Falling at First Sight Page 2

  The first thought I had about Autumn Holloway is far too inappropriate for this setting. As is my reaction every single time I see her.

  Last year, she teased me, giving me mixed signals. Watching her gather Henry as they enter, I remember how I asked her out almost a year ago. She declined. Clearing her throat far too many times and that rosy hue that drives me wild staining her cheeks.

  I gave her space, but every day since then she’s given me that same shy smile paired with covert glances. Every. Single. Day. This year, the tension is even thicker and my longing for just a chance is even worse.

  The front door opens, bringing in a refreshing fall breeze. “Mr. Morgan!” Henry yells although he’s not paying me any attention at all as he races past me to the gate where Miss Sandy is already waiting for him.

  “Miss Sandy!” he calls out with the same enthusiasm as I tell the five-year-old good morning and watch Sandra take him back. He’s a happy kid and reminds me of my own son, Chase. Who just happens to be his best friend.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Autumn says, holding the backpack with both hands.

  “No worries,” I respond and hold out my hand for the backpack. I have to grin when she stares at my hand for a moment too long and then shakes her head with her eyes closed. She opens her eyes, her gorgeous green gaze finding mine before she passes over her son’s backpack.

  “Right, right.” Her smile widens, beautiful and filling me with warmth as she stares back at me and says, “You’d think I’d remember this from last year.” With the backpack now in my hand, I swallow thickly.

  “No worries,” I tell her again and inwardly scold myself. Say something else. Damn. This woman does something to me. I co-own the preschool and I don’t want to push boundaries, but I want her.

  I’ve never wanted a woman like I do Autumn. Her sweet blushes, her shy smiles, her luscious curves—I want it all.

  As she signs her son in, I can’t take my eyes off of her. That is, until her hand whips around, pen still between those fingers, to point at me and say something. She doesn’t get a word out though other than “shit.”

  My disposable coffee cup was practically filled to the brim still and luckily only lukewarm since some of it splashed onto her forearm.

  “I’m so sorry,” she says, obviously in distress as she pushes out the words, frantically wiping up the mess with a stack of tissues she pulled from her purse. Mom-ready.

  I almost say “no worries” yet again as I grab some paper towels, helping her clean up the mess that I could and should take care of by myself to put her at ease. Almost. Almost but I don’t.

  Stopping myself, I wait until the chaos has left her beautiful gaze.

  “Looks like you owe me a coffee date,” is what comes out instead. The casual maybe-joke, sets a tension between us as I clean up what’s left of the mess and shy Autumn pauses her movements to peek up at me.

  I swear my pulse slows and every noise around us fades to nothing when I watch her reaction. The way her mouth parts slightly and then her teeth sink down into her pouty lips. The swallow that follows makes her neck seem that much more tempting to kiss.

  “Mr. Morgan,” she barely says my name in a breathy voice and then clears her throat, the nerves getting to her. They get to me too, beautiful.

  “Are you asking me out on a date?” she half teases back and the two of us toss the soaked paper towels in the trash can.

  “Yes,” I answer her and that playfulness evaporates. “Just coffee,” I tell her, holding my ground, and then I hold my breath.

  Wide eyed, her gaze drops to my lips for just a moment. I’ll be damned if this woman doesn’t want me. “Please,” I add for good measure, plastering a smirk on my lips. The smirk that always makes her shift in place from foot to foot.

  “Just coffee?” she asks softly.

  I can only nod, because I’d rather do that than lie.

  As two more youngsters enter, breaking up the moment when one of them cries not to be left by her father, I worry I’ve lost her. And that she’s going to politely decline.

  Instead, she tucks her hair behind her ear and agrees to the date by saying, “I think coffee would be nice.”

  Autumn

  My phone is blowing up as it lays on my somewhat made queen bed. I never tuck in the sheets, but the off-white comforter with a gray paisley pattern is pulled over enough that when I tell my five-year-old son it’s time to make his bed, he can’t point a finger back at me.

