Page 2 of Knotting Autumn

“Stop being dramatic and get up. You’ll feel better after you eat.”

Smirking, I booped him on the nose.

His pained expression flashed with a feral glint, and I had a split second to leap up before he grabbed my hips and dragged me back down into the mess of blankets and pillows.

Lurching away from the bed, I bared my teeth at him in a victorious grin. “Too fast for you, Soy-boy!”

Sawyer responded by gathering my pillow to his chest and flipping over, showing me a back that looked like a sculpture, all honed lines and grooves.

Tearing my eyes away, I shuffled into the kitchen, tugging the hair tie out of my messy bun and letting it tumble around my shoulders. Using my fingers as a comb, I brushed the mass of cinnamon waves back into a low ponytail and stretched the rubber hair tie around it again.

The coffee machine whirred to life at the touch of a button. While it brewed, I grabbed a pan, cranked on the stovetop, and added a knob of butter. Cracking in five eggs, I sprinkled salt and pepper over the top and grabbed the bag of shredded cheese to add last.

Humming to myself, I added a drizzle of cream and a sprinkle of real parmesan before topping it with a lid and turning the stove off to let the eggs finish cooking in the residual heat.

Warm arms wrapped around my waist, and Sawyer fit his chin against my collarbone. Relaxing into his hold, I tipped my head back. His nose rubbed the side of my neck as he adjusted our positions.

“You’re so mean, abandoning me when I just wanted to cuddle,” he whispered, his breath ghosting across my skin. “A man has needs, you know.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yup. Like snuggling and chocolate.” His chest rose and fell against my back in a soothing rhythm.

“Someone is secure in their masculinity,” I muttered, lifting the lid to peek at our eggs.

“Come on, I’ll even do your chores,” he said, playing his last card. “And you can pick the playlist.”

“You’re making it difficult to stick with my resolve and go to work, you asshole,” I grumbled, smiling wryly. I felt, rather than saw, his silent laughter, his chest vibrating against my shoulder blades. “I’m definitely not calling out today. Now, go be useful instead of being an oversized koala bear.”

“Sorry, babe. I’ll try to be less adorable.” With a playful huff, he released me, making his way to the fridge and grabbing the milk, drinking straight from the carton. It didn’t bother me when it was just the two of us.

Setting the lid aside with a metallic clink, I slid three eggs onto his plate and two onto mine. As Sawyer cut an orange into slices, I buttered a double chocolate chip muffin for him and a blueberry one for me.

We both slid into chairs at our little kitchen table. The pure domesticity of the scene sent warm butterflies fluttering in my stomach. Everything was perfect.

In high school, Sawyer and I bonded over being orphans. I was stuck in a group home while he was passed back and forth between an aunt and an uncle who didn’t want him. For a year, he was gone, living with a grandmother, but then she passed away and left him her cabin in the woods, and since he was only fifteen, he was back with his aunt.

After graduation, we went in together on our first tiny apartment, a studio where we both slept on a sectional sofa while eating ramen noodles and supporting each other through our associates degrees at the community college.

Eventually, we’d upgraded to a nice two-bedroom apartment closer to downtown—not that either of us made a lot of money at our jobs, but housing wasn’t very expensive in our small town.

Now at twenty-five, I loved our life together. Who needed a boyfriend when they had a best friend like Sawyer?

“So, hiking this weekend?” he asked again. “It’ll be too cold if we wait much longer.”

“Maybe. If I’m not too tired. We could do brunch on Sunday and then go in the late morning once the sun is out.”

Sawyer took a huge bite of his muffin and closed his eyes, letting out a borderline-sexual moan as he enjoyed the chocolate.

“Do you want me to leave you to have a private moment with that muffin?” I teased. “I need to get my ass into work anyway.”

His glazed eyes sharpened to focus on me as his lips pursed into a pout, but he didn’t argue, his mouth still full of muffin. Taking the opportunity, I rose from my seat and slid my plate on the counter next to the sink. If I cooked, Sawyer did the dishes.

Fifteen minutes later, my teeth and hair were brushed, and I was dressed in my uniform of jeans and a neon orange Cluckingham Palace t-shirt. This one had “We give a cluck” scrawled across the back. Other work shirts in my closet included “Chick happens” (neon yellow), “You’ve goat to be kidding me” (neon pink), and “Crop it like it’s hot” (neon green). The family that owned the farm supply shop certainly loved their puns.

Tossing my purse over my shoulder, I opened the front door, breathing in the crisp fall air. The scent of cinnamon and cloves twined on the wind, like someone was baking a pie.

“Hold on there, Pumpkin.” Sawyer appeared at my back, tugging on the loose fabric of my t-shirt playfully. “It’s gonna be freezing by the time you get off work.”