Page 18 of Falling Like Leaves (Bramble Falls #1)

When Mom gets home from work that evening, I’ve taken the hottest shower of my life, put on sweatpants and an oversized sweatshirt, and buried myself beneath five heavy blankets in the attic.

I’m rewatching Practical Magic for the third time while sketching a dress design inspired by the perfection that is the nineties styling in this movie—long and black with a cowl neckline, a low scoop back, and lace straps—when I hear her come up the steps.

“Hey, how was the pumpkin carving party?” she asks when she appears wearing her art-store uniform—black slacks and a yellow polo shirt that reads ART ATTACK in block letters.

I sat in Jake’s car for thirty minutes before we checked the radar and decided we were wasting our time. After braving the storm to grab our pumpkins, he asked if I wanted to go to the movies with him, but I was soaked and cold. All I wanted was my bed.

“It was fun before it got rained out.”

“I saw your pumpkin downstairs.” She sits on the edge of my bed. “That tree is incredible. I think it might be your best one yet.”

“Thanks.” Slug took his pumpkin home, but still, my lips tilt upward at the thought of Cooper cry-laughing at our little inside joke. That pumpkin will forever go down in history as my best one yet as far as I’m concerned.

Mom peers at my sketchbook, but I snap it closed. I’m not ready to show anyone the stuff I’ve been coming up with. I’m too afraid that any negativity will burst this bubble of creativity that’s been swirling around since we got here.

She smiles at me and says, “I’m really glad to see you sketching again.”

Designing and sewing clothes was always my escape from the weight of everyday life, but I stopped having time to escape. And even if I found time, Dad reminded me that fashion was a waste of it. But I shrug like it’s trivial and nod at the TV. “I guess I’ve just had some good inspiration lately.”

Mom turns to the screen. “ Practical Magic ? You know, those sisters always reminded me of Naomi and me.”

“Yeah? Which one were you?”

She gives me a sad attempt at a smile. “I’ll let you figure that out.” She stands. “Night, honey.”

Her footsteps fade as she goes downstairs. Before she even reaches the bottom, I know exactly which sister she sees herself in: the one who left town and fell in love with the wrong guy.

When I walk into calc on Tuesday, there’s a cookie on the desk where I normally sit.

Figuring someone else has claimed my seat, I settle into the desk behind it.

But as I’m getting my notebook out, I realize the clear cookie wrapper has a sticker on it.

Ellis is scrawled across it. I scan the room as I slowly move back to my usual desk.

Cooper is sitting sideways in his seat, his focus solely on Chloe’s animated storytelling.

Ms. Hanby walks in the room, and as she’s getting her things prepped for class, I tear off a small piece of the yellow cookie and shove it in my mouth. Lemon. I grin to myself.

I glance back at Cooper. He’s laughing and saying something to his friends, completely oblivious to me discovering the cookie.

But this has to be from him.

So, what does it mean that he keeps bringing me cookies? Nothing? Do I want it to mean something? Does it mean something to me ? Am I overthinking it? Maybe a cookie is just a cookie.

“Ellis?” Ms. Hanby says.

My attention snaps to her. “Yes?”

She smiles at me. “I asked if you’d want to come up and solve this for us.”

Heat rushes to my face. “Oh. Sure.”

I shake off my thoughts. And my feelings.

Because, clearly, cookies are a distraction.

Sloane has drama club after school, so I wrap my cardigan around me and head out of the front double doors.

The brighter the foliage gets, the more I find myself wanting to be outside.

The sun is shining bright today, but the air is cool.

I’m sitting against the wide trunk of a tree, sketching, when a shadow falls over me.

I cup my hand over my eyes and peer up to find Cooper hovering.

“Scooch over,” he says.

I move over until I’m against the giant root extended out from the tree, leaving very little room next to me. Still, Cooper squeezes in between me and a root to his right.

“What are you doing?” He nods at my sketchbook.

“Homework.”

“For what class?”

I avert my eyes. “French.”

“Chloe said you guys never have homework in there,” he says. I look at him, immediately getting sucked into those eyes, and he raises his thick brows. He knows I’m lying. “What are you always drawing in there, Mitchell?”

“Nothing.” He’s so close, I have to work not to stare at the light dusting of freckles on his nose and cheeks. Not to reach up and run my fingers over them.

What the hell is wrong with me ?

He reaches over and tentatively grabs the sketchbook, giving me a chance to tell him to back off. But I loosen my grip and let him take it because, for some reason, I trust him with it.

I trust him not to destroy me.

I stare ahead, out at the green lawn peppered with leaves, and the few remaining students lingering in the parking lot, while Cooper flips through my sketchbook and my heart pummels my ribs.

“Ellis, these are…” I hold my breath and turn to him. He shakes his head as his eyes wander over the designs. “These are unbelievable.” He turns to me. “I didn’t know you design clothes.”

I shrug. “It’s just something I do for fun sometimes.”

He’s sure to hold my gaze when he says, “You’re incredibly talented.”

“Thank you,” I murmur, ducking my head, flustered by the flattery.

He points to one of the designs—the mixed buffalo-plaid shirt I was wearing at the pumpkin carving party.

“You make clothes too?”

“Meh, not often. I taught myself how to sew in middle school, and I got really into making clothes freshman and sophomore year. But then…”

“You got busy.”

“Yeah.”

He looks at my sketchbook and nods, his expression almost disappointed . Then he points at the black dress I drew last weekend. “What about this one?”

“I’ve actually never made a dress before. I usually stick to structured shirts. But I’ve been watching a lot of Practical Magic lately, and I can’t get Nicole Kidman’s wardrobe out of my head, so I kind of just drew it for fun.”

His looks me in the eye, his voice soft and sincere when he says, “It’s perfect.”

“Thank you,” I say, blushing.

“You should make it.”

I raise my eyebrows. “You think? I mean, there’s no real reason to. Where would I even wear something like that?”

“I don’t know. But even if you just wear it around Naomi’s house, it’d be worth it. That dress should exist, Ellis.”

My cheeks burn at the intensity of his gaze. I look away, suddenly feeling bashful. Exposed. Like he sees me. “Yeah?”

“Definitely. Make it.”

I run my fingers over the dress design. Maybe I will.