Autumn
“Someone didn’t come home last night,” Ruby called in a sing-song voice.
I sank down on the grass at our usual lunchtime spot in front of the Admin building. “Will you hush? Half the campus heard you.”
“Oh, who cares?” Ruby said. “You did the deed with Connor Drake. You should be singing it from the rooftops.” She made a face. “Unless it was bad.” Her eyes widened. “Was it bad? Oh my God, it was bad.”
“Not at all,” I said. “He’s very…skilled.”
She sighed in relief. “And here you were, ready to dump his cute ass. Must’ve been a pretty good reason to get you to jump in the sack instead.”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
“You told me you needed a better reason to fuck him, other than he’s hot.”
“Oh, right.”
“So?”
The cool October breeze swept over us. I wrapped my cardigan around me more tightly and tucked my legs underneath me. I wore black pants and flats, but soon enough it would be time for jackets and scarves. The leaves from the trees were already carpeting the ground in sprays of color.
gold, green, and brown—
your namesake captured
in your eyes.
I bit my lip over a smile. “You’re going to think I’m the biggest sap in the world.”
“Too late.”
I plucked at a blade of grass. “He wrote a poem.”
Ruby did a double-take. “Come again? Connor Drake wrote a poem?”
“Yes,” I said. “About me.”
Her expression brightened. “That kind of thing’s right up your alley. You should be over the moon, right?”
“I am,” I said, and sighed. “Or I should be. Instead I feel…I don’t know. Fragile. I can’t do one-night stands and this is exactly why. Sex is so intimate.” I shook my head. “It’s like part of me is still naked. I have to trust he feels it was just as special.”
“How was the morning after?” Ruby asked. “That can be a deal breaker, right there.”
“It was perfect.”
Until I ran into Weston.
Like lightning, it hit me I hadn’t felt fragile or naked about sleeping with Connor until I’d mistakenly put on Weston’s shirt. Or rather, until Weston saw me wearing his shirt. His reaction unsettled me to the core and I couldn’t figure out why.
“Connor did everything right.” I slumped over, covering my hands. “God, I am the queen of overthinking, aren’t I? Why I can’t just enjoy something for what it is?”
“Because you’re a big softy,” Ruby said. “So tell me about this poem.”
“It was simple,” I said. “A little window into a different, deeper layer of him. Feelings and thoughts he doesn’t share with me when we’re together.”
Ruby nodded. “I’m still trying to imagine him writing a poem.”
“Why? Because he’s a jock who drives a sports car?”
“Whoa, put your sword away, Khaleesi,” she said. “And yes, call me a judgmental bitch, but I can’t picture it.”
“I can. I’ve seen it. And now it makes sense why he wants to take me to the Dickinson Museum this Saturday after Weston’s track meet.”
Ruby shrugged and got to her feet, brushing grass off her jeans. “Well, I’m happy for you. Sounds like you landed the perfect guy—hot, rich, and deep.”
I nodded, rising too.
“Hey,” she said, taking me by the shoulders. “Don’t apologize for who you are. You’re a slut for poetry. Own it.”
I burst out laughing. “Is that what I am?”
“But seriously. Hai una bella anima.”
“Bella anima?”
“You’re a beautiful soul,” Ruby said and shrugged. “It sounds better in Italian. Fact: most things sound better in Italian. And if Connor doesn’t treat you right, prendilo a calci in culo. I’ll kick his ass.”
I smiled and hugged my friend, even as my unease deepened. Connor treated me perfectly. He’d done and said everything right. But Weston…
I didn’t know how or why it was important, but if I was going to feel good about my relationship with Connor, I needed to fix things with Weston. I gave myself a solid list of reasons: they were best friends. I wouldn’t feel comfortable spending the night at their place if Weston kept giving me the cold shoulder. I didn’t want my boyfriend’s best friend to hate me…
Not to mention putting on Weston’s shirt turned you on.
I stopped short and glanced around, mortified.
“Jesus, that is not what happened.” I walked faster toward the library, head down and muttering into my books, “I thought it was Connor’s.”
I hurried up the steps of the library, hoping Wes would be there. Determined to meet this head on and kill these ridiculous thoughts. But he wasn’t. Since Connor and I began dating, I never saw Weston here anymore.
My phone buzzed a text from Connor.
Hey you.
I smiled, butterflies taking off in my stomach.
Hi, I texted back. What’s up?
I just got wind of a party at Delta Psi this Friday. Want to go?
