“How did we ever get here?” I wonder aloud. How is it possible that two people could simultaneously seem to be both destined and not destined to be together?
Again, I have that feeling that there must be a catch, that fate will not allow me to be with her; but when I look back at Autumn and see her quietly and calmly watching me, waiting for whatever I say or do next, I realize that it doesn’t matter.
My face must change because she smiles and clambers into my lap. We wrap our arms around each other and settle in. After a moment, she says, “You know, I never thought this would happen either. When Jack told me—” and then she stops.
I move my face away enough to look at her.
“Oh. I didn’t explain that part last night.”
“What part?” I hope I don’t sound as panicked as I suddenly feel. What did Jack tell her?
“It was a couple of weeks ago, after the horror movie we went to with Jack, remember? You went inside to get pretzels or something, and he was all, ‘It took Finn forever to get over you last time. Are you messing with his head?’” Her Jack impression is decent, but she’s still talking. “I was like, ‘Whaaat?’ because I had no idea that you’d ever felt that way. But Jack said you were over me, that he was only worried. So for the past couple of weeks, I’ve thought I’d missed my chance with you.”
I don’t say anything in reply. My head is too full of opposing thoughts and feelings.
“Finny?”
“Sorry,” I say. “I was trying to decide whether I should kill Jack for telling you I was into you or if I should kill him for telling you that I wasn’t into you. Tough call.”
“Noooo,” Autumn says. She kisses my cheek. “Don’t be mad. He was looking out for you. It was sweet. He loves you.”
“Yeah,” I admit. Jack was protecting me, but there’s no way he believed that I was over Autumn. I’m wondering now though. “What would you have done if he’d told you the truth, that I was”—I try to remember how Jack put it before—“bonkers in love with you?”
Autumn rests her head on my shoulder. I can’t believe this is real life, holding her like this.
“Hmm,” she says. “I think I would have had a hard time believing him.”
“Really?”
“I mean, yeah. I’m not exactly your type.”
“I—” I decide to skip over the whole “type” comment. “Let’s say Jack convinced you. I’m certain he could have eventually. Then what?”
“I guess I would have…” Autumn trails off and begins again. “I guess I would have flirted with you?”
“How?”
“I have no idea,” Autumn says. “But when I gave you my nov—Oh.” Before I can react, she’s sliding off my lap and looking at me with frantic eyes. “With everything that happened last night, I almost forgot you read my book.”
She’s looking at me like I’ve turned into a wild animal she does not trust.
“Autumn, it was great,” I tell her. She’s still looking at me dubiously. “Really.”
“It’s a first draft,” she says. “It can’t be great. But if you liked it okay, that’s a good start.”
“I loved it,” I say.
She shakes her head, brushing off my praise.
“Why were you so nervous to share it with me?”
“Because.” Autumn picks at the blanket in her lap. “It’s all of me, dissected and splayed out. I’m not nervous about how you interpreted Izzy and Aden’s relationship anymore, but last night, I thought it might be the end of our friendship. Because you got over me. After I abandoned you.”
“But I didn’t,” I say. “I couldn’t get over you.”
She looks back at me.
“I’m glad you didn’t,” she says, and a smile cracks her worry briefly. “So you liked the book. Obviously, you’re biased.”
“You remember how furious I was last night? I thought you’d recorded my devotion in perfect detail and then dropped it in my lap without considering my feelings. And I still loved it as a story. You’re a good writer, Autumn. You’ve always been good.”
Autumn shrugs and looks away, but her smile is back. “Thanks,” she whispers.
I can’t take it anymore. I lean over and kiss her deeply. A few minutes are lost to that, and then I gasp as I feel her fingers close around me.
“We can’t double our chances of you getting pregnant,” I say, even though I’m kissing her neck now and doing nothing to stop her hand.
Autumn pulls away and puts her other hand on my shoulder.
“Don’t worry,” she whispers. “I know what to do.” Autumn pushes me down on the bed, and for some unknown period of time, I am entirely at her mercy.
thirteen
“How much longer do we have?” Autumn asks.
I don’t want to think about it, but I glance at the clock anyway. We’ve kissed and dozed the afternoon away.
“In an hour, I should take a shower,” I say. When she went to the bathroom earlier, I quietly checked my phone and saw the text from Sylvie, confirming I can pick her up at her house after seven.
Autumn presses her back into my chest, and I stop stroking her arm to hug her. I raise my head and kiss her cheek. We’ve been lying like this for a while.
After Autumn charmingly tortured me with her hands and then triumphantly ravished me with her mouth, I tried to return the favor. I needed more coaching, but Autumn’s enthusiasm remained throughout.
Again and again this afternoon, Autumn has looked at me like she’s trying to believe I’m real. It was such a strange mirror of my own feelings.
Over and over, Autumn has told me she loves me. She’s said it breathlessly between kisses. She’s growled it before biting me softly on the shoulder, making me gasp in surprised pleasure. She’s said it smugly after destroying me, while I was still trembling in her hold.
It’s starting to settle into my brain as fact. Autumn loves me in return.
“Tomorrow,” Autumn whispers.
“What about it?” Tomorrow is going to be wonderful, and the day after and the day after, because I am hers. Tonight is the only concern, and that’s mine alone.
“What if you waited until tomorrow?”
I tighten my grip on her and bury my face in the back of her neck.
“No, it’s the right thing to do.” I kiss her shoulder. Somewhere in the back of my brain, I’m still amazed that she wants me to touch her.
Autumn rolls over, and we settle in, facing each other.
“Tell me a story,” she demands.
“What kind of story?” I try to hide the amusement in my voice because she’s being very solemn.
“About us,” she says. “Something true. Something that happened when we didn’t know we loved each other.”
“Hmm.” I think I understand what she’s asking, and I wonder if she has stories of her own. “Do you remember that tiara my mom got you one year for Christmas? She said, ‘Finny picked it out.’ I bought it. I saw it at a store and knew you would love it. I gave it to Mom and asked her to say it was from both of us.”
Autumn’s mouth is hanging open.
“Oh, Finny,” she says. “You could have told—”
“No,” I say. “I couldn’t have. We hadn’t gotten each other Christmas gifts for years. It would have been weird.”
“Oh, Finny,” she says again, but this time, she’s agreeing with me.
“Now you tell me a story,” I say.
“Well,” she begins, “remember the Valentine’s Day right after that? You were sick, and I brought you that note from…” She stalls at that part, but I don’t need her to continue.
“I remember.” The agony I’d felt that day stayed fresh for the rest of that winter. I had obsessed over that embarrassing conversation for weeks.
“You were so hot,” Autumn moans, looking away from me, and I blink in surprise. She scrunches up her face and closes her eyes against the memory. “You were shirtless and sweaty and flushed and—” She breaks off into a frustrated growl. When she looks back up at me, she says, “But you saw me checking you out, right? You had to have. It was so obvious.” She’s smiling like she expects me to agree.
“I thought you had brought me a Valentine. I was confused and happy and then a different sort of confused when it was from Sylvie.” I find myself faltering again. “I thought you could see my mistake, and I felt so sick and gross in front of you, and you were so beautiful like alwa—”