  Ting, ting. The phone chimes and buzzes again, and I’m quick to read the updates from Mags followed by the response from Renee. Magnolia’s life could be a story line for a soap opera. Or a Lifetime movie maybe. I’ve thought it for years but especially now given what’s going on in her love life.

  I’m quick to reply and then silence it, but not before catching Sharon’s comment. Just seeing her name on the screen produces guilty tumbles in the pit of my stomach.

  What do you do when your friend and you like the same man? You don’t touch him. You certainly don’t go on a coffee date with him over the weekend.

  I don’t even see what Sharon replied or know what position she’s taking on Magnolia’s situation. All I know is that I said yes to coffee with a guy I know she likes.

  “Ugh.” The groan slips out as I pull my sundress down and then blow a few strands of curly, dark blond hair out of my face. Makeup is done, this dress is brand new and I love how it flows, but my goodness, I cannot get past this feeling of betrayal. No matter how excited I am.

  “You look pretty, Mommy.” Henry’s voice catches me by surprise. The door creaks as my son pushes it open even more. “Pretty for date.” His tone is mischievous.

  My bottom lip drops and my mouth opens with shock for this little cutie staring back at me as he climbs onto my bed. His little fists grab a handful of bedding and I help him, scooting his bottom up until he’s on the mattress.

  “It’s not a date, sweetie,” I tell him and there’s practically a scold in my tone. Maybe that’s why he arches that little brow of his at me. It’s nearly comical. He’s always had a mind of his own.

  It’s between a glance in the vanity mirror and a glance back at him that I see his true intentions. “Nope,” I say and snag my phone just before he can reach it. The last time he got ahold of my phone, I had about 100 pictures of his mouth and up his nose in my camera roll.

  Before he can protest or reach for it, I change the subject. Distraction is my best parenting weapon. I think it was Maggie who told me that if a kid wants something, offer them something else while taking what they want out of view. It has worked like a charm for years.

  “Do you want Aunt Renee to come by and hang out this morning?” My voice takes on a bit of a sing-song quality as I set my phone down on the dresser. “She might have said something about ice cream sandwiches.”

  Now it’s my son’s turn for his mouth to drop in surprise. As he chants “Auntie Renee,” my smile grows and all those nerves take a back seat. Until I check my phone again.

  Aunt Renee spilled the beans in the chat. With a grimace, I read the texts.

  When are you bringing my little man over so you can go on your coffee date, Autumn? She sent the text only a minute ago and the other two ladies in the chat pile on:

  Ooh, a date?

  With who?

  My stomach drops when Renee answers Sharon’s question regarding who this coffee date is with. The hot preschool teacher with the nice butt.

  Sharon assumes wrong, typing back, Mr. Harding?

  And frozen in my spot, I watch the horror story play out in real time with Renee correcting her: Nope, she snagged Trent.

  Before my eyes close, I catch sight in my periphery of Henry jumping on my bed while chanting, “Date, date, date. You date Mr. Morgan. I date Renee!” His gleeful song is accompanied by the squeak of the bed frame and more vibrating in my hand from the phone.

  Oh my God, kill me now.

  Trent

  Keeping it PG is how my b
uddy Harding would describe this coffee date. He’s far more experienced than I am on the dating scene and if he was here now … he’d enjoy laughing at me.

  Autumn and I snagged a coveted table on the patio outside a mom-and-pop coffee and cake shop. There’s not a cloud in sight and the breeze is just right. So right that when it blows by, Autumn’s dark brunette hair sweeps across her shoulders.

  Yet this date is less like a date and more like small talk between two people who are both waiting in a doctor’s office for a rectal exam. Yeah, Harding would laugh his ass off right about now.

  “Our boys get along real well,” I say and take a sip of my coffee, my thumb tapping rhythmically on the edge of the generic white ceramic mug. I don’t know what it is about this woman, but I have no game whatsoever with her. Even less so this morning. Maybe I just need more coffee.

