Page 99 of Autumn on My Mind

“A rager. Whole town’s invited.”

Another laugh, clearer this time. “Why do you need my house?”

I sigh and tell him the slightly pathetic truth. “Because my soul is tired and I’m sick of ham sandwiches. I want to make something delicious and take a bubble bath and watch a movie. Not necessarily in that order.”

“Hmm,” he says. “Yes to the cooking and the movie. Absolutely not to the bubble bath.”

“But it sounds so⁠—”

“No bubble bath,” he cuts me off flatly. “I cannot handle you taking a bath in my house, okay?”

Welp.

“Fine,” I say, suddenly wishing for more of a cool breeze than this morning has provided so far. I fan my face. “Just a shower, then.”

“I have an idea, Berkeley—let’s stop talking about your bathing habits.”

“Deal,” I say, but the word is squeaky. “So…can I use your TV and kitchen this evening?”

“Yes,” he says, sounding relieved. “Watch a movie. Bake a cake. Whatever.”

“Are you going to be around?”

“Probably,” he says. “Is that okay?”

I shrug and then wince at the renewed itchiness of the hay. “Sure, if you don’t complain about my movie choice.”

“I’ve never complained about your movie choice.”

“I might play music while I bake,” I add.

“Go for it.”

“And I might dance around the kitchen, too.”

He pauses for only a second, and when he speaks, it sounds like he’s smiling again. “I can honestly say I’d love nothing better.”

I roll my eyes, but I can’t stop the twitch of my lips.

That evening at seven, I head across the lawn to Dom’s back door, two bags with everything I need swinging in my hand.

Before I can open the door, though, it lurches open on its own and reveals Dominic. He leans against the door frame, folds his arms, and narrows his eyes at me.

“It occurred to me after our phone call this morning that I forgot to make a few things clear.”

I smile blithely up at him and pretend I have no idea what he’s talking about. “Is that so?” I say, subtly shifting the bags I’m holding to behind my back so he can’t see what’s inside.

I try to step past him into the house, but his arm shoots out and blocks my path before I can get in.

“Yes,” he says evenly. “I have some rules.”

I am the picture of innocence. “Rules?”

“Actually, one rule.” He holds up his pointer finger. “One. No onions.”

My fingers curl more tightly around the bags’ handles behind my back. “So. Actually. It’s funny you say that⁠—”

“No,” he says firmly. “No. Is it that stir-fry you’re going to make? Berkeley, my house will smell for a week.”