Four days. That’s how long it’s been since Julie stood up to Craig and the cops dragged him out of Cozy Coffee in handcuffs. It’s been ny-six hours since the town apuded her like she’d in a dragon. In a way, she did.


    Since Craig was arrested, she’s actually slept and rxed. It’s a relief.


    This morning, I wake up and can’t remember thest time I felt this. There’s no adrenaline in my veins. No stress of waiting for the next shoe to drop. It’s just peace.


    Julie stirs when I press my lips to her forehead.


    “Morning,” she says, her voice rough with sleep.


    “Morning, beautiful,” I whisper back, not wanting to break the early morning spell.


    Her hand slides across my stomach. “Don’t forget, we’re carving a lot of pumpkins at Hollow Manorter for the party tomorrow.”


    She sounds excited.


    I chuckle. “That’s what you wake up thinking about?”


    “Of course,” she says, propping herself up on an elbow, like there’s no other answer. “It’s my favorite time of year.”


    I pull her down for a kiss. “Are you sure you’re ready for me to out-carve you?”


    She kisses my shoulder. “Oh, you can try.”


    I kiss her, slowly. She smiles against my mouth. We don’t rush the moment; that’s the luxury of having peace.


    An hourter, we’re at Hollow Manor, moving toward the back porch of the gothic mansion. Autumn has turned Hollow Manor’s backyard into a pumpkin battleground. Fifty pumpkins—no exaggeration—sit in rows like an orange army, surrounded by bins of tools and bowls for seeds. Battery-operated candles wait in boxes.


    Autumn adjusts her high ponytail on her head, and then she smooths down her ck-cat-print apron like a seasonal general.


    “We’re carving all of these?” Julie asks.


    It seems like a lot.


    “Oh, yeah,” Autumn says. “I want the sidewalk to glow and greet every guest. Oh, please keep the seeds. I want to roast them before the party.”


    Julie drags her palm over a lineup of gourds like she’s choosing a racehorse. “This one’s mine.” Then she beelines for a deeply unfortunate, wart-covered pumpkin. “And I want that one too.”


    “Absolutely not,” I say. “I get the troll pumpkin.”


    “Possession is nine-tenths of thew,” she says, already hauling it to her side of the pic table.


    Zane appears, carrying a tray that has apple cider, cinnamon doughnuts, and a bowl of candy corn, which he pretends he’s not eating by the fistful.


    “Saw ire this morning. She said Mercury is no longer in retrograde,” he announces.


    Julie snorts. “Very good to know. Perfect timing actually. Is sheing?”


    “She said she was going antiquing with her mom.”


    “Oh, good!” Julie says.


    I lift a carving knife like a saber. “Ready?”


    Julie grabs one as well. “Oh, yes. Prepare to be humbled.”


    We work across from one another. The first slice of the lid releases that sweet, earthy smell of pumpkin. Julie lets out a contented sigh that I file under top ten sounds I’d like to hear for the rest of my life. She draws her design with a marker and chews on the inside of her cheek with concentration.


    I steal nces more than I carve.


    “Eyes on your own gourd, Banks,” she says without looking up.


    “Oh my gourd. I can’t help it. You’re gorgeous.”


    She slings a handful of pumpkin guts at me.


    I throw some back with augh.


    She gasps like I’ve vited the Geneva Conventions and retaliates with a scoop thatnds across my sweatshirt. I move to her side of the table, closing the distance.


    “Dirty y,” I say.


    “Fair y,” she counters. “You started it.”


    I pull her closer until the scoop drops to the table and her palms slide to my shoulders. The kiss starts yful and goes somewhere else. Her fingers curl in my shirt, and the world shrinks to nothing. I taste the cider on her mouth and hear the sound of her soft, happy sigh.


    Someone coughs.


    Zane.


    “Don’t let Autumn see you getting distracted,” he says. “Especially not mid-triangle-eye.”


    Julie buries her face in my chest,ughing.


    “He’s right,” I tell her, tucking hair behind her ear. “Autumn, apparently, takes this very seriously.”


    “I heard that!” Autumn says, carrying ghost decorations to hang in the trees. In the corner of therge, manicured field next to the house, a stage is being constructed, along with a haunted house.


    “How many people are attending this party?” I ask.


    “Two hundred, but not everyone RSVP’d.”


    “Wow,” I whisper. “So, you’re all obsessed?”


    “Yes,” the three of them say.


    I settle back in across from Julie, who’s been carving something creative.


    “What are you making over there?” I ask.


    “You’ll see soon enough,” she tells me.


    Julie’s focused on her pumpkin when I hear tires roll over the pavement. It’s a Jaguar.


    I nce up and groan. “Who’s that?”


