Page 113 of Fall Fake-Out

I clear my throat. “What I mean is, some of these students are in my classes, so it helps if I’m present.”

“And as principal,” Wade adds, “I need to oversee the broader operation.”

“Together?” Dean asks.

“Yes,” we answer at the same time.

“Teamwork makes the dream work.” I have no idea why I’m fiercely defending our need to stick together all festival long, but here I am.

Dean studies us for one more second then shrugs. “It’s not efficient, but suit yourselves.”

Thank you, Dean. We will suit ourselves.

The rest of the meeting goes quickly after that. By the time we stand to leave, the sky outside has gone fully dark.

Rosie walks us to the door. “Thank you both.” She stops and looks at me. “It’s so nice having you home and involved again. I’ve really missed seeing you around.”

It is kind of nice. I’m slowly starting to see that.

I spent years thinking of Autumn Ridge as the place I escaped. But standing here, I feel like someone who belongs in this town. It’s a new thought for me.

Wade is quiet as we walk back to the truck like he’s lost deep in thought. He opens my door again. I don’t comment this time, because maybe I like it.

Outside the windows, Main Street glows with streetlamps and early festival decorations. Pumpkins line storefronts. Bales of hay sit outside the general store.

Wade drives slowly through it all, as if he’s giving me time to appreciate it as much as he does.

“What are you doing this weekend?” he asks. I glance at him, which prompts, “We should probably make plans…for the fake-dating thing.”

I shrug. “There aren’t really plans to make. The football team has a bye week.”

“What about your mom? She still needs convincing.”

“That’s going to be hard this weekend. Friday afternoon, my family is going to Burlington to meet with the wedding photographer and then out to dinner. Saturday morning, I’m meeting Liv at the pumpkin patch, and then Saturday afternoon is Landrie’s bridal shower with all my cousins. It’s turning into some kind of sleepover thing, so I won’t be home until after church on Sunday.”

Wade frowns.

Then he turns the truck in the opposite direction from my house.

“Where are you going?”

“Taking a detour.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not done spending time with you yet.”

The words drift between us like a guilty pleasure because there’s absolutely no fake-dating reason for us to keep hanging out tonight.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

“That is the exact sentence kidnappers say.”

“I have a trustworthy mustache.”

“There’s nothing trustworthy about that thing.”