Page 118 of Falling for Mr. October

And when she leaves Apple Ridge, I’ll have to go with her.

My promise to my grandfather couldn’t have been clearer—I pledged to look after her for the rest of her life. So there’s no way I can forsake the trust he put on me.

Even if I want to stay exactly where I am.

“You respect her,” Theo says—a statement, thank fuck, not a question. “I wouldn’t have stayed quiet this long if I couldn’t see that.” King of heavy silences, he doesn’t say anything for a long moment, only marks off the next square on his grid when Judy calls out a new letter-number combination.

I haven’t been listening, so I could have gotten a bingo five times over by now, but I wouldn’t have called it out anyway. I don’t particularly want the prize—a huge box full of beef jerky that looks like it was made in someone’s garage—and I wouldn’t take the victory away from one of the Biceps Boys.

Finally, Theo says, “You have my approval, if that matters. I hope you do figure something out. Bianca deserves to be happy, and she’s been happy since you got here. That means something to me.”

The tension loosens in my chest, and I find myself thinking about what my girl said—that joy matters.

That’s worth fighting for…

“Thanks, man. That means a lot.”

He gives me a half smile. “What the fuck are you going to say to Miles when he finally shows up? If he shows up.”

“Thanks?” I say, smiling back, but my heart thumps a little harder at the thought. He should be returning soon. He said late October, and we’re getting there fast. The corn maze at the Gallagher farm will take place in another couple of days, followed by the apple pie bake-off, then Halloween, which will close out the month.

The end of October.

The end of it all, unless I figure some shit out.

Checking out travel options wasn’t the only thing I did last night. I finally emailed one of the talent agents who’d reached out, the one who repped Shitty Cooking. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about what kind of opportunities would interest me, and which would not. I even made a list, which usually feels like swimming against a riptide for me.

Things I want:

To have plenty of space to devote to Bianca and my family.

To continue to make my videos.

To write a cookbook with my grandmother, who taught me all of the recipes and stories from my videos.

To make money.

I’m hoping whichever parachutes I end up with will give me plenty of space to devote to Bianca and my family.

“You’re all right,” Theo says, nodding, as he marks off another square.

“You too, but I think you should strongly consider spending more time around people.”

He glances at one of O’Connor’s friends, who’s digging into his nose for gold, and laughs. “I’ll pass. But you’re entertaining, Giovanni. I’ll give you that.”

It no longer feels like a burn.

The door squeaks open. I turn to see who the new arrival is and blink when I realize it’s Whit, the kid who won the festival’s s’mores contest. He’s wearing a “Book Dragon” hat stuffed over his mussed hair, probably a gift from Emily.

“Do kids come to bingo often?” I ask Theo, and he gives me the flat-affect stare of a man who’s never been to Thursday-night bingo before.

Apparently they’re allowed, at least, because no one comments when Whit puts a bill in the change box up front and grabs a card.

He joins our table.

“Mr. Shirtless Chef,” he whispers. “I came here to talk to you.”

I dart a glance at Theo, who’s helpfully already staring at me. He looks equally clueless.