    Zane doesn’t even look away from his knife. “Patterson.”


    “Patterson? Why?” I ask, just as he steps out of a sleek ck sedan like he’s about to negotiate a billion-dor hockey contract instead of walking across a patio full of pumpkin guts.


    “I invited him to the party tomorrow,” Autumn says.


    Patterson surveys the porch and the pumpkins, then looks at Julie.


    “Oh, shit, you two are carving pumpkins. You know he’s the champ, right?”


    Julie looks up at him, grinning. “I’m aware. I’m going to kick his ass. Anyway, it’s good to see you again. How’s the season going so far?”


    “Everything is good. Leaving the morning after Halloween, so won’t be here very long.”


    “Coincidence,” Julie tells him. “So is Nick.”


    Patterson slides his sunsses on top of his head. “Wow. It’s worse than I thought.” He tips his head at me.


    “What is?” Julie takes a break from her carving.


    Patterson barks out augh, then turns to Nick. “When do you n to stop ying games and admit you’re never going back to the city?”


    Julie nces at me, but I don’t take my eyes off Patterson.


    “I’m returning on November first,” I confirm. “I have a quarterly investors’ ball on the second that I can’t miss.”


    Patterson smirks. “And how long will you stay in the city?”


    Julie arches a brow, and I wish I could read her mind.


    “Damn. How many questions do you n on asking me?” I snap out.


    Autumn waltzes by us. “Patterson, you’re here. Perfect timing! I need your height. Don’t interrupt their carving. They have fifty pumpkins to finish, and I need help hanging string lights in the gazebo, please.”


    He gives her a look. “I’m not getting on adder. Last thing I need to do is get injured.”


    “It’s a step stool. Quit being a baby,” she says, shoving the stool into his hands. “You’re helping. Come on.”


    Julie presses her lips together to keep fromughing.


    “You’re so bossy,” Patterson tells her, but he’s following Autumn.


    “You have no idea,” Zane says with augh.


    We carve until the table is a battlefield of lids and pulp.


    Zane gathers up the seeds while Autumn puts on a ylist of 2000s throwbacks that makes Julie shimmy her shoulders while she carves. I pretend she doesn’t undo me but fail. By the time the sun starts to slide behind the mountain, we finish thest of our pumpkins.


    “Okay, well, I carved faces,” Zane says, ncing between our pumpkins. “You two assholes decided to be artists.”


    “Ready for the reveal?” I ask Julie.


    “Yes. We should line them up on each side.”


    Autumnes to us. “I’ll turn the fake candles on, and then I’ll give you a thumbs-up when they’re all lit, got it?”


    We nod, standing at the end of the sidewalk as she does what she said. Zane and Patterson light the ones on the porch.


    “You’re good to go,” Autumn yells as she, Zane, and Patterson move inside, leaving me and Julie to ourselves.


    “This is the reveal I’ve been waiting for,” I admit.


    I take her hand, and the two of us stroll down the sidewalk.


    The soft glow throws light across us, and for a second, I forget we’re here for the pumpkins.


    We start at the end, and I realize she’s carved a sea of stars across all twenty pumpkins. There are hundreds of stars, cut delicately, like a constetion map. At the very end, she’s carved a couple kissing in a window.


    “Holy shit,” I mutter. “Is that us?”


    “Yes,” she admits.


    “This is incredible, Jules.” I ce my hand on my heart. “I’ve been humbled. I’m not worthy.”


    Julie nudges me with her shoulder, her eyes still glittering like the constetions in the pumpkins. “All right, champ. Let’s see if the legend lives up to the hype. Show me yours.”


    The first few pumpkins are apple trees. Their branches carved so thin that theyce together like veins of light, tiny apples dangling likenterns. Julie’s lips part, and she leans closer.


    “The orchard,” she mutters, seeing a couple lying on a nket.


    “It was so damn special, being there with you,” I say.


    I move us along, and the light from the next set spills across her face. It’s the building of Cozy Coffee, downtown, followed by a coffee bar. I nearly lost my mind, getting it right. The final one is a steaming coffee cup. The steam patterns are so delicate that they almost look likece.


    Herugh breaks the silence. “Wow.”


    “Did I win?” I tease, though my throat feels tight.


    Julie’s face softens. “Nick … these are …”


    She doesn’t finish, but I see it in her eyes.


    The next ones are how I view us. Two hands threaded together, every line deliberate so the shadows make them look alive. A couple silhouetted beneath a shower of falling leaves, the shapes of their bodies leaning close.


    Her breath catches as she stares at thest few.


    The first is a zing sun, every ray carved with razor precision. Next to it, a starry night sky with bold shapes and imperfect stars. They shine like they’re burning straight out of the pumpkin.


