The Edge of Autumn

by Rachel Auld

  “Travis,” she gasped.

  “Hmm?” I responded without pausing.

  Sara rose with the lithe, graceful power of a cat, shoving at my shoulder until I was on my back again. She pinned my wrists on either side of my head and glared down at me.

  I blinked up at her, arranging my features in the very image of innocence. “What?” I asked sweetly.

  She shook her head in exasperation but couldn’t hide a smile. “I don’t think I can stand much more of that,” she said, her voice slightly hoarse.

  To be perfectly frank, I didn’t think I could have withstood much more either, but hearing her admit to my effect on her was immensely satisfying. I didn’t argue, just gave her a roguish grin that earned me a poke to the ribs as she sat up beside me. The floor was as uncomfortable as ever, but I had a breathtaking view of the slender curve of her spine and the graceful line of her neck as she fixed her ponytail with that swift dexterity teenage girls all seem to possess.

  She glanced over her shoulder at me and rolled her eyes at my appreciative expression. “C’mon soldier, up you get,” she instructed, rising to her feet and tugging me along with her. I groaned dramatically, standing only for a moment before collapsing onto the sturdiest of the bean bag chairs. Sara put her hands on her hips and shook her head again. “You are incorrigible,” she scolded.

  “You used that word once before,” I mused, beckoning her with a finger before patting my lap. “I do not think it means what you think it means.”

  She burst into laughter. “Don’t you dare quote eighties movies at me, buster!” she said, sinking gracefully onto my lap. I wrapped my arms securely around her, soaking up the moment. Her head tipped back so she could gaze up at me. “Besides, I know exactly what it means,” she huffed softly, then grinned. “But I’ll tolerate it, since your flaws are alarmingly few.”

  Boy, did I like the sound of that, though I tried to hide my smugness. “Oh? And what other flaws do I have?” I inquired politely.

  “Your taste in girls is abysmal,” she retorted, but laughingly conceded when I buried my face against her neck again. “Okay, okay, let me think,” she said, holding up her fingers as she ticked off points. “You’re unfairly good-looking, well-mannered, clever, have good taste in music, you’re a pretty good dancer and a damn good kisser. I can’t think of a freaking thing to criticize!”

  I basked in that for a few golden moments. There were not many things I felt truly successful at in life—adequate, sure, but certainly nothing that required a shocking amount of talent—but by George, if being Sara’s boyfriend was one of them, I would accept it with pleasure.

  She raised a brow as though well aware of my thoughts. “Don’t get a big head about it,” she warned, “or I’ll definitely have something to add to the flaw list, bucko.”

  I kissed her temple and grinned broadly. “Duly noted, ma’am,” I replied smartly.

  Afternoon faded into evening, but we were blissfully unaware until Sara’s phone chirped from her pocket. She managed to pry it out and glanced at it, sighing as she leaned her head against my chest. “My mom’s finally home, wondering my ETA.”

  I sighed as well, tipping my head back against the wall to gaze up at the color-streaked ceiling. “I’ll get you home whenever you need to be, sweetheart,” I said, understanding all too well the inner battle she was experiencing. This rainbowed haze made it feel like time had stopped around us, like this rose-tinted moment could last forever. However, Sara—more than any ordinary teenager—couldn’t bear the thought of causing her mother unnecessary worry. They’d lost one member of their tiny clan already; it wasn’t fair to let her think for even a second that another was at risk.

  Sara fired off a response to her mom and tossed the phone away, burrowing against me. “I told her an hour,” she mumbled. “It’s almost nine already.”

  I stroked my fingers over her hair. “Not a problem, boss,” I replied lightly.

  She peeked up at me, her eyes startlingly blue under a streak of turquoise light from the lampshade. “Are we still on for tomorrow?” she asked.

  Ah, sweet Sunday. Ever since she’d crafted an itinerary of Apple Festival weekend, I’d looked forward to Sunday. After two days of social engagements, tomorrow was finally ours to enjoy. Her mom was volunteering at the remaining Festival activities—the presentation of parade and baking awards, among a host of things that were of little interest to the younger generations of Oakville—but had offered to leave brunch for us at Sara’s house. At first, I had wondered why she was so willing to leave us alone in the house all day, but I knew she trusted Sara implicitly and thought she probably considered it safer to have us at a location where she might pop in at any moment. I presented my thoughts to Sara, who laughed and agreed.

