Page 79 of Autumn on My Mind

Finally his eyes fly open, and they’re burning, searing as he exhales, tightening his arms all the way and eliminating the rest of the space between us. “What if I say no, Berkeley?” he says as his gaze drops to my lips.

I look at his face, the sheer longing in his eyes, the way he’s holding me, and I know. “I wouldn’t believe you.”

“Then why even ask?”

“Do you want to wait until the semester is over?” I whisper.

His breath whooshes out of him, and he swallows. When he speaks again, he’s so close that I can feel his words puff against my lips. “What I want doesn’t matter,” he says in a rough voice.

I lift onto my tiptoes, hesitating only briefly as I tilt my face up to his. It hadn’t occurred to me before, but maybe it’s relevant. “I’ve never kissed anyone before,” I admit.

And for the first time, faint humor flashes in his eyes. “Good,” he breathes. He leans in slowly, brushing his lips over my forehead and then surprising me as he presses a tiny kiss to the tip of my nose, too—sweet and gentle and heartachingly tender. Our eyes meet as something indefinable passes between us, something soft and sure but sad.

“Reese,” he says, and disappointment curls in my chest, because I know what he’s going to say. “We can’t kiss now, either.” He moves his hands to my shoulders and pushes me gently away.

I swallow the knot in my throat, try to banish the tears that sting my eyes. He’s right, of course.

So I step out of his hold and turn my head, swiping at my cheeks and giving a fake laugh. “I know,” I say, but my voice is still pathetically tremulous. “I understand.”

“Do you?” he says.

I still can’t look at him. “Of course I do.” I hesitate for a second and then make a decision. Because if I can’t give him a kiss, I want to give him something else. Something important, to acknowledge what’s happening right now, the things we’re saying—and the things we aren’t. So I reach up to my necklace and fumble at the clasp for a moment, pulling it off and then holding it up. The feather pendant catches the faint light as it twirls in the air.

“My good luck charm,” I say hoarsely. “It worked, didn’t it?”

“You worked,” he replies, sounding amused, but he takes the necklace anyway. “Is it going to make me lucky?”

I nod instead of speaking; I don’t have long before I begin to cry.

He nods too, a slow duck of his chin, and tucks the chain into his pocket. Then he strides toward the door—and maybe I’m imagining things, but he seems to be struggling to look at me too. It’s a selfish wish, but I find myself hoping he’s wrestling with his feelings as much as I am.

It’s only when his hand is on the door that he speaks again. “Autumn Ridge this weekend?”

Relief floods over me, and tentative hope for the future. “Yeah,” I say, exhaling a little laugh. “Definitely.”

Relief of all reliefs, Pumpkin Day begins the morning after I move into Dominic’s shed. This means that I don’t have time to ruminate on all the things we said, or the embarrassment I’m still swimming in, or the possible meaning behind the necklace I once gave him that he apparently still wears.

Instead, I spend the day scurrying around like a pumpkin with its lid cut out, directing all our activities and making sure the events move along at the right times. The kids have a blast with the craft stations Farmer Joe and I set up, and he’s even good-natured about losing the pumpkin weigh-in to the FFA students from the high school. I get to say hi to Ari for a minute there too, her fake boyfriend at her side.

“You two do not look fake,” I whisper to her, glancing at Wade when he’s not paying attention.

She blinks uncertainly. “You think?” she says as she looks at him too, and I give her a knowing grin before waving and hurrying off to keep the day rolling.

When the afternoon arrives and the carving contest begins, I’m able to take a moment of rest. I sit on one of the benches lining Main and watch as Joe narrates the pumpkin carving. There are a few adults participating for themselves, but it’s mostly kids and parents together.

My dad and I did that one year. He let me choose the face we made—a smiling jack-o-lantern with stars for eyes. I don’t remember if we won. I just remember how much fun it was, doing something together, being so excited.

“Nice sweater.”

I startle at the familiar voice and turn my head. It’s Dom, strolling toward me with his hands in his pockets and a baseball hat shielding his eyes. His gaze is on my shirt, and I glance down too.

I’m wearing my orange sweater again, but today I’ve taped on two triangle eyes and a smiling pumpkin mouth, all made of black construction paper I pilfered from Nate’s house early this morning.

I look up at Dom just as he drops onto the bench next to me. Only when he’s so close do I see the feather necklace; it’s outside of his shirt today. My heart jumps and my cheeks heat, but I don’t say anything. Even when he notices me looking and raises one challenging brow, I don’t comment.

If he’s not going to mention it, I won’t either. My mind tries to leap to all sorts of conclusions, though—and I’m talking Olympic record, pole-vaulter leaps. He always kept the necklace hidden before.

But it’s out there now, and he sees me looking, and he’s daring me to say something. What am I supposed to do with that? What messages am I supposed to be getting here?