Page 128 of Fall Fake-Out

“Maybe I’m reading into things too much.”

“Either Wade Stevenson is the greatest actor in the history of mankind…or he's falling for you.”

“But what if I’m wrong? You know I’ve been wrong before.” I don’t even need to mention Andy’s name for Liv to understand.

“What’s the worst that could happen? You misinterpret your fake relationship for something real, have a little fun with it, and then walk away? It’s not that big of a deal. It’s not a four-year engagement like it was with Andy.”

For once, I don’t immediately argue.

Because I’m tired of fighting every look. Every touch. Every piece of evidence.

“You’re right,” I finally say. “Every other girl in town has dated him. Why can’t I have a turn? Just for fun. Nothing too serious.” As the words leave my mouth, I already know what I feel for Wade is more than nothing serious, but this is the only way I know how to frame it so I can feel good about it.

For years, I’ve carried around the same story.

Wade never wanted to date me. But here he is, giving me all the signs that he wants to date me now.

Why not just go for it?

Better late than never, right?

“Do you like him back?”

I look across the parking lot again at the way he laughs in the middle of a group of men. The answer should be simple.

Instead, it terrifies me.

Because if I admit I like him, then I have to admit I want this to be real, not just an easy-breezy fun thing.

And that feels a lot riskier.

“I don't know,” I say. “I’ve never thought about it.”

Liv’s smile is small. “Yeah, right.”

I hate how well my friend knows me.

Ari

I’ve never seen so many people willingly show up before eight o’clock on a Saturday morning. Maybe because I’ve been living in Florida the last nine years, and raising a barn in one day from practically nothing isn’t a thing there.

It’s just a thing for the Amish and Autumn Ridge.

The entire field moves with activity when I arrive.

Truck beds are packed with lumber. Folding tables hold muffins and donuts. The smell of sawdust fills the air. Children chase one another through piles of leaves. Elderly women sit off to the side, issuing instructions nobody asked for. Teenagers carry boards that are clearly too heavy for them. And conversation buzzes about the homecoming football game last night when Autumn Ridge recovered a fumble and ran it back for a touchdown at the last second to win. (It was so exciting Wade and I stormed the field.)

The skeleton of the barn already rises from the ground. Massive wooden beams stretch toward the sky while men stand close, propping them up.

“Tell me again why we’re doing this,” I ask Reese as we make our way toward the refreshment table.

“Because it’s community.”

Community is one of those words people like to throw around to explain everything small town. A month ago, I would’ve rolled my eyes at that answer, but now, I’m starting to get it, by the way the whole town showed up to help, even if they aren’t really helping.

It’s nice. In an unexpected way.

“And we’re sure these guys know what they’re doing?” I ask.