Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

Autumn

H is hot breath is on my neck and a chill rushes down my spine. I’m sure I’m imagining things. This man has to be in my head, scanning through my thoughts. It’s the only explanation.

“How did you know?” I ask as he pulls away from me. I’m dreaming, right? However, I can clearly see Zane’s beautiful face and bright blue eyes. Lately, it’s been the only way I can tell the difference between the dream world and reality.

“Because I felt it,” he admits.

Butterflies flood me. “I said the same thing to Julie.”

“That it was magic?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

Our eyes lock as the world freezes, and I fight the intense urge to kiss him again.

“Fuck,” he hisses, and his hand is on my cheek as my fingers slide against the softness of his neck. Then I inch forward, closing the space, making the first move.

I don’t care, I can’t deny it, not when everything urges me to do it.

I don’t care if he’s a stranger, we’ll get to know one another.

I don’t care about anything, only him, only right now.

Our tongues slowly swipe together as the nuclear meltdown happens inside of me. My head spins and my body begs for more, for all of him. I may have started it, but I don't want him to stop as I moan. His hand fists through my hair, gently tugging, and a low grumble releases from his throat as we grow desperate.

“Autumn,” he whispers against my mouth between breathless, greedy kisses.

“I'm sorry,” I say, gaining control as he pulls us back down to reality. I cover my swollen lips with my fingertips, trying to clear my clouded thoughts.

“Don’t apologize. Unless you regret it.”

“I don't,” I mutter. “It was confirmation.”

“For?”

“Just confirming I wasn’t imagining things.”

The silence draws on.

“I'm not sure what's going on with us,” he admits. It's a confirmation.

“Me either.” Butterflies swarm inside me, then I think about kissing him again, and he tilts his head and laughs.

We're undeniably explosive and every part of me is red hot with want and need.

“You’re eye fucking me.”

“And I've explained why,” I say. “I can’t help it.”

“And now you're thinking very inappropriate thoughts,” he adds.

“Get out of my head.”

The conversation is easy and fun.

“Make me,” he teases.

“Just avoid door number three. That’s where the naughty thoughts are kept.”

“About Mr. Dreamy?”

I burst into laughter, watching the crowd enter the festival. “I almost regret telling you.”

“You wanted me to know, Pumpkin,” he states, shooting me a wink, and then he grows serious. “Meeting you has already been my greatest pleasure.”

I smile, feeling the same, but also shocked that he’s the man who said my coffee tastes like shit. “It’s been a long time since I’ve allowed anyone new into my life.”

“You allowed nothing. You trespassed my personal space, so I fairly did the same to your boundaries,” he says, rolling his sleeves up to his muscular forearms.

My body is on fire, too, but I’m relaxed.

The line to enter the pumpkin patch still snakes to the street, but we’re in no hurry to join it. Once it calms down, we'll go in, too.

“I could’ve said no,” I state.

“No wasn’t an option. I'd have haunted you in your dreams.”

I scoff. “You play dirty.”

“Nah, just have an advantage. Thanks, Mr. Dreamy.” He laughs, focusing on the crunchy leaves tumbling across the sidewalk.

The sizable crowd of people slightly dissipates. “I’ve decided to go to my father’s wedding as long as you’re joining me.”

I grin. “Oh, I got approval earlier today to use some of my vacation days.”

His face breaks into a wide smile. “Great. Maybe once I show everyone I'm fine, I’ll finally get closure and the lies about me will no longer be perpetuated.”

“What lies?” I want to know exactly what I'm walking into so I can be prepared. “As your girlfriend and future fiancée, I deserve to know.”

“Future wife,” he tells me with a smirk, then continues. “Everyone believes I'm an obsessive weird fuck who stalks Celine and that I'll never move on after she cheated with my now ex-best friend.” He rolls his eyes.

“Is there truth to it?” I ask.

His brows furrow. “I've avoided them both since she broke up with me. I've ghosted the world.”