  We stayed snuggled up on that damn lumpy bean bag for another forty-five minutes before slowly rising to our feet, turning off the beautiful stained glass lamp, and heading back to the car. I drove slowly, blaming the dark, the wind, the leaves dancing across the streets—everything but my own reluctance to leave her side.

  The lights were on inside the house, but I walked her to the door and accepted the sweet, chaste kiss she offered without asking more. I winked in the porchlight and kissed her knuckles before bidding her a goodnight and heading home.

  Tomorrow was a new day.

  CHAPTER 25: Sunday

  I slept like a rock that night, slipping from one beautifully hazy dream of Sara to the next. When I awoke Sunday morning, I was surprised to see gloomy gray outside my window instead of the rainbows that had gilded my dreams. I didn’t envy the festival clean-up crews; upon closer inspection, I could see a slow, steady drizzle had begun.

  A glance at the clock said I had plenty of time to loaf around before heading over to Sara’s house, so I laced my hands behind my head and closed my eyes again. Replaying the events of yesterday evening was infinitely more satisfying than even the best of my dreams from that night. I tried to conjure up the memory of her scent, something like spring rain or the sun after a storm, as though she were part nymph or dryad. Burying my face in the hollow between her neck and shoulder was like inhaling some potent drug, and even the recollection of it filled me with warmth. Was it possible to be addicted to another person? I wondered. Or was I becoming some lame, codependent cling-on boyfriend who would drive her crazy?

  That line of thinking cut through my buzz like an axe and I forced myself to study the painful pondering rather than push it aside. Sara hadn’t shown any sign of annoyance with me thus far, but how could I be sure? I was no expert in the dating arena, though I felt reasonably sure that I was no slouch at reading people.

  After chewing on the troubling concern for another few minutes, I finally told myself to get it together and cast the thought away. Sara needs a rock, I told myself firmly, not some insecure idiot. I was beginning to think more and more that I was falling helplessly in love with her—scratch that, that I had already fallen helplessly in love with her. I wouldn’t let my own niggling doubts destroy my ability to think straight.

  To soothe my ego after such uncomfortable musings, I remembered all the ways we had fit together so perfectly over the past two days: dancing, laughing, kissing, cuddling. I hadn’t ever really had a defined stance on the concept of soulmates, though I certainly considered my parents made for each other, but the more time I spent with Sara, the more convinced I was that it was an actual phenomenon. The only remaining question was whether Sara believed it as well.

  I glanced at the clock again and hauled myself out of bed to shower. I was torn between imagining how the day might play out and forcing myself not to travel down that dangerous path. With this rain, it was entirely possible Mrs. Matthews would be popping in and out all day long. No use torturing myself with those mental images. I sucked in a deep breathe and let it out slowly, trying to exorcise the haunting pictures in my head. The memory of Sara’s kiss was more than enough to set my blood pulsing.

  I pulled on a pair of j
eans and a hoodie, made a face at my reflection in the mirror, and headed downstairs. My mom was curled up on the couch with a sketchpad and coffee, but set both aside to study me more intently than I was comfortable with.

  “Morning,” I said lightly, trying not to squirm under her scrutiny.

  “Good morning, honey,” she replied, seeming distracted. “Is everything okay?”

  My eyebrows shot up. “Yes, of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”

  Her dark eyes surveyed me from head to toe. “You look different today,” she said. “Older. I can’t believe you’ll be eighteen in another week. It seems like just yesterday you were a baby in my arms.” Her expression grew misty with reminiscence. “Have you thought about what you’d like for your birthday?”

  I hadn’t. “You don’t need to get me anything,” I told her. “You and Dad do more than enough for me all year. Did you guys have fun at the Festival?

  She smiled, the mist evaporating into a dazzling smile. “Oh yes, this town is just precious. I saw you taking pictures at the parade, did you get any good shots?”

