Page 50 of Autumn at the Cat Cafe

She gasped—

“Say cheese!” Dora took the picture.

Leo’s arm dropped and he quickly moved out from behind Mr. Pumpkinhead as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

“Via!” Dora waved her over, breaking her out of her shock.

When she reached her, Dora was looking at the almost developed Polaroid picture, her smile growing. “You two are gorgeous,” she said, handing the photo to Via.

She hid a groan. The picture was awful—at least her part of it was. She looked like a dork with her mouth partly open and her eyes wider than dinner plates. Dora could have taken another picture for Pete’s sake, one where she wasn’t gasping in surprise at Leo’s thrilling touch.

But Leo... ah, Leo. Of course he was perfectly photogenic.

“Let’s see.” He peered over her shoulder. She breathed in the familiar scent of his honey-leather cologne as she glanced at him, seeing a tiny freckle at the inner corner of his mouth that she hadn’t noticed before, right by the dimple.

Without a word, he took the picture from her, slipped it into the pocket of Earl’s jacket, and stepped away.

Via turned to Dora, stunned. But Dora just gave her yet another knowing look and joined Charlie and Phoenix, who were walking toward the popcorn machine.

“What’s next?” Leo asked.

“Um... why did you keep the picture?”

He seemed surprised by her question. Reaching back into his pocket he said, “Sorry, did you want it?”

“No, I look like a lunatic. I’m wondering why you do.”

“I like it.” He shrugged, as if she should have already known the answer. “And you don’t look like a lunatic.” The corner of his mouth lifted in a partial smile. “Well, maybe a little.”

She matched his half grin. “In my defense, I wasn’t ready for her to take the picture. I was—” She caught herself before she said that she’d been distracted. Quickly, she picked up Sir and put his catpack on her shoulders. “We need to get a cart.” She’d spent enough time embarrassing herself over Harvard Boy.

Chapter 12

Via and Leo went to the stack of carts available for customers to load their pumpkin purchases on. She pushed one across the hay-strewn dirt yard to the piles that had been picked by the Trentons, the family who owned the patch. Only a few people were allowed access to the field, and for good reason.

As Via looked over the pumpkins, trying to find the perfect specimens, she heard Leo’s voice.

“He seems bored.”

Via looked to the side. Then the other. No Leo. Then she realized he was standing behind her checking on Sir. “He likes the movement of the catpack when I walk. I’d take him on the leash, but I don’t want him to get stepped on.”

“Guess I’m projecting. I’d be bored if I was stuck in a backpack.”

“Are you?” She inwardly winced, wishing she hadn’t asked the question. “Bored, I mean?”

Leo rubbed his chin. “No.” He picked up a pumpkin and weighed it in his hand. “Why Octavia?”

“My name?” she asked, surprised at the abrupt subject change.

“Yes. You’re the first Octavia I’ve ever met.”

“Mom’s a lit professor at Lake Erie College. I was named after Antony and Cleopatra.”

“The play, right? After Antony’s wife?”

She nodded and set a wonderfully plump pumpkin on the cart. One down, seven more to go. “Did you read it at Harvard?”

“Sixth grade. I think. Been a while.”