Page 118 of Fall Fake-Out

Their eyes glow back at us like tiny demons.

A fourth one appears behind them.

Ari grabs the back of my jacket. “Wade.”

The biggest raccoon hisses.

“Yep. Leaving. Now.”

We bolt, hand in hand, across the living room, through the entryway, out the door, and into the rain. It’s coming down hard now, soaking us in seconds. Ari squeals as we run through the orchard, back to my truck, laughing like idiots as drops pour over us.

By the time we reach it, both of us are drenched. I yank open her door, and she climbs in, still laughing, hair plastered to her cheeks, sweater damp at the sleeves, eyes bright with the kind of joy that makes my chest ache.

I run around to the driver’s side and climb in. For a few seconds, we just sit there, breathing hard. Soaked.

I look at her flushed cheeks and wide smile.

Jaxon’s voice echoes through my head.

You’re falling for her.

I immediately reject the idea.

I’m not the relationship guy.

My whole identity is centered around the fact that I don’t commit.

But then I make the mistake of looking at Ari again.

And suddenly, I’m not so sure I want to be that guy anymore.

Wade

I don’t even recognize myself. I’ve officially become the kind of man I used to make fun of.

The clingy kind.

The pathetic kind.

The kind who spends an entire weekend checking his phone for a text message.

Not constantly. Just enough to be embarrassing.

Ari and I texted a few times. I asked how Landrie’s bridal shower went. Asked how Liv was doing after Ari spent Sunday evening trying to cheer her up. Asked questions that could easily be explained away as concern for a friend.

Unfortunately, I know exactly why I asked them.

I missed her.

Three stupid days.

Three days shouldn’t feel like a long time, but it somehow felt like forever.

Which is why I am far more excited about fall festival week than any grown man should be.

Past Wade deserves a medal or a standing ovation for volunteering myself for every fall festival activity Ari oversees. At the time, I was being a responsible principal—or so I rationalized. Now it feels especially convenient.

The cider press sits beneath a pop-up canopy at the edge of Main Street. Hay bales surround the demonstration area. Pumpkins are stacked beside hand-painted signs. The scent of apples and cinnamon hangs in the air.