“Maybe. But your hair is already washed and perfect. You have no more excuses. And look at him.” He pointed down at the kitten. “The little guy is so tired after that appointment, he’ll be curled up in your bed and conked out long before you get home.”
Cali crossed her arms and nervously fiddled with the button at the top of her polka dot cardigan. “What did you have in mind?” she asked.
He shoved his hands in his pockets, suddenly appearing nervous. “I wondered if you wanted to hit up the Fall Festival. I’ve never been. But if I just get back in my truck and go hang out with Catsby, I’ll miss my chance.”
Had he spoken to Leo? How did he know the Fall Festival was her catnip? Had Minka let that slip one morning?
It sounded casual. But the look on his face didn’t seem casual at all. Ethan Cross was standing in her doorway. Not a parking lot. Not at the library. And he was trying his damnedest not to seem too hopeful as he waited for her answer. She was dangerously close to admitting Russell might’ve been right about Ethan’s intentions.
She sighed. “Give me ten minutes to freshen up. You wait in the truck, not in here.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, saluting her as he walked back over to his truck.
She closed the door and leaned her forehead against it. Ten minutes. That was barely enough time to freshen her lipstick, let alone learn how to play with fire.
Chapter 9
If one thing was clear, it was that Ethan’s truck was a mess. He’d cleared just enough space on the passenger side for a cat carrier—or possibly Cali—to fit, while the floor was littered with grease-smeared rags, crumpled receipts, and more of those damn tape measures.
He was still scrambling to make it presentable when the ten minutes were up. “Hadn’t really thought this part through,” he insisted. “It’s been a long time since I had a guest in here.” He swept the last of the clutter into a cardboard box and slid it into the truck bed. “There,” he said with a grin. “Should be good now.”
When Cali climbed in, she noticed the seat stretched in one continuous sweep of gray cloth from door to door—a bench seat, probably refurbished but softened with time. The kind that ran clear across, smooth and wide, with nothing between them. No console or cup holders. Though she imagined, since there was no headrest behind the middle, it probably folded down for an armrest.
She folded her mauve skirt beneath her and settled in, the faint smell of motor oil filling the cab. “How old is your truck?” she asked curiously. “Reminds me of one my grandpa used to own. No bucket seats.”
“Yep,” he said. “It’s old. I’ve been eyeing some newer models, but they just don’t make them like these anymore.”
The engine coughed to life, low and familiar. As they pulled out of her driveway, Ethan rolled the windows down, letting the night air tumble through. A hint of woodsmoke drifted from scattered chimneys. Mailboxes leaned at odd angles along the winding road, their numbers fading, pumpkins and cornstalks tied to a few fence posts. Glimpses of the lake behind them flashed like hammered silver through the trees.
“Leo took me fishing out here a few times this summer,” Ethan said. “Feels like you people live inside a dream.”
He wasn’t wrong. Autumn Ridge had always been that for her. First as a child visiting her grandmother, now as the only place she could imagine calling home. She had a house, a job, friends, The Nine, even a cat again. So why was she testing perfection with a man who could be nothing more than a fling and then off to the next construction project? It’s not like she hadn’t had a fling before. She’d had a few. But those came at a time when her heart seemed to bounce back faster than it could these days.
Maybe she didn’t know what she wanted. But when she turned from the window and caught Ethan stealing a glance, the heat prickling over her skin told her one thing: she wanted more of that.
He parked the truck, and the minute Cali opened the door, her ears were filled with the low murmur of townsfolk greeting each other by name. Strings of twinkling lights crisscrossed overhead, and the sweet, buttery aroma of kettle corn found her nose.
They stood at the entrance side-by-side but then started walking in opposite directions.
“Where are you going?” he asked. “The ring toss is this way.”
“To the palm reader, of course,” Cali said.
Their eyes narrowed at each other.
“You’d rather waste money on predictions than let me win you a prize at one of these games?”
“Ha! If you think you can win anything.” She rolled her eyes. “Don’t you know those games are rigged to take your money?”
Ethan smirked. “Okay, Jacobs. Let’s do this fair and square. You humor me with one game, I’ll humor you with one fortune.”
She conceded, and he put a hand around the small of her back and led her in his direction. Whether from fear she’d escape or something else, that hand lingered until they stood in front of Pop-a-Pumpkin, a tall board painted with pumpkins in a pile, orange balloons tethered to the front. The game attendant swung by with enough darts for them both.
“Perfect test of focus and precision,” Ethan said. “Let me show you how it’s done.”
He launched one dart, and it bounced right off one of the balloons, not even breaking the surface. The second dart lodged into the clear blue sky painted on the board’s background. The third one sailed over the top.
He turned with a sheepish smile toward Cali.
