Page 39 of Falling for Mr. October

I’m going to find that damn apple for Bianca.

I’m not sure why I want to impress her, but there’s no denying I do.

We wander farther into the cramped store, circling an elderly couple sifting through a discount bin full of apple stress balls featuring Sir Gala-Head’s wonky-eyed stare. Bianca pauses, checking out the bin.

“Too obvious,” I say, shaking my head as the man lifts up a slightly discolored stress ball.

“We’re going to find that apple,” I continue in an undertone as I lead the way toward the racks of clothing in the back. “But first I have another challenge for you, Bianca.”

She glances over her shoulder. “Oh?”

“I want you to look for the ugliest sweatshirt in this store.”

“And you’ll buy it for yourself?”

“Don’t look so happy about it. I’m getting you one too. We’re going to match. That’s the only way you’re getting me to wear it.”

She laughs and sweeps her long bangs aside. “You know I can’t turn down a challenge.”

“I remember,” I reply.

I should feel like shit right now. I sure did earlier. But I like seeing Bianca smile. Joking around with her.

Maybe she’s only being this easygoing with me because she needs my help—at the farmhouse they have a needlepoint sampler with that old adage, You catch more flies with honey, hanging up in the kitchen. But right now I don’t care. I want to keep having fun with her. I haven’t enjoyed myself this much in months.

Bianca grins as she starts combing through the rack of shirts and sweatshirts. She takes out a huge red sweatshirt with Sir Gala-Head’s sleepy eyes on it and the slogan Eat me, holding it up to my body before shaking her head.

“Somehow it’s too much with the hat, and I refuse to let you take off that hat.”

“I’ll make sure I’m buried in it.”

Her smile sticks as she works her way through the rack.

I know when she’s accomplished her mission. Her whole face warms with victory, her mouth twitching, her eyes gleaming, and fuck, she’s a sight for sore eyes.

I know I shouldn’t find her beautiful, especially since I already admire her. My life’s already complicated enough. Still, Bianca Murphy is one hell of a woman.

“What torment have you selected for me?” I ask, and she tugs out a sweatshirt patterned to look like red flannel, with a giant Sir Gala-Head emblazoned on the front.

“It’s two in one. Flannel and Sir Gala-Head.”

“Make sure they have one in your size too.”

She points a finger at me. “If you think that’s going to make me back off, think again. I have no pride. I want to see you in this badly enough that I don’t care if the entire town sees me in it too.”

I grin at her, and this time, when those growing-out bangs tumble into her face, I reach out and sweep them behind her ear. “Same.”

She rocks backward, and I wonder if I fucked up, touching her like that. Maybe I broke some unwritten code regarding what tonight is supposed to be: a stolen moment. A blip, not to be repeated.

But she’s already turned away, as if nothing happened. She rifles through the rack until she’s clutching two Sir Gala-Head sweatshirts, victory all over her face.

“All right,” she says. “We’ve got the sweatshirts. Now how are we going to find the green apple?”

“What if we go buy a Granny Smith from the grocery store and draw a face on it with a Sharpie? You think he’d notice the difference?”

She eyes the clerk, who’s slouched over his phone, and grins. “No, but I want to win fair and square. It won’t feel like a victory if we cheat.”

I heave a world-weary sigh. “Somehow I knew you’d say that. Look, I don’t think they’d get tricky with it. I’ll bet it’s hiding in plain sight.”