But it’s a fucking lie, because when I go to sleep, those amber eyes haunt my dreams, just like they always have.
The Fall Festival in Ashbourne is a huge event. Folks come from all over the country to check it out, and because I love a good food festival, I figured it would be the perfect place to take Kearstin for our date.
Women love pumpkins and fall shit, and I guess, I sort of love it too. Some of my better memories growing up are of Austen and I going to the festival. Mom and Dad would let us pick our pumpkins and it was a tradition I had hoped I’d carry on one day with my own kids, but I’m pretty sure that’s moot at this point. I guess I could take the girls, and I’m sure Britt would be okay with that, but I also feel like that should be something they do with their mom and dad because it’s special.
“Have you ever been to the Ashbourne Fall Fest before?” I ask as Kearstin buckles into my passenger seat.
She’s cute, with short auburn hair and a smattering of freckles across her nose, with big green eyes framed by thick lashes. I tower over her, at 6’1”, even though she’s about 5’7”. She’s all curves, too. The seatbelt squishes her breasts together, and I have to admit it’s not a bad sight.
“I have not,” she says sweetly, her smile bright and excited.
“Well, you’re in for a fucking treat,” I say with a grin. “Feel free to change the station to whatever you like.”
She smiles, tucking some hair behind her ear. “What kind of music do you like?” she asks as I take off for the festival lot.
“A little bit of everything. I’m not really picky.”
“Do you have a favorite band?” She browses through the stations.
“Not really. If something sounds good, I like it. The only thing I don’t really like is country music, but I’ve been known to likesomesongs.”
“Well, that makes two of us. I’m not a country fan, either.” She settles on a station playing thatEspressosong by Sabrina Carpenter. I love the song, but I’ve heard it a million times since coming home to Ashbourne, and I accidentally ordered an espresso the other day at the coffee shop because it was playing and I didn’t realize it until I got to the car.
“So,” I say awkwardly, focusing on the road. My knee aches, but the ibuprofen is helping a bit today. Though, to be fair, I’ve spent several hours in bed watching dumb rom-coms. I haven’t moved since painting last night, except to get ready for my date.
Thankfully, weekends are busy for my parents. Mom likes to go antiquing and to hit up Estate sales on Saturdays, and Sundays are golf days with my dad and brother. Another reason why I hate coming home.
I can play hockey but I suck at golf, and my dad loves to be an asshole and remind me how bad I suck.
And how good Austen is.
She giggles. “Your mom tells me you’re into sports.”
Into sports? Sports are my fuckinglife.It’s not that I expect people to know who I am, but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t weird when they don’t. I’m recognized often and that’s become my normal.
“Yeah, I play for the Reading Rioters. Defensemen.” I clear my throat. “What do you do?”
My blood heats and I feel on the spot, hoping to find a parking space soon to get out of this stifling car.
“I teach kindergarten,” she says with excitement.
“Oh, that’s cool,” I say awkwardly.
“It has its moments.”
I find a parking spot, shutting off the car, but neither of us make a move. The silence is tense.
“Look, I, uh…” I turn to look at her big eyes and perfect smile. She seems sweet. Too sweet, almost.
But I know that I need to be upfront. If this date is going to happen, I need to be honest with her about who I am and what I’m about. If my mother told her I’m “into sports” I can only imagine she left out the big pieces.
“Before we head to the festival, there are some things you need to know about me. I’ll tell you, and you can decide how it goes. Sound good?”
She unbuckles her seatbelt, a smirk playing at her face. “You’re not a serial killer are you?”
I shake my head.
“Worse,” I say with a grin. “I’m bisexual, and I just got out of a sort-of-serious relationship and my mother is a giant pain in my ass, so—”
