Page 19 of The Autumn Leaf Bookshop (Everly Hollow #1)

What the fuck was that?

Sylas

“ W hat the fuck...was that?” Raene sits up from the ground, her knees are bent, her hands braced out behind her, keeping her steady. She’s surrounded by leaves, a few in her hair.

I hold out my hand as she grabs it and quickly scrambles off the leaf pile. Her hair partially covers her face until she runs her hands through it, and the leaves fall out, fluttering to the ground.

“Seriously, Ash! What is that?” Her voice cracks into a high-pitched squeal, jabbing a finger at the pile of leaves as if it were alive. She takes a step away from it.

“I’m sorry.” I hold my hands up like that’ll make this better. “I tried to catch you! You’re the one who said leaf piles aren’t portals.”

My hand rakes through my hair as I try not to laugh at the pure horror on her face. “The kids love it. I was going to set up a few of these throughout the fall festival.”

“Those are death traps! What kind of child would love this? I thought I was going through a fucking wormhole, and next thing I know I’m falling out of the air, and back into that cursed leaf pile.” She leans over, places her hands on her knees, and takes a few deep breaths.

I bend over to pick up her purse as she steadies herself. She groans. As sexy and cute as she can be, I feel bad for her because she actually was afraid and probably thought she was having a near-death experience. “I think I’m about to vomit out of my ass right now.”

Elora hears the commotion and runs over, her braid bouncing behind her as she jogs in her worn boots, knee-length skirt swaying, and an oversized knitted sweater.

She slows when she sees Raene hunched over, her chocolate lab, Oakley, trots along following her.

Elora glances at the leaf pile I’m standing next to.

One hand flies to her face, and she groans, shaking her head. “Not the leaf pile, Sylas,” she says, pinching the bridge of her nose with her thumb and index finger, her other hand on her hip.

“Hey, Raene,” Elora crouches down beside her, reaching out to rub light circles on her back. “Are you okay?” Her voice is gentle and soothing.

Raene slowly nods her head. “I love rides and even roller coasters, but I didn’t expect that …”

She squints at me and Elora, the sun in her face. “Kids actually enjoy that? The feeling of their stomach falling out of their ass?”

“I’m sorry, Raene, really.” Nim was rolling around near the leaves when he suddenly burst into the tree, knocking Raene off balance as he tumbled into the leaf loop-hole. I couldn’t reach out in time .

“ Tell her to just be steadier on her feet next time ,” Nim says nonchalantly.

“Nim says he’s sorry,” I say. Holding her purse out to her.

“ Ugh, fine. Sorry ,” he purrs.

I feel like he’s using a corner of my mind like a fucking scratching post right now. He stretches on a low branch in front of us.

Raene nods her head, accepting her purse, draping it over her chest, slowly coming to a stand. “Tell him, apology accepted.” She fixes her hair and sends a warm smile to Elora, mouthing a quiet thank you.

“Well, let me know when you both are done with the barn.” She gives us a small smile, patting her thigh to get Oakley’s attention, pausing from her sniffing. She trots to Elora’s side, tail wagging as they continue their journey back to the main house.

“Are you doing okay?” I ask, my voice filled with worry.

“I’m fine,” she says, quickly glancing at my face, then looks away, “and thanks for trying to catch me, but we may need to get hazard signs for whatever leaf piles you want to set up, okay?”

I lightly chuckle. I’m glad she’s able to joke, but I can still see the sheer look of panic when she fell, went through the loop, and gravity pulled her back to Earth.

I shove my hands into my pockets as we begin walking towards the barn. I stay a few steps behind her. I don’t want to hover over her. She needs her space, but Goddesses, I want to keep her steady, to keep her from toppling over again.

Why is she getting underneath my skin like this ?

Her smiles, her laughs, her dislike for the fall season—she’s knee deep in planning this festival with me—that she says, isn’t her thing.

Lightly jogging, I catch up to her. “Let me show you what we have inside. I don’t think we’ll have to get anything new, it’s all in pretty great condition.”

“Alright, but there better not be any more loopholes or hula hoops,” she says, pulling open the barn door and stepping inside.

“It’s like a warehouse for the holiday seasons,” she whispers. She takes in the totes stacked, shelves of large decor, and the signs telling us which section is which.

I can’t help but grin as I watch her take it all in.

From the towering totes to the neat rows of shelving stacked high with garlands, lanterns, and enough seasonal décor to decorate our small town for every season.

