Page 64 of Autumn on My Mind

“We can talk later,” I say with a nod, and I’d be lying if I said I’m not relieved. “It isn’t urgent.”

“Great,” he says, his voice brisk now. He looks over his shoulder again, and following his gaze I find Rosie, who’s shooing him on. “I’m going,” he yells to her. Then he shakes his head and steps past me. “Later, Berkeley. Call me. Or I’ll call you—whatever.”

I hum my agreement and then watch him breeze into the shop, the overhead bell jingling. When the door thumps closed, I take a deep breath and push my hair behind my ears.

There is no need to get so worked up about a man saying he’ll call, I tell my heart. And definitely not this man. Get it together.

A past version of Reese loved a past version of Dominic. Loved him deeply, even when she shouldn’t have. It’s only natural that some of that will spill over. But my responsibility now is to push those feelings out when they try to emerge. So I nod firmly, remind myself that it has been six years and we’re both very different now, and then stride off, heading to Bugelbach’s.

Since Archer Kade owns the stables, he brings horse-pulled hayrides of people to and from Bugelbach’s as part of the Fall Festival activities. I spend most of Monday receiving groups of people and keeping the ferry organized from my end of the circuit.

I also spend significant time eyeing the treats everyone is bringing from the booths over on Main. I spy some of Sadie Stevenson’s sticky buns and a maple bar or two, and it’s around lunch time that I decide to ask Joe for a pocket of time off so I can go grab some for myself.

“Go on,” he says, waving me away with a cheerful smile and adjusting his straw hat. “Go get some food and take a gander at Main. I bet it’s a sight to behold.”

And he’s right. I have to park in the back lot of the hardware store, since Main is closed, but when I emerge around front, my senses come alive with something magical. It’s a feeling born from the gently falling leaves, from the faint strain of music on the breeze—a sparkling, glistening feeling I embrace with both arms.

I step onto the street and head gleefully toward the hubbub, my steps light as I pass several tables full of kids, all immersed in some sort of craft project involving glass jars. They’re clearly having a blast, laughing and giggling and talking loudly over each other. I duck in front of several families trying to take pictures with the scarecrows and hay bales, murmuring quick apologies as I hurry by, and then I reach the vendor stands.

Pure, unadulterated happiness lingers ahead. Joy is within my reach. I can smell them—maple bars.

There’s a bit of a line at the Keller’s Bakehouse booth where Sadie is stationed, but I’m fine waiting. I find myself craning my neck in the meantime, looking up and down the street, but I don’t realize I’m searching for someone specific until I find him.

It’s Dominic my eyes land on. His sleeves are rolled up to the elbow as he transports a bale of hay down the curb, settling it next to one of the trees lining the road and then standing up and dusting his hands off. He rubs the back of his neck and adjusts his hat, his body sagging slightly.

He looks tired, and knowing him, he probably hasn’t taken time to eat—which is why, when I finally get to the front of the line, I order one maple bar and one sticky bun.

He should at least grab a bite when he’s working so hard. If he doesn’t want it now, he can save it for later.

Although he’s nuts if he doesn’t want it now. These sticky buns are amazing. Not as amazing as the maple bars, but then again—nothing is. They’re unmatched.

Sadie passes over my baked goods with a bright smile, and I thank her and then scoot aside, letting the next person in line order. I turn slowly, searching for Dominic, because he’s no longer standing where he was; it takes a moment, but I finally locate him working on a mic stand next to a large speaker.

“Hey,” I say as I approach. I hold out the bag when he looks at me. “I figured you hadn’t eaten, so I brought you sustenance.” I sound very casual, like this is a normal thing to do—bring your ex a cinnamon bun.

And it could be normal, couldn’t it? It’s not like we’re enemies. We’re two people with a common goal.

We just also happen to have a common dating history.

But Dominic doesn’t seem to think it’s weird or overstepping; he blinks in surprise when he sees me, but then he straightens up, his eyes lightening, his hands falling away from the mic stand.

“Hey,” he says. “Aren’t you supposed to be at Bugelbach’s?”

“I am,” I admit. “But Joe told me to take some time to come grab a bite.” I draw closer, and my gaze drops to Dom’s chest as a spot of color catches my attention. It’s a pink sticker with the words I Voted, slapped right over one of the finest pectoral muscles history has ever seen.

Dom’s gaze follows mine to the sticker, and a faint flush creeps up his neck. “Emma made me wear it,” he says. “They’re voting on the Mayor’s girlfriend.”

I blink at this. “As in, the Mayor will date whoever we vote for? That sounds dangerous.”

He shakes his head, resting his hands on his hips and looking down at the sticker again. “Apparently he’s suspected to be dating someone already, and everyone is voting on who they think it is.”

My conversation with the Ednas comes back to me, and I nod slowly. “I remember hearing something about that.” Then I smile. “Good for him. He’s been single for way too long.”

“It’s been a long time,” he agrees. He glances at the bag in my hand and then over my shoulder. Then, pointing at the bag, he pins me with a knowing look. “From Keller’s?”

I nod. “Sadie is over there. I brought you a sticky bun.”

His lips crook into a little grin. “What if I want your maple bar?”