    Then the final is a couple in a heart silhouette, kissing. The one that almost undid me to carve because it felt like I was putting my heart on disy. It’s us.


    Julie takes in the pumpkins.


    She lifts her hand to her mouth. Her voice is a whisper, but it knocks the air from me anyway. “You carved our love story.”


    I rub the back of my neck. “I wanted you to see what I see when I look at you.”


    Her hand falls, and before I can take another breath, she’s on me—fingers twisting into my shirt, tugging me down. Her lips meet mine with a force that’s soft but also desperate.


    It’s a kiss that two people exchange when words aren’t enough. It’s as if I’m her air, and she’s been waiting for this moment just as long.


    I slide my hands to her waist, pulling her closer until the glow of the pumpkins washes over us. Her mouth parts against mine, and I taste cider and sweetness and Julie. Her hair brushes against my cheek, and she exhales into me. It’s a sound I carved into those pumpkins without even realizing it.


    For a moment, there’s no chill in the mountain air, and nothing else exists. It’s just her, us, and the way she kisses me, like every wall we’ve held up has crumbled.


    When we break apart, her forehead rests against mine, and her breath is uneven. In the glow of flickering pumpkins, I know I’d carve a thousand more if it meant keeping this look on her face.<hr>


    After we’ve helped Autumnplete every item on her checklist, we return to the condo. Julie showers and pulls on an oversized sweater while I make tea. We move around each otherfortably.


    “I thought we would write our letters tonight,” she says, setting down a stack of paper and a handful of gel pens that look like they belong in a middle-school pencil pouch.


    I sit across from her at the kitchen table. “Great idea.”


    She chooses a glittery orange pen, turning it between her fingers. I pick up a in ck one. It feels right. She’s color and stardust and constetions. I’m solid lines. This is why she makes me a better man.


    The page in front of me sits nk. For someone who’s spent his whole life knowing exactly what to say in press conferences, contracts, negotiations, this is the first time my hand doesn’t quickly move.


    I want to write I love you. Three simple but obvious words. It’s too much and not enough, so I start smaller. I write about herugh and how she looks in the morning light. Write about how I appreciate her fearlessness, even if her voice shakes.


    I nce up. Julie’s hunched over her page, hair falling around her face, pen hovering, but not moving. She chews the inside of her cheek—the same way she does when she’s lost in thought.


    “Stuck?” I ask.


    Her eyes flick to mine, then back to the page. “No. Just trying to find the right words for everything I need to say.”


    “Same,” I admit.


    I want to tell her everything. How the moment she walked into my life again, the noise in my head quieted. How I thought I was too far gone to deserve this and she proved me wrong without even trying. How she makes me want things I’ve spent years convincing myself I couldn’t have. But every thought feels too heavy.


    Fuck it, I think.


    I let the pen move and don’t stop until the page feels full, and then I turn it over. My chest feels lighter and heavier when I spill my heart. Once I’ve reread it three times, I fold it.


    Julie slides an orange envelope across the table to me, and I stuff my letter inside, then write her name on it. She does the same.


    We stare at the two festive envelopes, which seem almost innocent. They might as well be sticks of dynamite, waiting for a spark.


    I don’t know her answer, but in my heart, I believe there’s a future for us.


    There is a chance that, after everything that’s happened with Craig, she might decide that we’re better off as friends. I have not counted that possibility out.


    If that happens, at least she’ll know my truth because I put my heart on the line.


    She exhales. “No matter what, I’ve loved every moment with you. You know that, right?”


    Her words should reassure me, but the way she said “no matter what” hooks something in my chest. I hate how it sounds like an ending.


    “Yes, sweetheart. Friends, no matter what.” I remind her of our original rules.


    The silence that follows hums with anticipation.


    I think about reaching for her envelope, tearing it open, not waiting another second. But I don’t. I will be impatiently patient.


    Julie moves to the seat next to me and wraps her arms around me.


    She tips her head back. “You okay?”


    I kiss her hair, breathing her in. “Yeah. Just thinking about tomorrow.”


    My fantasy future with a redhead in a sweater already feels like home. Being with her is a thought I could get lost in.


    “You know, I couldn’t imagine spending my autumn with anyone else,” I confess.


    She kisses my jaw. “Don’t get sappy.”


    “Oh, just you wait.”


    After another few minutes, we get up and make our way to her bedroom. We climb into bed, and the two of us stare at the ceiling, holding one another.


    We finally drift off around two a.m., wrapped together like we’re afraid to let each other go.


    Tomorrow, we’ll open the envelopes that contain our confessions.


    Tomorrow, no matter what, everything will change.