Page 90 of Autumn on My Mind

Without looking back at me, he nods. Then he yanks the door open, and with one swift step, he’s gone.

I never hear from Alvina.

It is a mind-boggling feat of modern muscle that a plot of land can go from barnless to barned in the space of one day, but that’s exactly what happens. The admirable citizens of Autumn Ridge—yours truly excluded, because barn raising is not in my DNA—come together on Saturday morning and assemble the giant building, Amish style. I’m put in mind of swarming ants as I watch them, especially when they’re scurrying around on top during the framing portion.

The barn will eventually become a community event center, but when the barn dance is held later this evening, it will still have concrete floors and bare walls that echo the sound of live music. I’m not much of a dancer, but even I’m excited.

I spend most of the day at the construction site, chatting with friends and watching the barn go up in stages. Dominic spares me little more than a glance and a smile as he works, frequently consulting with Bennett. Archer from the stables is there working as well, and James Carver from Carver Maple Farm. I spot Ari and Wade too, who are supposed to be in a fake relationship, but their flirting looks very real; I give her a thumbs up when our eyes meet, and she smiles in response.

I’m forced to acknowledge as I watch that our town has a statistically unlikely number of attractive bachelors. There are even some I recognize only faintly—Rosie’s eyes are carefully following a guy I think is named Dean, and a few times I spot Emma looking at Carson Price, who’s a dentist over on Main.

Looks like Dom’s sisters have their eyes on some of Autumn Ridge’s finest, too.

When the afternoon rolls around and I get a text from Nate telling me he’s home, I take a break from all my important moral support work to go see him. Although his car is the only one I see when I pull up to the house, I tiptoe across the front porch anyway.

I inch the door open, just enough to poke my head in, but all I see is Nathan on the couch, eating a bowl of cereal.

“Psst!” I say. “Is Alvina here?”

He lets out a snort of laughter when he looks over at me. “No, you coward,” he says. “Stop lurking. Come inside.”

I step in and close the door behind me. “How was your trip?” I say, slouching over to the sofa and plopping down next to him.

“It was fine,” he says around a mouth full of Cheerios, but his words are accompanied by a lackluster expression and a little shrug.

“A rousing sentiment,” I say, unable to hide my skepticism. I pause. “Is everything okay?”

Once he’s swallowed his food, he says, “Yeah.” Then he runs his hand over his hair. “I don’t know. Long-distance is just—difficult.”

“I know,” I say sympathetically.

If we’re getting technical, I don’t actually know. I’ve never done long distance. But I can imagine.

Either way, Nathan doesn’t seem like he wants to talk about it, because he changes the subject. “How was the dinner thing?” he says before taking another massive bite of cereal.

“Ah,” I say, shrinking back into the cushion a bit. I clear my throat. “It was…not great.”

His brows jump in question as he looks over at me, his cheeks still bulging with food.

“It was messy,” I say. “And I got kind of emotional.” I’m not sure how to explain it to him, so I just add, “It doesn’t matter now. It’s over.”

He shrugs again, an easy motion. “You need therapy, Reese.” He shoots me a glance. “You know that, right?”

The couch swallows a little more of me. “I’m mostly fine.” I hesitate, and then, for the sake of honesty, I go on. “Except…”

“Yeah,” Nathan says with a nod. “Except for when you’re not.”

“Well, what about you?” I point out.

But he gives another snort of laughter, his spoon clinking against his bowl as he fishes for the last of the Cheerios. “Me?” he says. “I’m fine. I have firmly placed Alvina in the none-of-my-business category.”

My brow furrows in confusion, and Nate sighs.

“She forgets my name? None of my business,” he says. “She’s dating a raccoon? None of my business. As long as she doesn’t get in my way, she can exist however she wants. Because,” he adds, stressing the word and looking meaningfully at me, “she is rain on the window. I know it’s there, but I’m not getting wet, and I get to decide if the window ever opens.”

“I don’t like this conversation.”

“You never do.” His eyes are gentler when he looks over at me again. “But I think you might be drowning.”