  I nodded, deciding there was no time like the present to make good on my promise to Sara. “Yeah, actually. I’m putting together a portfolio, I’d like to show you and Dad when it’s done.”

  Her whole demeanor changed, the excitement glowing in her face like a lamp. “Oh sweetheart, I can’t wait to see it! I was wondering when you’d realize your own talent.” The knowing look in her eyes had me wondering just how transparent I really was. “Let me guess,” she ventured, “Sara encouraged you to take it seriously?”

  I laughed and shook my head in defeat. “What can I say, you ladies are indispensable.” I wanted to say more about Sara but hesitated.

  It didn’t matter; my mom clearly understood. She patted the couch beside her and I sat. “You two have gotten pretty close,” she said gently. “You’re both so young still, Travis, but sometimes lightning just strikes and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

  I leaned my head against the back of the couch. “It feels like that,” I said. “Like I’ve known her forever.” I didn’t want to wax sentimental; I was due at Sara’s house in just under half an hour. “She’s really special, Mom.”

  She nodded, my quirky, all-knowing mother. “I can see that. I hope you two are . . . treating each other well,” she said, suddenly sounding very prim and circumspect.

  My face blazed with heat as her meaning dawned on me. “Oh my God,” I groaned, “is this the conversation we’re having?”

  She laughed, unruffled. “I am your mother, Travis.”

  I rubbed my hands over my face, trying to wipe away the embarrassment along with the blush still searing my cheeks. My mind stumbled over an appropriate response. For a terrifying moment, I wondered whether she was asking if we were using condoms or if she wanted to make sure I was pleasuring my girlfriend properly. “We’re not, uh, there yet,” I said lamely, wishing the floor would open up under my feet. I had been through several safe sex talks already but they had always been vague and mundane; now that I could quite vividly picture Sara as the subject of such a conversation, it felt too intimate to be discussed so nonchalantly.

  My mother, bless her heart, reach over to pat my leg. “Oh, Travis,” she laughed. “Well, I trust that you know the drill when the time comes. No need to rush things.”

  I mumbled a response, kissed her cheek, and bolted from the house. Halfway to Sara’s, I pulled over to the side of the road and banged my head lightly against the steering wheel, hoping to clear my jumbled thoughts. Sara would see straight through me, I was sure. My face still felt hot, but a glance in the rearview mirror told me my cheeks were back to normal color. I rubbed my forehead where it had bumped against the steering wheel, gave myself a swift mental kick, and drove the rest of the way to Sara’s house.

  Mrs. Matthews' car was gone when I pulled into the driveway. I closed my eyes and took several deep, calming breaths before heading up to the front door. Sara was just coming down the stairs and smiled brightly as she opened the door. She wore a faded black Beatles tee with ripped jeans, but somehow managed to look just as mouthwatering as she had Friday night at the dance.

  “Hey, stranger,” she said. Her face lifted for a kiss but she froze before our lips made contact, concern darkening her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

  I laughed, the tension inside me breaking. “Nothing, I swear. My mom just caught me off guard as I was leaving the house,” I explained, fervently hoping the blush would stay away. “You know . . . mom stuff.”

  She lifted a brow. “Mom stuff like ‘there’s clean underwear in the laundry basket’ or mom stuff like ‘the birds and the bees’ kind of thing?” she asked, sounding genuinely curious and not at all as humiliated as I felt.

  “The latter, but worse,” I mumbled.

  “Worse?” she asked, interest piqued. “Worse how? Like she wanted details?”

  If I’d had any hope that a passionate liplock would distract her from this conversation, I would have pulled her into my arms right that instant, but I knew Sara too well. “Like I’m pretty sure she was just making sure you were enjoying the birds and the bees as much as I was,” I said in a rush. “I mean, if we were . . .” I trailed off, face aflame once more.

  Sara blinked at me in disbelief. “Your mom wanted to make sure you were . . . oh. Wow.” She fell silent, chewing on that. I hadn’t seen Sara struck speechless before, but I couldn’t bring myself to enjoy the experience as much as I otherwise might have.