I sank down into a chair at one of the library’s long tables. Sounds fun, but I have to study.
Bummer. You care if I go?
No, of course not, I replied. Are we still on for the museum after W’s races on Sat?
Definitely. :)
Okay, I wrote. Great.
Call you later.
But he didn’t call me later, and aside from a few checking in texts, I didn’t hear from him for the rest of the week.
Friday, working my morning shift at the Panache Blanc, it dawned on me that Weston usually ate here the night before a track meet. After classes, I killed time in the library, then headed back to the bakery, hoping he hadn’t changed that routine.
He sat at a corner table. Dark and sharp in a black shirt and jeans, his long legs stretched out and his nose buried in an econ book. A half-eaten sprout and cucumber sandwich sat on a plate in front of him. Edmond de Guiche was singing in the back room.
Heart stuttering, I went to stand by his table. “Hi.”
He lowered his book, and his eyes widened for a second, before his expression reverted to hard neutral. “Hey.”
“Can we talk?”
“Sure.” He moved his legs and indicated for me to take the chair opposite him.
I sat with my purse in my lap, needing some kind of barrier between me and Weston’s barbed stare. “I wanted to apologize for Sunday night—”
“Don’t,” Wes said. “Nothing to apologize for.”
“There is,” I said. “It’s a little tacky to have disturbed your sleep. If we did. And then coming out wearing your shirt.”
“Forget it.” Weston shifted in his seat, his blue-green eyes turbulent like a stormy sea. “No big deal.”
“It’s a big deal to me,” I said. “Connor and I are getting more serious and I don’t want there to be any weirdness between you and me.”
He stared for a second, then nodded. “Right. Weirdness.”
I puffed my cheeks full of air. “I was hoping you and I could be friends. I don’t want to come over and feel like an intruder.”
“You’re not. It’s me.” His long fingers toyed with his pen. “I can be a dick. Ask anyone.”
“I don’t think you’re a dick,” I said and grinned. “Maybe not the softest or fuzziest of guys, but you have potential.”
“Potential?”
“Sure. Maybe if you rolled around with a basket full of puppies or held a baby chick or two, like we have on the farm… Fix you right up.”
The faintest of smiles touched his lips then vanished again. “Are you hungry? Do you want something to eat?” He cleared his throat. “You’re probably sick of eating here.”
“I like the food here,” I said, touched at the offer. “But no thanks. I have a late night of studying. Actually, a coffee might be a good idea.”
I started to rise, but Weston was quicker.
“I’ll get it.”
“Don’t, I have an employee discount.”
But Weston ignored me. He took his lean, muscled body to the counter and interrupted Phil’s usual phone scrolling to order me a coffee. Edmond burst from the back, a blue windbreaker jacket on over his white uniform, just as Weston was paying.
“What is this?” Edmond said, spying me. “Autumn, ma chère.”
I smiled and waved. “Hi, Edmond.”
The baker’s gaze moved between Weston and me. “Monsieur Turner never drinks coffee before racing day. It is for Autumn?” He shot Phil a dirty look. “Philippe, return to him his money.”
I suppressed a laugh as Phil rolled his eyes and hunted for the refund button, but Weston waved him off. “It’s okay, Edmond. I got it.”
“Thank you,” I said, as Weston returned to the table and set down the steaming mug in front of me. “You and Edmond know each other?”
“Of course we do,” Edmond answered, swooping over to us. “Weston is un homme tranquille. Our quiet man, always reading. Always writing. Very still. But tomorrow? He runs very fast, non?”
I glanced at Weston, expecting him to chafe under Edmond’s bluster, but he was almost smiling.
“Yeah, that pretty much sums me up.”
“And you two, together?” Edmond beamed under his mustache. “My thoughtful girl and the quiet man. This, I like.”
“We’re friends,” I said. Then glanced at Weston. “Aren’t we?”
He nodded, his eyes soft on mine. “Yeah. Friends.”
“Ah,” Edmond said, his gaze going between us, his dark eyes narrowing. “Parfois, le cœur se cache derrière l’esprit.” He clapped his hands together. “But what do I know? I am but a silly old baker. I leave you to your coffee. Philippe! Don’t forget to mop the back room. We will get rats and then what will the customers think of us?”
“I won’t,” Phil muttered, eyes rolling again.
Edmond shot Weston and me a wink and swept out of the bakery, a bellowed aria in his wake.