Page 131 of The Fall Classic

Last time he left, I didn’t let myself admit how much I’d miss him. Now, I can’t deny it.

No matter how much that scares me.

***

After dinner, we walk around the farm hand in hand, wandering around the elaborate autumn set up. It’s been such a cool September, people are already wearing boots, scarves, and light jackets. There are hay bales stacked into photo backdrops, scattered pale green pumpkins and bright green gourds that were picked too early, and a huge field of corn that will become a maze eventually, but for now features a sign saying “Waiting for the stalks to catch up.”

For the South, all of this is huge. It feels like a gift from the universe that we’re not fighting the heat alongside the humidity at this time of year. Getting to wear an actual hoodie and cuddle up against my boyfriend is a slice of heaven that smells like pumpkin, apple cider, and hay.

If my shoes weren’t strangling my feet, this night would be perfect.

“Hey, Setup Man!” someone calls out to Logan, and he waves. He waves at the next person who calls him that, too.

By the third person, I’m getting frustrated. “It’s Logan, not Lucas,” I say with a firm smile. “Logan Fischer. The knuckleballer. Number 49. They barely even look alike.”

“They’re twins, lady,” a guy says, snorting. “It’s not like anyone can tell them apart.”

“They’re mirror image twins. Logan’s right-handed, Lucas is left-handed. And their faces and smiles and hair are all completely different, to say nothing of how Logan’s way cuter⁠—”

“Cuter?” Logan asks, interrupting my tirade as the fan rolls his eyes and walks past.

I spin to look at Logan. “What’s wrong with cute?”

“It’s not ‘ruggedly handsome.’ I’ll tell you that much.”

My mouth quirks up in a half smile. “Sorry, 49. You’re extremely cute.”

“I have a six-pack.”

“And I’m sure it’s also extremely cute.”

Logan pulls me into a one-armed hug and then covers my mouth with his hand. “She means crazy hot, people,” he calls out, as if we have an audience hanging on our every word. “Definitely not cute. Cute is for babies.”

I say something into his hand, and he takes it off my mouth. “You’re being kind of a baby—” I manage to get out before he covers my mouth again.

“Nasty Georgie!”

“Mm mmm-mmm.”

“Huh?” He removes his hand so I can speak.

“Just Georgie,” I say.

He pulls me the rest of the way into a hug, his arms wrapped so close and firm, I never want to leave this hug.

And he’s not kidding about that six-pack.

“It’s never Just Georgie,” he says. “It’s Spectacularly Georgie. Magnificently Georgie. Wholly and Completely Georgie. But never Just Georgie. Got it?”

“Got it. Thanks, Bossy Logan,” I murmur into his collarbone, and I grin when I feel him shake with laughter.

“Bossy Logan is probably Wholly and Completely Logan. Lee and Lukie will tell you all about it in October.”

I stiffen, and Logan pulls back. He takes my hand and guides me over to a few hay bales up against a split-rail fence with a fall-leaves garland on it. “Did I say something that upset you? Was it the mention of October? I know we haven’t talked about what me leaving means long term. Do you want to think long term?”

“Logan—”

“Georgie,” he interrupts. “I’m crazy about you. I don’t see any version of me moving forward without you. I want to see where this goes, but if you don’t⁠—”