  I gave a feeble nod. “I mean, maybe she really was asking if we were being nice to each other, but it sure sounded like mutual satisfaction was her main concern,” I replied.

  The term “mutual satisfaction” did us both in. Sara doubled over in a helpless fit of giggles, grabbing onto my arm for support as I burst out laughing. She succeeded only in toppling the two of us onto the small—and blissfully carpeted—landing at the bottom of the stairs. We stayed there for several minutes, laughing until we were both gasping for breath and red with exertion. At least the blush was thoroughly camouflaged, I told myself, finally able to sneak in the kiss that had been interrupted upon my arrival. Sara smiled against my mouth, tangling her arms around my neck as she kissed me back. I had to admit that the embarrassment was well worth it, given the end result. I’d have suffered through far worse just to get Sara into my arms like this.

  When we pulled apart, Sara was still alight with amusement. Her eyes danced with mischief. “So what did you tell her?” she asked, grinning.

  I groaned. “I didn’t tell her anything!”

  She batted her lashes at me. “Oh, come on, you could have asked her for advice, Travis! What a perfect moment to find out how to please a woman—”

  I kissed her again, just to shut her up. Her humor lent a difference tenor to this kiss; instead of tender or even passionate, this kiss was lively, bursting with energy. Instead of burning with emotion, it bubbled like champagne at New Year’s, sparkled like fireworks against the night sky. I didn’t want it to end.

  When she finally pulled back, she was still smiling. I eyed her suspiciously, but she only laughed and took my hand, tugging me along behind her to the kitchen. The table was laid out with more food than the two of us would consume in a day—a plate piled high with French toast, an array of fruits, a tofu scramble that looked and smelled far more inventive than my own, several varieties of muffins, and a basket of croissants. A pretty ceramic jug of orange juice and two glasses completed the spread.

  “So my mom is offering sex advice and yours is trying to fatten me up until I can barely walk, never mind put the moves on you,” I observed.

  That sent her into another fit of giggles. I huffed, but she only planted a swift kiss on my cheek and handed me a plate. “Well, let’s see which succeeds, shall we?” she teased.

  My brain told me that was not an invitation, but my blood heated nonetheless. I tried to calm it by heaping my plate with as much as I could fit. The day was too chi
lly to sit outside, so we perched on the stools tucked underneath the kitchen counter. Sara’s plate was nearly as full as mine.

  We ate in companionable silence; I was beginning to think her love of food nearly equalled my own and that it was one of her most attractive traits. She caught me eyeing her with appreciation and raised her eyebrows, mumbling around a mouthful of croissant, “What?”

  “You are unbearably gorgeous,” I said, thinking she might not be flattered by our mutual gluttony.

  As usual, she saw right through me and scoffed. “You are a terrible liar,” she said, taking a sip of juice. She eyed me critically. “Unfortunately, I don’t think I can add that to the flaws list, since it’s probably a good thing.”

  I grinned. “No one but you can read me so easily,” I replied. After a beat, I was forced to add, “And my mom.” That had her laughing again and I could tell from her color in her cheeks that she was reflecting on the awkward conversation I’d had to endure. Maybe there was some benefit to that torture after all, I thought as I admired the way the soft pink highlighted the curve of her cheekbones.

  I was almost ready to admit defeat on my carb-loading when Sara nudged me with her elbow. “Your birthday is coming,” she said, “but I’m not sure what to get you.”

  I bit back every naughty comment that flew to mind, but not before she read at least half of them on my face. Her blush deepened but she laughed. “Oh, Travis,” she said, shaking her head. “I thought my inability to hide my thoughts was bad, but you . . . you have it worse!”

  “There are benefits to not having to speak such things aloud,” I replied primly.

  That made her laugh harder. “Oh, are there?” she replied, eyes alight with amusement. “I’m afraid my mind-reading skills aren’t quite as specific as you might consider useful.”

  I waggled my eyebrows at her. “Hey, I’m open to a liberal dose of imagination.”

  Her expression underwent a subtle change from teasing to sultry. I worried my heart might stop then and there. “Imagination, eh?” she mused, tapping her fingers on the counter as though deep in thought. “Are we still talking about birthday gifts?”