow.
“Actually . . . to Paris.”
She could practically hear the bricks of confusion thudding one after another in him. Oh, why had she told him like this?
“Paris.” Blake sputtered the word, voice caught in the wind.
Cold wrangled through her, chiding her lack of tact. And her timing, which, oh, had never been so off. Not just her timing in telling Blake about her move. But in . . . everything, this whole friendship.
“Paris?” He said it again, more oomph in his voice this time, and maybe even a twinge of aggravation. “As in Paris, France?” His unshaven jaw twitched.
“Do you know of any other Paris?” She attempted a smile, grasping for their usual banter, but if her face looked anything like her thoughts, the grin came out twisted, her comment gargled. “Okay, I know there’s a Paris, Michigan. And then there’s Epcot . . .”
