Here to Stay (Where Love Begins Book #2) (20 page)

“C’mon, Red. Vern really wants us to ‘see the kitties.’” The man had insisted.

“Go up and see the
kitties while I do a few chores.”
Blake had tried to offer his help. After all, the farmer had spent hours whisking them around the property. It’d been a blast of a day.

And Autumn had been the best part. She’d finally stopped checking her iPhone every few minutes for messages from the inn or rattling off festival to-dos to complete when they returned home. She’d been carefree and, frankly, more alluring than ever. Completely at ease.

Until the mention of cats.

He tried to keep the tease out of his grin. “If you come up here, you’ll make Vern happy. You’ll make me happy. And what’s more, I’ll promise to stop at that used bookstore on the way home.”

If that didn’t cinch it, nothing would. He climbed the rest of the way into the barn’s second level, the musty smell of hay enveloping him.

And sure enough, seconds later, Autumn emerged into the loft, hefting herself over the opening and standing up beside him. “Cats totally creep me out.”

“Kittens are different.” Piles of hay scattered across the loft mostly covered the wood floorboards beneath their feet, tiny squeaks and meows filling the quiet. “Besides, think of the bookstore.”

He sidestepped a hay bale and found three kittens running around the center of the room. He plopped down and a kitten crawled into his lap. “See? Cute.” A second kitten climbed over his leg and clawed up his shirt.

Autumn still stood near the opening, arms crossed. Finally, she dropped her arms and joined him. “The last cat I was around tried to scratch my eyes out. I made the mistake
of offering to pet sit for Harry. Pretty sure he got the cat from the fiery pits of you-know-where. If I didn’t hate them before . . .”

She knelt in the hay, and a third kitten grabbed for her shoelace.

“Okay, fine, maybe they’re a little cute.” She lowered to a cross-legged position, and the kitten immediately found its way to her lap. Blake watched her lips spread into a grin, and with the way the sunrays highlighted her profile . . .

Dude, a photographer could have a field day with her.

He gently removed the kitten still trying to make its way up his shirt, then met Autumn’s eyes.
Sooo pretty.

She blinked, cleared her throat, discomfort at once endearing and amusing, just like everything about her.

“Let’s name them,” she blurted.

“They’re barn cats. Not pets.”

She practically cooed as she lifted the kitten from her lap, holding it in front of her face. “Even barn cats deserve names.”

“Wow, you melted fast. From ‘I hate cats’ to deeming them name worthy.”

“I have my persuadable moments.” She was still peering at the cat as she spoke, and he could almost hear the wheels turning in her mind, searching for the perfect name.

But all he could think, could wonder, really, was if that was true—about being persuadable—then maybe all he had to do was wait for the right moment . . .

To tell her what? That sometime in the past two weeks, she’d stopped being a last name to him? That he’d started thinking of her less as a co-event-coordinator and more as a friend?

Just a friend?

“This one is Lucy.”

He coughed, causing the kitten in his lap to scurry toward Autumn instead. “After Betsy’s sister? Wait, did you leave her alone today with your mom and sister?”

“You make it sound like a terrifying prospect.”

Well . . .

“And no, she’s been spending mornings at the inn helping Betsy. Besides, I was actually thinking of the Pevensies in the Narnia books. Lucy.” She pointed to a black kitten. “And that one is Peter and the one with the white paws is Edmund.”

“I thought there was a fourth kid?”

“Susan. But she didn’t make it back to Narnia in
The Last
Battle.
So I don’t feel bad leaving her out.”

“Obviously I will never catch up to you on reading.”

She lowered her kitten. “Did you know people have actually debated the fate of Susan through the years? Oh, and here’s a strange bit of trivia—there was a comic book a few years ago that had Susan Pevensie sharing an apartment with Alice from
Alice in Wonderland
, Dorothy from
Wizard of Oz,
and Wendy from
Peter Pan.”

“You’ve got a library in that head of yours, Red.” Dust caught in his throat, and he sneezed.

Her “bless you” blended with her laughter, and he sneezed a second time as she asked, “Hey, what do you think that rope is for?”

He followed her pointed finger to the long, thick coil with a series of knots at the frayed bottom. “Have you never hung out on a farm? It’s for swinging, of course.”

“Swinging?”

“Yeah. I’ll show you.” He climbed up on a high pile of hay bales. “Toss me the rope, will ya?”

She stood and swung the rope his direction. He caught it and gripped it tight, feet planted on the grouping of knots. “Here I go.” He took a running jump off the bales and swung
across the loft. “Woo-hoo!” He let go and landed in a heap of loose hay.

Autumn laughed as he stood and dusted himself off. He grabbed ahold of the rope and approached her.

“You Tarzan, me Jane,” she said.

He held the rope out. “Your turn.”

“Uh, no thanks. Don’t want to get my clothes dirty.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Woman, you’re wearing jeans and a stained shirt.”

“Hey, that pulled pork Susie served at lunch was messy stuff.”

“Take the rope, Jane.”

She jerked it from him and climbed onto the same pile he’d jumped from. “Fine. But if I crash into the wall or land on a kitten and kill it, I’ll blame you.”

He gathered all three kittens into his arms. “The animals are safe. Go for it.”

She squealed as she flew through the air and dropped, pieces of straw splashing up around her. She popped up. “That was fun.”

“See, I told ya.” A kitten batted at his ear. He leaned forward to let them scramble away. When he came back up, Autumn stood in front of him.

“You know what’s amazing to me?”

She smelled like hay and some kind of fruity shampoo, and something close to wonder dangled in her voice. “What?”

