Page 30 of Yours Truly, Fall

“Same.” Maybe I shouldn’t have admitted that out loud, but in the here and now, holding on to a grudge for all these years seems like such a waste of time. We could have been friends if I’d let my guard down. If I had the nerve to confront him, to hold him accountable instead of running away, this hatchet could have been buried a long time ago.

I know the anger I carried served a purpose. It’s just hard to imagine what that might have been other than guarding my heart so tight that I overcompensated by keeping everyone else out as well.

“Who said anything happened?” I stand there with a box of saltines in one hand and a block of cheese in the other as if this is the meet-cute we didn’t have. What am I expecting from Brandon? For him to confess his undying love from sophomore year, or that he fucked up and regrets every day we’ve been apart?

That kind of stuff only happens in the movies. Our lives are nothing but a black hole we need to fill in all over again. It’s an opportunity, not a negative.

He faces me, giving me a good look at him. The swelling beside his eye is gone, leaving behind a tiny scab and some minor bruising. “I don’t know you that well, Autumn, but I know enough to wonder how I fucked up so badly that you’re no longer in my life.”

“Everyone fucks up, remember?” To bear witness to the magnetic smile that shapes his mouth brings mine to the surface. “You’ve been up a lot. You rest, and I’ll bring you a snack.”

His eyes are fixed on mine for a steady count to five. I shouldn’t have held my breath, but strangely enough, it felt like the only way to survive the intensity of his stare. He returns to the living room, giving me room to breathe and to reason through the absurdity of how in the hell I’m so attracted to my enemy.

Enemy?

Pfft. I’m realizing right quick that he hasn’t been my enemy for a long time, if he ever was at all. Hate wasn’t even a word I used until today, and I realize it’s because it wasn’t viable. It’s an extreme that made it easier for me but was the lie I was still telling myself. I peek over the peninsula and ask, “Do you like mustard on your crackers?”

“I like mustard.”

I place the crackers on a cutting board, the only large platter-like piece I can find in his kitchen. I squirt a little splat of mustard on each cracker and top it with a small square of cheese. It takes a few minutes to figure out he doesn’t have napkins, so I grab paper towels and take the tray. I don’t get two steps out of the kitchen when I stop.

Brandon is fast asleep.

He’s not snoring, but his chest falls into a rhythm with each breath and exhale. Rest is good, I remind myself, but a round of disappointment is still the losing hand I have laid down.

Between the game of Memory and traveling down memory lane, I got caught up in what he showed me instead of keeping his healing at the forefront. I lost track of the real situation. He still has healing to do. I need to remember that before jumping from one thing to the next and expecting him to keep up.

I set the board in the fridge to keep it fresh, but popped a cracker in my mouth before I closed the door. No matter how delicious the bite was, I made them to distract us from what’s starting to feel like the inevitable. The truth will come out, one way or another, so I can only hide for a short time. And it’s that time, the minutes and hours we have being us without any baggage, that I’m desperately trying to hold on to.

I tiptoe to the chair and sink back in, curling my legs under me and watching a couple from Nebraska make their Chicago home-buying dreams come true. It doesn’t hold my attention. Not with him sleeping next to me. My gaze drifts back to the couch and the man who has come into my life so unexpectedly and flipped it upside down.

With my gaze on him, calm washes through me. I cuddle up with the pillow and rest my head on it, each blink becoming heavier, until I don’t bother resisting any longer.

CHAPTER 14

BRANDON

Autumn’s red hair flares like fire in the golden sunlight as it dips into the horizon. Moving with care, she holds the phone in her hand in front of her as she paces a path on my decking. I’m not sure who she’s talking to, but I watched a myriad of emotions, including her eyes widening and her feet stopping as she seemed to absorb whatever was said. She laughed right after, so I assume it’s not too serious. I even witnessed a quick shift from somberness to contentment when she faced away from the house.

I haven’t wanted to interrupt her. It’s good she feels at home enough to call whoever she’s been talking to. The change in her body language, the visual ease of her shoulders that matched her posture earlier during the game. It’s clear she’s close to the person on the other end of the line. Her sisters? Her grandmother? A friend? A closer friend with benefits?

That’s not something I considered once I saw there was no ring on her finger, but no ring doesn’t mean she’s not taken. Shit . . . Guess I should have asked.

Does it make a difference? Not to my recovery, but absolutely to the fun I’ve been having with her. I don’t poach girls. I like my women to be into me like I am into them. That means fully, with no strings attached.

I shove the lasagna in the oven to reheat and set the timer. When I look out the windows again, the phone is on the railing, and her focus is not on it. I walk outside, feeling bold enough to reclaim the space and her attention. “Hey there.”

She turns back. “You’re up?”

“About forty-five minutes.”

“I’m sorry⁠—”

“For what?”

A sweet smile slips across her lips. “I’m here to take care of you, Brandon. I wouldn’t have been making personal calls if I knew you were awake.”

Coming to rest my arms on the railing, I reply, “This isn’t a nine-to-five where you clock in and clock out. I’m not holding you to some strict regimen or reporting you to the home healthcare police. It’s okay for you to make phone calls, take a nap, or have a shower. I’d prefer you treat yourself more like a guest than an employee.”