Page 18 of Falling for Mr. October

“Sure,” I lie. “Nice work.”

Her gaze narrows on me. “When did you go downtown?”

“I don’t remember exactly, but I’ve been there, of course. Looks the same as ever.”

A fair guess. One thing Miles has told me is that Apple Ridge never changes.

“They’re terrible,” she says, direct as ever. “My grandmother made them with clip art. I offered to do it, but she refused.”

I shrug. “So you need me to haul pumpkins or something? Sure, no problem. I’ve got you covered. I could even juggle some of those fifty-pounders.”

But Bianca’s shaking her head as she eyes me over the rim of her coffee cup. “No, everything’s already set up. The potheads helped arrange the pumpkins in the tent, but they’re no good with customer service. We need to be manning the tent. Welcoming people and telling them about Evergreens & Apples. Giving out free samples of the baked goods. My brother should be doing it, but he hates people. And like I said, Nonna Rose didn’t want to miss out on the fun with the wagon.”

Sweat beads on my forehead.

I want to tell her yes. God, that sounds so much better than wandering around in the hot sun, hanging out with a grove of trees that don’t talk back.

What are the chances I’ll get recognized by anyone, anyway? I haven’t shaved in well over a week, so I basically have a beard, and I can wear a ball cap to cover my hair.

“You could shave your head,” Nico had told me right before I left.

“Or dye it blond,” Enzo had offered.

But they both knew I was much too vain to do either of those things.

I tell myself the hat will do. I have a Hidden Italy one upstairs in my room.

It may be crisp out today, but the sun’s beating down hot. Wearing a hat would be the sensible thing to do.

But my name…

That’s distinctive.

Bianca’s still waiting for a response—impatiently, her foot tapping the floor—so I say, “Sure, no problem. But, just so you know, I go by John now.” I mention it conversationally, as if it’s perfectly normal to wake up and change your name.

She coughs, nearly spluttering coffee across the table. “Since thirty seconds ago? You’ve been here for over a week.”

I stuff my hands into my pockets and lean back against the counter. “It’s a nickname.”

“And how does your grandmother feel about you Ellis Island-ing your own name?”

“I don’t like talking about it in front of her. Obviously, she’s not a fan. She still calls me Giovanni. So you can stick with that when she’s around.”

Bianca’s not fooled. She’s staring me down—doesn’t matter that she’s short and sitting in a chair—and I feel like a little boy again. The dumbass kid who climbed that tree and bellowed for everyone to look at the “special” thing he’d accomplished.

“Be honest,” she continues. “Are you in some trouble with the law?”

“I’m not an outlaw, Bianca,” I say, abandoning my relaxed pose and retrieving my coffee. “It’s nothing like that.”

No point in lying and saying there’s nothing going on.

“So—” Her phone vibrates on the tabletop, and she sighs as she picks it up.

I can tell right away it’s not good news. Something subtle shifts on her face. She’s not Bianca, my friend’s bored and unimpressed sister anymore—she’s Nurse Bianca, on the case. Ready to run off and save a life.

Maybe that sounds sarcastic, but it’s not. I admire the purpose I can see thrumming through her. It’s something I, just-for-fun Giovanni, have always lacked.

“I’ll be right there,” she says without hesitation.