She’s got that spark in her eye again, like she’s seeing possibilities that I’d never notice.

It’s kind of addictive, watching her mind work.

“Pretty cool, huh? This is where the good stuff is anyway,” I say, leading us to the sign that says autumn . I point at the sign, sending her a wink. The way she rolls her eyes, but is unable to hide the smile.

One word.

TROUBLE .

We begin our search to see what we can use for the town square and shopfronts.

She sets her purse down and begins to open totes, taking notes on her phone of her findings.

We find garland and wreaths, and lights. I can easily enhance them with my magic. Scarecrows—she lets out a laugh—faux pumpkins, porch signs, and hay bales.

When she shifts a couple of totes aside and gasps, it’s soft but sharp enough to catch my attention. Immediately, I looked up.

“Oh…Ash, look at these.”

She moves the lid fully off the container and pulls out a plush oversized floor pillow, in deep blues, purples with a silver design threaded in. I’ve never seen these before. We didn’t use them last year.

“These are gorgeous! We can use these for the tent event.” She looks at me, her voice excited as she runs a hand over it. Her fingers trail over the silver stitching, the same way she touched the tree branches earlier, like she’s testing its worthiness.

“It will be like stepping out of fall…just for the evening. Do you have low-lying tables we could use with these?” She asks. She’s so into her planning, I’m not sure if she’s talking to me or making a mental note.

“I’m thinking a tent, picnic table vibes with seating on the floor cushions with the live music, maybe an appetizer spread with the drinks?” She nods her head as if to agree with her decisions, laying the pillow back in the tote .

I can picture her there with a drink in her hand, skin glowing in the low lantern light, her legs tucked under her as she sits on a pillow, swaying to the music. My heart pounds at the image.

“I’m going to go check around for the tables. Can you check and see how many floor pillows we have?” She asks, walking away but tossing the question over her shoulder.

“Sure thing,” I say, beginning my work through the totes, turning to see her walk towards the ladder, hips swaying with each step as she climbs to the loft.

Focus, Sylas. Pillows. Not her ass. Pillows.

I count through the first tote, six. Another tote, eight. I go through all the totes that are in the vicinity. “There’s enough here to build a pillow fort. I count twenty,” I call up to her.

“I see three low picnic tables up here!” Her voice echoes from above in glee. She may not like fall, but when her ideas are coming together, there is a brightness in her eyes and her voice.

A sunbeam filters in through the loft window, dust dancing in the air. I glance up, shading my eyes with my hand, seeing her crouched over the tables.

“I’m not sure what they were used for, but they’ll work for the tent event if you like them.”

She starts down the ladder, one hand gripping the side, the other holding her phone. “Perfect. We can dress them up with table runners, lanterns, flowers, and I’m thinking lots of—”

Her voice cuts off abruptly.

Shit. Her foot slips on the fourth rung.

I don’t think, I just move as fast as I can. I couldn’t catch her last time, but I will now.

I’m there, arms ready. Catching her as she tumbles, one arm braced around her waist, the other steadying her shoulder.

Her breath catches as she clings to me, our faces only inches apart.

Her breasts are pressed against me. She’s panting, her hands holding onto my shoulders, nails digging into my flesh, but it’s a pain I gladly welcome. I shouldn’t be hard right now.

“I got you,” I murmur.

Her wide eyes meet mine, and for a second, everything feels too still. Too close. She’s too fucking close.

I’m aware of everything: her full, glossy lips parting and the way her eyes quickly dart to my mouth before meeting my eyes again.

The warmth of her body pressed to mine, the soft rasp of her breathing, her scent, her arousal.

It’s faint, but it's fucking there, and it's intertwining with my pulse that is roaring in my ears.

“Thanks for catching me,” she whispers, her voice husky, brushing against my skin like the touch of a feather.

“You sure you’re okay?” My hand instinctively lifts, cupping her cheek. My thumb glides across her cheekbone, slow and unthinking, because my body knows what it wants before I can think to stop it.

She starts to lean into my touch, just a fraction, just enough to place an ache in my chest, until she pulls herself away.

“Sorry.” She winces, retracting her nails from me. And just like that, she let go .

The warmth of her body is gone, but it lingers on my skin. I’m left standing here, my muscles tight, my body turned on, watching her adjust herself like she didn’t just knock the very breath out of me.