  “I know, Henry talks about Chase all the time.” She mimics the way the two boys say, “best buds for life,” then lets out a small laugh. Very short and riddled with the same kind of nerves that won’t settle in my gut.

  I know she already knows that the boys get along. The two of them hit it off Henry’s first day of preschool last year.

  Even though I can’t manage a conversation outside of the weather, the cinnamon cake on the table, and our boys, I still think it’s going well because when that wind blows and she has to retuck her hair behind her ear, she smiles down into her latte that smells so sweet and then peeks up at me, all shy-like.

  Maybe I’m not the only one affected.

  “So you took over the preschool from your mom?” Autumn asks. The conversation is still steadily in the category of small talk.

  “Don’t tell her that,” I joke with a huff of laughter. “She still says it’s hers.”

  That gets a broader smile from Autumn. “I mean, her name is on it. So … Ann’s ABCs and123s Preschool.”

  “Well, she would kill me if I change the name.” Again she smiles and lets out a small laugh. I know this small town likes to talk, but I have no idea what all she knows about my past. “I have my master’s in education but I never thought I’d run a preschool. That was my mom’s thing.”

  “A master’s?” she asks and doesn’t hide the surprise. “I almost went back for mine before I got the editor position.”

  “You like that? Working for the town paper?” I could see Autumn doing anything at all. She’s personable and charming, but smart and driven. It doesn’t take more than a handful of conversation to know that.

  “Well, like you, I never thought I’d be an editor. I was always a math and science kind of girl, but I love it. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

  It’s easy to smile at her response. Everything between us is easy all of a sudden and I’m grateful for that.

  “What were you going to do with your master’s?” she says.

  Shrugging, I admit, “Administration of some sort was the long-term goal. But when Chase was born and his mom passed, I wanted to be more hands on. I had to be, really. With my mom’s vision going … it just made sense to take over the preschool and be close to him.”

  Autumn’s tone holds her condolences. “I’m so sorry to hear about her passing.”

  “Thank you,” I reply automatically. It’s been years since I said goodbye to my ex-wife, but my throat still gets dry whenever she comes up in conversation.

  “Does Chase ever talk about her?” Her question catches me off guard but it’s the genuine concern that resonates with me.

  “Occasionally. He has some questions, but he’s still so young and never knew her.”

  “It was cancer, right?”

  “Yeah,” I say and my voice is tighter than I’d like. I loved Candace and I wish things could have been different, but I know Chase and I make a duo she’d be proud of.

  “I’m so sorry,” she repeats, her voice gentle and comforting.

  “What about Henry’s dad?” I ask her to change subjects and move to lighter topics.

  “We’re on really good terms. We should have only ever been friends, to be honest.”

  “Just didn’t work out between you two?” I already know that’s what the town says. They were young, their son a blessing that came from a disastrous pair.

  She shakes her head, setting down her mug and pushing it away gently. “We actually broke up amicably before I found out I was pregnant. We tried to make it work but it we’re much better off not being …” she trails off and scrunches her face in distaste rather than finishing.

  “And no boyfriend now?” I say, leaning forward. The way my voice lowers yet is still full of hope causes that blush to come out full force.

  Shaking her head, she asks me the same, “And you don’t have a girlfriend, Mr. Morgan?”

  “Not yet I don’t.” I let the statement add to the brewing tension between us.

  There’s a moment of silence and then I say, “So, two single parents … meeting up at a coffee shop on Saturday afternoon.”

  “Oh, the scandal,” Autumn jokes mockingly with a broad smile.

  “I’m just saying … us single parents, we have to stick together.”

  “Is that right? Is that why you asked me out?” she asks and it’s the first bit of flirtation, real flirtation from her since we sat down. The nerves have finally settled as another couple slips by and heads into the coffee shop with the telltale ding of the two bells above the door announcing their entry.

  “I thought it was because you tipped over my coffee but—” Covering the embarrassment on her face with both hands, her reaction stops me from finishing the thought.