“The same person who has traveled all over the world, bungee-jumped and parasailed and flew planes . . . ” She faltered, but only for a moment. “That same person seems to get just as much of a thrill from playing with kittens and swinging on a rope in a barn loft. Or boarding on a sand dune.”

He pulled a piece of hay from her hair. “Well, sometimes
the adventure isn’t in where you are but who you’re with.” He heard the huskiness in his own tone. Felt the words he wanted to say play through him.
Just tell her.

You
’ve been the best part of coming home.

When
I’m with you, my black eye and reputation don’
t even bother me.

My favorite time of every day
is hanging out at the inn.

But the sentiments couldn’t find their voice under the weight of a dozen
why-not
s: It’d only been two weeks. Their families didn’t get along. She deserved someone who had made something of himself, not wasted the past six years of his life.

And Ryan and Ava.
He couldn’t forget how horribly that ended.

Still. Standing there in the hayloft, he could almost ignore all the warning signs.

“Do you really believe that?” Doubt lingered in Autumn’s question as she faced him.

He forced himself to focus on her question. Believe what? What he’d said about adventure? “Well, yeah. I’m pretty good proof, aren’t I? I have literally been all over the world. And at times, it was great. But there’s something to be said for being able to see the potential adventure in everyday life, in the people around you.”

Did he sound dumb? Was he making any sense at all?

And was there any chance she read between the lines to the truth he was just now latching onto?
She
was an adventure. Getting to know her excited him more than any continent-hopping trip or crazy stunt.

A mountain hike or bungee jump might momentarily satiate some thrill-seeking bent in him. But this woman who hated cats and loved books, who could probably argue better than that lawyer ex-fiancé of hers and who loved her old inn
more than she even realized . . . she fed a longing he couldn’t have even named earlier, but that he now recognized for what it was.

A longing for connection. Understanding. The kind of soul-deep friendship he’d watched form between Randi Woodruff and Matthew Knox, the reporter she’d fallen for. And despite the mountain range of reasons why Autumn Kingsley was the last woman he should connect with in that same way, he couldn’t deny the desire that made him want to conquer the mountains until he arrived on the other side.

Which is where?

Possibly somewhere miles past “just friends.”

“Autumn.” His voice was raspy but, amazingly, void of the uncertainty he’d been towing around for days.
Maybe there are a dozen
why-not
s. But what
if there’s a
why
that’s bigger than all
of them?

What if Autumn was the reason God had brought him home?

“Autumn.” He stepped closer as he repeated her name. Waited for her to step back. And when she didn’t, when her breath hitched and her eyes met his, he leaned his head down.

And then back as another sneeze tickled up the back of his throat.

Autumn jumped at his “Achoo,” bumping into a hay bale behind her and toppling until Blake reached out to catch her. “Don’t sneeze on me,” she squealed, giggles erupting and the potency of the moment fading.

And for a second, disappointment knocked through him.

But only for a second. Because as he righted Autumn and joined in her laughter, suddenly, for the first time in a long time, he knew exactly what he wanted. She was standing right in front of him, ribbons of sunlight winding through her hair and a smile a person couldn’t get tired of.

And there wasn’t any rush. He wasn’t going anywhere.

He sneezed again.

“Blake,” Autumn said through fits of giggles. “I think you’ve got a cold.”

He shook his head, hair dusting over his forehead. “Nope. Allergic to hay. Sorta forgot until now.”

And that’s when she flopped onto a hay bale, her laughter his new favorite sound.

She had to tell him.

Autumn inched off her gloves while still controlling the steering wheel, puffs of air from the heater in Blake’s new-old Jeep warming through her as they traveled toward the beckoning lights of Whisper Shore. She pushed her wind-tousled hair over her shoulder and turned the vehicle onto the road that led into town. The long day, the late hour, didn’t seem to matter under the smile of moonlight.

“You know, I totally could’ve driven.” Blake leaned against the passenger seat’s headrest, eyes closed.

“Those allergy pills said they could cause drowsiness. We’re safer this way.”

“Admit it, you just wanted a chance to drive the Wrangler.”

Somehow the rustic light-brown Jeep completely fit him. Much more than Ryan’s Firebird ever had. Though it still surprised her he’d sold the car. “It does make me feel like MacGyver.”

He opened his eyes. “Just wait ’til summer when we can drive it with the top down.”

She gulped at his
we
. And there it was again. That annoying inner voice urging her to tell him. But how was she supposed to say it?
Actually, Blake
, I won’t be here this summer. . . .

For the hundredth time during the drive, she opened her
mouth to let it out. But just like every other time, the revelation stalled in her throat.

After a silent moment, she felt Blake’s glance on her, and when she turned, it was to see a grin that oozed satisfaction. “This was a great day.” His eyebrows lifted as if waiting for her agreement.

“A really great day.” Vern and Susie’s heartwarming welcome. All the photos they’d taken for Mrs. Satterly. The books she’d scored at that little bookstore on the way home.

And the haymow. That one intoxicating moment before he’d sneezed.

He was thinking about
kissing me.

Maybe more than thinking about it. She’d read it in his eyes and heard the quickening of her own heart. It’s what had started the anxious thoughts nettling inside her in the first place.
Just tell
him you’re moving.

“Blake, I—” she began, but he said her name at the exact same time.

They laughed and he motioned for her to continue, but she insisted, “No, you go ahead.”
Later. I’ll tell him
later.

Stars flirted in winks and gleams from a midnight blue sky. “I was just thinking—wondering, I guess. . . . You asked me whether I really believed what I said about adventure and being just as happy here.” He slanted another glance her way. “Why’d you ask that?”

The temptation to brush off the question was so strong, she almost gave in. Sure, she could joke and laugh with Blake as if they’d laughed and joked as friends for years instead of only a couple weeks. But share something this vulnerable?