“Hey, it was a valid question because I want to understand. I'd help my friends bury a body if they needed me to, okay?” Then I realize what he said. “Wait, you caught her cheating and didn't end it? She did?”

His jaw clenches tight. “My weakness is my heart.”

My assumptions about him were wrong, and I twist to face him.

“What?” he asks, glancing back at the little boy catching a pumpkin frisbee.

“I think your heart is your greatest strength,” I say.

Time freezes for a few seconds as the cool wind blows through my hair. If I don't walk away right now, my lips will be pressed against his again.

I stand and hold out my hand, hoping he’ll take it. He does.

“Let’s get through this stranger phase as fast as fucking possible,” he mutters, interlocking his fingers with mine as we move toward the crowd waiting to enter the pumpkin patch.

“I agree.” I want to know everything about him and his past.

Ten minutes later, we find the end of the line and wait.

“So what's our plan?” I ask, glancing over at the side by side towing a trailer with four bales on it. It’s the first year I’ve spotted the miniature hayride.

“We’re carving pumpkins for the porch of my haunted house.”

His words make me laugh. “I'm down for that.”

I grin and swing his hand in mine as we move forward. When we're almost to the gigantic arch constructed of hand-carved pumpkins painted by local artists. Spooky music floats through the sound system.

A smile touches my lips as I turn to him. “Visiting the patch on the first weekend is one of my traditions,” I explain. “But there is one caveat.”

“Yes?”

“Selfies by the entrance.” I pull my phone from my pocket and guide him over to my favorite section on the archway. He ducks down behind me and I hold the camera, glancing at him on the screen. “Ready?”

He’s a good sport and changes his expression from smirks, to smiles, to funny faces.

“Oh, I'll help you kids out,” an older woman says. I don't have the heart to tell her no, so I let her.

Zane stands next to me, wrapping his arm around me, and I move close to hold his waist.

“Look at you cuties,” she says, taking several photos of us. A minute later, she hands my device back.

I swipe through the images as Zane looks over my shoulder.

“Wow,” I whisper, realizing we look like a couple. I tuck my lips inside of my mouth, losing my ability to speak, not able to ignore how goddamn gorgeous he is with his messy dark hair, bright blue eyes, and high cheekbones. He really is the man of my dreams.

“We should pick out our pumpkins before the good ones are gone,” I say, shoving my phone in my back pocket.

He turns to me. “I’ve already picked my pumpkin.”

“You better stop with that,” I playfully warn.

“Just practicing,” he says with a wink.

We enter the main path, our eyes scanning over the varying sizes strategically stacked at different heights. They range from tiny ones that would fit into my palm to some so large it would take a few people to carry them. The colors span from white to light orange to dark. His wrist rests on my shoulder and I keep my finger looped into his belt loop as electricity floats through the air.

As we pass groups of people, I notice how they’re drawn to Zane. All six foot two of him.

“Do people always stare at you?” I ask.

“Yes,” he breathes. “Since I was a child.”

I breathe in. “I really should Google you.”

“I’ll tell you anything you want to know. The truth, even if it makes me look shitty,” he admits, removing his arm from me. He walks toward a tall pumpkin with a curled stem and knocks on the side of it.

“It has character and would be perfect for carving,” I tell him, then walk farther into the patch and stop when I find the one. It’s round, the size of a basketball.

I bend over and lift it up for him to see. “I found mine too!”

He picks up his and we meet up on the dimly lit walkway.

“I’m a champion carver,” I warn.

“How do you know I’m not?”

“Guess I’ll be the judge of that,” I say, and he grabs my pumpkin in his arm and somehow manages to carry them both. We move down the path toward the orange and black booths where we pay. No gourd leaves without a ghost sticker.

“Wait, I need a picture,” I tell him, quickly snapping one.

A smirk plays on his lips and a silent conversation streams between us.

Fuck, I hope I don’t fall in love with this man.

It would complicate our lives.

But then again, I thrive in chaos.