Page 28 of Falling Like Leaves (Bramble Falls #1)

The following Saturday, I’m totally dragging as Sloane and I make our way back to the town square, where kids are screaming and laughing from inside the hay-bale maze we spent all night building.

We were here until almost two o’clock in the morning setting up the children’s activities and came back at seven o’clock to prepare for the Autumn Spice Sprint.

Now, endless gray clouds smother the afternoon sun.

And I still haven’t satisfied my harvest spice latte addiction.

A chilly autumn breeze nips at my skin and sends leaves swirling all around us, decorating the ground in shades of orange, yellow, and crimson.

Their familiar earthy scent mixes with the scent of cider and doughnuts wafting from the vendor tents and food trucks on the lawn.

I tuck my chin into my red scarf and pull my cardigan tighter around me.

After my conversation with Fern last weekend, it’s hard to ignore the way autumn in Bramble Falls has somehow filled the New York–shaped hole in my heart.

“How are you so happy?” Sloane grumbles between yawns. “I’m too tired to be happy.”

I narrow my eyes at her. “What makes you think I’m happy?”

“Uh, you’re smiling like a weirdo?”

“Oh.” Huh. “I don’t know. Fall just feels different here for some reason.

Don’t get me wrong, I love autumn in New York—there are all kinds of great farmers’ markets in the city, the fashion is top-notch, and Central Park is an absolute dream.

But somehow out here it just feels, like, distilled or something.

There’s an incomparable coziness to it.”

“Yes! That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you!” she says, throwing her hands in the air. “Come for the apple picking and pumpkin carving, stay for the coziness.”

I smile at her as we enter the town square. “Hey, I’m just here for the harvest spice lattes.”

“And the boy who makes them…”

I stop breathing. “What? Who? Cooper?”

“Precisely,” she says with a smirk.

The blood drains from my face. If Sloane can tell I like him, then everyone can tell. He can tell. And that’s not a topic I want to broach right now. Not with him and not with my cousin.

“What are you talking about? Cooper and I are friends. A few weeks ago you were saying the same thing about Jake and me.”

“It’s rare, but I was wrong,” she says. “I mean, Jake definitely likes you, but your heart beats for our little baker boy.”

“Little baker boy?” I shake my head. “I literally have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“There’s no point in denying it because I know .” She grins at me. “If it helps, I think he might like you, too. He’s always staring at you.”

I sigh. “Just shut up. He is not.”

I’d know because I’m always staring at him .

“Yeah, okay.”

“Attention, Bramble Falls residents and visitors!” Aunt Naomi shouts into her megaphone from the gazebo. “Welcome to this weekend’s events! The Autumn Spice Sprint will begin in five minutes! Participants should make their way to the gazebo now!”

“There’s Asher,” Sloane says, nodding at where he’s waiting to race with her. “Come cheer for us.”

I follow Sloane to the gazebo and stand off to the side, desperately wishing we’d left twenty minutes earlier so we had time to stop for a coffee before the race.

My phone buzzes in my pocket.

Pen Thief Jake: Are you coming tonight?

The Boots and Blankets Bonfire is tonight, and I’ve never been happier to not have to set up for something. I’d probably fall asleep lugging wood to the fire pit. The second this race is over, I’m napping to my heart’s content—or at least until Sloane drags me out of bed to come back here.

Me: Yeah, I’ll be there

I slip my phone back into my pocket.

I’m watching Sloane smile shyly at Asher as he tells her something when Aunt Naomi approaches me.

“Are you racing?” she asks. “We still have a spot left for one more team.”

“Oh no.” I shake my head. “Definitely not. I don’t even have a partner. I—”

“Listen up!” Aunt Naomi shouts into her megaphone, nearly bursting my eardrums. “Do we have any single racers? Anyone who needs a partner?”

The crowd goes silent and glances around.

“Aunt Naomi, I really don’t—”

“My niece needs a partner,” she announces, ignoring me. “Do I have a volunteer?”

I lower my eyes and try to shield my face with my hand, avoiding the stares I’m undoubtedly receiving right now.

“Cooper Barnett! Get your butt over here!” Aunt Naomi shouts.

My head whips to the Caffeinated Cat tent.

Cooper’s gaze meets mine as the older woman he’s working with says something to him.

When he doesn’t budge, she gives him a little shove.

He shakes his head at her, takes off his apron, and makes his way out of the tent, garnering cheers from a few people in the crowd.

How mortifying.

“All right, Mitchell,” he says with a smirk as he approaches me. “You ready to win this thing?”