  “You’re a cute mix of sweet and shy,” I say and I don’t know why the confession slips out of me, but it does.

  She doesn’t blush, though, like I thought she would. Her smile stays put and her eyes flash with something. Something that tells me it’s okay to keep pushing her.

  “You think I’m sweet?”

  “I know you are, but what do you think of me?” I dare to ask.

  “Handsome. I think you’re just my type, Mr. Morgan. Tall, dark and handsome … I would put good money down that you’re just about every woman’s type.”

  A rough chuckle leaves me as I reply, “But I don’t want to be out here with any woman. I only asked one to coffee.”

  Setting her mug down on the white rattan table, she wraps both her hands around the cup. “Speaking of which, mine is almost gone.”

  “Well, you have been clinging to it like it was going to save you from having to make conversation.”

  “Did not,” she says, the beautiful smile never fading even with her rebuttal. “Although I’m glad I was able to get you a coffee. Since I did spill yours and all.”

  “Well … actually, I asked you out for coffee so I could ask you out for dinner.”

  Her laugh in response is light and the sound is music to my ears. “You are something else, Trent.”

  “As are you, Autumn.” An asymmetric smile pulls up on my lips. It doesn’t escape me that she doesn’t respond to the invitation. My pulse picks up and I swear there’s a hard thump in my chest when she looks away for a moment.

  “We could do tomorrow night?” I offer her. It’s a holiday weekend and we have Monday off for Labor Day. Tomorrow is perfect for a real date.

  “Tomorrow? So soon?” she asks as if it’s a joke, but I think there’s something real about her hesitation.

  “Is there a rule against having a dinner date right after a coffee date?”

  “There are lots of rules against that,” she answers with all seriousness. Before she can deny me, I slip my hand over hers, which is still laying innocently on the table. There’s a spark, a heat between us that’s met with a small gasp from her lips. My dark umber against her fair skin. My thumb runs soothing circles, but all it does is stir up that heat, making it hotter and hotter.

  “When I want something, I go after it. And I want you.”

  “Trent,” she says and my name is a plea on her lips. She lets me lift her
hand in mine and I take my time, letting my intentions be clear as I plant a single kiss on the inside of her wrist. The smell of her sweet perfume and the little sigh that slips from her, a sigh of coveted lust, does things to me that a coffee date never should.

  I pull away easily enough, but Autumn still seems caught in a trance.

  “Tomorrow night?” she asks after a moment, her voice low and full of the sexual tension that resonates in every inch of me.

  I only nod and in response, she gives me a sweet smile and agrees, “Tomorrow night.”

  I leave her by her car with a small, chaste kiss. Tomorrow night, though … if I’m going to kiss her, it’s not going to be on her cheek.

  Autumn

  “I. Have. A. Playdate. With. Chase.” Henry smacks his hands with each word from the back seat of the car. “Mommy. Has. A. Date. With. Mr. Trent.” My eyes roll hard as we sit at the red light on Main and Sixth Street. A row of cute houses is to my right and the coffee shop I sat at with Trent is to my left.

  Even as I let out the frustrated breath, I stare longingly at the white rattan table we sat at. The table where his lips first touched me like I’ve been dreaming about. And everything inside me blazes. He may be my son’s teacher … but there’s no doubt that Trent Morgan could teach me a thing or two.

  Turning down the music as the red light changes to green, I question Henry to get his mind anywhere other than the date I have with his preschool teacher.

  My phone pings and I wait until I’m at the next red light before I peek at it.

  Sharon wants to know if I like him and how the date went.

  Ugh. Those nerves from before rattle inside of me and I struggle to come up with another response. I know she knows I do like him and that the date was “just fine” because that’s what I wrote in the group chat.

  Not only was it “just fine,” it was a low-key icebreaker that somehow turned scorching hot out of nowhere. I’ve been imagining all sorts of things for over a year but what I wanted to do to that man on top of that little table is downright deviant.