Page 13 of Autumn on My Mind

“No, it did,” I say placidly. “Very fishy in there.”

“No way,” he says, shaking his head slowly, but I can see a hint of that smile trying to return to his lips. “You know what I think, Berkeley? I think you’re a liar.”

I can’t help the laugh that escapes me, and with it some of the tension I’ve been carrying dissipates. I feel inexplicably at ease here—probably because Dominic is from Autumn Ridge too, a place that will always be home in my heart. Even my teenage self still buried deep inside is relaxing.

“My name is Reese, not Berkeley,” I say. “R-E-E-S-E. Give it a try.” When his lips continue to twitch, I nudge, “Come on. Let me hear it. Reese.”

“My apologies, Reese,” he says. Amusement sparkles in his eyes—and are those freckles I’m noticing?

They are. He has faint freckles over the bridge of his nose. Why is that attractive?

Bad, bad, bad, a warning voice in my mind chants. This crush was harmless in high school, but you’re in college now.

“Man, it’s good to talk to someone from home,” Dominic says with a sigh. He faces forward and folds his arms once again, slouching and settling comfortably. “There’s nowhere quite like Autumn Ridge.”

“There’s not,” I admit. Then I nod at the massive, sprawling building that contains the food court, the event rooms, and, currently, the back-to-school mixer. The bass is still thumping, a low, pulsing noise that I could probably feel through the stone pavers beneath my feet if I focused enough. “Although I’m not sure the Autumn Ridge High gym is capable of sound like that.”

“So are you here for the mixer?” Dom says, and when I glance over, he’s looking at me once again, only this time his sparkling gaze is roaming over my clothes. “You know it’s in there, don’t you?”

I grimace at this. “I got bored. And hot. And the music was so loud?” Shaking my head, I go on, “Anyway, I’m waiting out here for my roommates.”

What’s he doing here? He doesn’t strike me as the type to attend campus dances.

Although really, what do I know?

“My roommate is the DJ,” he says, answering my unspoken question. “I drove him here with some of his equipment and helped him set up.”

“Already regretting it?”

“I was having a nice nap, actually.”

“You don’t say.”

“Yep. Until someone started smelling me. Sniffing around like a dog.”

I try to suppress my embarrassed smile. “Sorry I woke you. You smell good,” I admit. “Like a woodworking shop. It reminded me of home.”

“Do you go back much?” he says, looking at me curiously. The evening breeze pushes a few strands of hair over his forehead, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

“Not really.” I shrug. “My brother lives there still, but my mom is out here now.”

Dominic nods and crosses one ankle over his knee. “It’s a bit of a drive. Do you miss it?”

How do I answer that? “Yes and no,” I say slowly as I think about it. “It’s more…that I miss what Autumn Ridge used to be, I guess. To me—to my family. Sort of knowing that the past is gone and I can’t return to the way things were, you know?”

Silence falls between us, too long for my comfort. Part of me wants to look at him, to see what his expression is like, but the bigger part of me doesn’t want to know. I force a chuckle. “Sorry,” I say, giving in to the urge to glance at him. “That was⁠—”

“Why do you keep apologizing?” he says with lips crooked into a tiny smile—one that’s much more natural than my own.

But the embarrassment is still rising in my chest. Because what am I doing, saying these things to Dominic Harper? Why are they falling so easily from my lips?

There’s just something…comfortable about him. He’s not scrutinizing me. I can tell he won’t think less of me for anything I say—simply because he won’t think of me at all. He’ll probably forget all about this interaction.

There’s something freeing about that, and I’m tired anyway. “I don’t keep apologizing,” I say, thinking back, my brow furrowing. “Do I?”

“You do,” Dom says, and when I glance over at him again, he’s watching me with faint amusement, his arms still crossed. “I noticed because I’m a reformed over-apologizer myself.” He shakes his head as a stilted laugh falls from his lips, and now a thread of bitterness enters his voice. “Maybe not even so reformed.”

Then he turns to look at the campus around us—the red brick buildings, the neatly kept courtyard, the green lawns. “So tell me, Reese Berkeley,” he says, clearly wanting to change the subject. He shakes off his last words almost physically, rolling his shoulders and shifting his body. “What brought you to the university? What are you studying?”