“You really don’t have to be my partner,” I assure him.

He stretches each arm across his body like he’s warming up for a triathlon instead of a silly town race.

“Oh yeah? Well, you can be the one to tell your aunt that. And Betty Lynn, for that matter,” he says, pointing his thumb back at the tent.

“I’m pretty sure she was about to fire me if I didn’t run this race with you. ”

“What’s with these small-town people being in everyone else’s business?” I mutter.

He furrows his brow. “These small-town people are just excited.”

I flinch at the annoyance lacing his tone. “I didn’t mean…” I sigh. “Sorry. You’re right. I’m just tired.” And Sloane’s comment clearly got under my skin, putting me on edge.

“It’s fine.” He shakes out his muscles like he’s shaking off my snide comment. “For the record, I don’t mind racing. But I don’t like to lose any more than you do.”

He flashes me his lopsided grin, letting me know I’m forgiven—or at least that we’re moving on from it. Hopefully the former.

“Well, perfect. I guess we just have to win this thing, then.”

His dimple sinks into his cheek as I stand there with my hands on my hips, once again displaying a fake confidence.

Because, in reality, my athleticism rivals that of a newborn giraffe.

Aunt Naomi holds up her megaphone again and shouts at the crowd.

“For this year’s race, participants will run in teams of two and have to complete three tasks.

” She turns her attention to the teams. “Once you and your partner reach the bottom of the hay bale drop-off, you’ll run to your first task, where you’ll have to wrap each other in toilet paper from head to toe, with the exception of your face.

When you’re both mummified, you can sprint to my favorite task—apple bobbing.

As a team, you must retrieve five apples.

Each teammate must retrieve at least one.

The final task is a three-legged race. You will stand next to your partner, tie your inside legs together with a rope, and run to the finish line.

If your rope comes untied, you’ll have to stop to retie it.

The first team to smash their pumpkins at the end wins! ”

The crowd whoops and applauds as we make our way to our starting markers—bales of hay stacked into climbable steps. I set my scarf in the leaves next to us, and the seven other teams step up to their bales. Sloane and Asher give each other a high five.

Cooper bumps my shoulder with his. “We’ve got this.”

I nod, forcing myself to focus on the obstacle in front of me instead of his amber irises.

“On your marks, get set…,” Aunt Naomi shouts, “go!”

Cooper bolts forward, his long legs taking the wobbly, makeshift steps two at a time. When he reaches the top, he extends his hand toward me instead of jumping off the ledge. I take it, and he pulls me up the last two steps and onto the landing with him.

“Pick up the pace, Mitchell,” he says, letting me go as he leaps off the edge and lands gracefully.

I follow him, tumbling into the leaves below with a thud.

“Are you okay?” he laughs.

“I’m fine.”

On either side of me, teams sprint away with a chaotic sense of urgency, everyone screaming at their partner to move faster.

I definitely underestimated how seriously people take this race.

“Focus,” Cooper says. “Eyes on the prize, not on the competition.”

My eyes fall on him.

Which is, of course, not at all what he means.

I stand and brush the leaves off my butt. “Right. Let’s go.”

We sprint to the first task, my trusty Frye boots slipping on the grass.

“Do I need to carry you again?” Cooper shouts at me over his shoulder.

“Shush. I’m not that slow,” I pant. He sprints ahead, leaving me trailing behind him. Because I actually am that slow.

By the time I get to the pile of toilet paper rolls, Cooper is already waiting on a knee for me.

“We’re doomed,” he says, unrolling the toilet paper around my feet.

“No, we’re not. We’re going to win.”

“You’re delusional.” He makes his way up my leg with the toilet paper.

“No, I’m optimistic .”

“Yeah, you keep telling yourself that, Mitchell,” he says, pushing to his feet. “Now, put your hands up and spin. It’ll be faster.”

I twirl in circles while he holds the roll in place, unraveling the toilet paper around my waist and up my torso.

A jolt of electricity zips through me when his hand skims my ribs, rousing every nerve ending and covering me in goose bumps.

Then he grabs a new roll and starts on my arms, moving at an impressive speed.

Standing this close, I take in his familiar scent—sugar, citrus, laundry detergent.

It’s the scent of horseback riding and of homecoming and of his bedspread. I want to bottle it up.

Once my arms are done, he continues to my head, bringing the toilet paper around my forehead and down the back of my head, tearing the end and tucking it into the wrapped portion on my neck while I secretly memorize him.

“You’re up,” he says. “Maybe you’ll be better at this than you are at running.”