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Mel had been skeptical when Jayce suggested the fall festival. Her autumns, growing up, had been marked not by hayrides and caramel apples, but by stiff banquets, ceremonial harvest tributes, and parties where every smile had been calculated. Holidays meant official gowns and speeches, handshakes that cemented alliances, her mother’s sharp gaze ensuring she never once forgot her duty.
So when Jayce showed up at her apartment in a ridiculous knit sweater patterned with pumpkins, grinning ear to ear and insisting she “needed the full fall experience,” she’d only agreed because the sight of him so excited was impossible to resist.
Now, standing in the middle of the festival grounds with her arm tucked through his, lantern light glowing gold against the crisp night air, Mel realized she was smiling in a way she hadn’t in years.
“Where first?” Jayce asked, already juggling a steaming cup of cider in one hand and a brochure in the other. His enthusiasm was absurd and infectious. “Pumpkin carving? Corn maze? Ooh, haunted barn.”
“Feed the animals,” Mel said smoothly, plucking the brochure from his hand and folding it into her purse. “It’s closest, and I want to see you try not to scream.”
He groaned, mock-offended. “I’m not going to scream at goats, Mel.”
“You’re terrified of pigeons,” she reminded him.
“That was one time.” He guided her toward the pens, shoulders broad in that pumpkin sweater, curls already wind-ruffled. Mel hid a smirk behind her cider.
The pen smelled of hay and warm fur. Children tossed feed pellets at bleating goats, ducks waddled at their feet, and a shaggy cow pressed its nose against the fence. Jayce crouched to pet one, laughing when it snuffled at his palm.
The sight made Mel’s chest ache. He looked so boyish, eyes bright, the shadows of responsibility nowhere to be seen. When the cow nudged him harder, nearly toppling him, he caught himself with an undignified yelp. Mel nearly spilled her cider laughing.
“Not screaming, are you?” she teased.
Jayce straightened, brushing straw off his sweater, grinning sheepishly. “That was a strategic retreat.”
They meandered through booths after that, Jayce determined to win her something at the ring toss. He missed spectacularly for the first three tries, tongue caught between his teeth in concentration. On the fourth, the ring landed true, and he turned to her with the triumphant grin of a man who’d just saved the world.
“See? I told you I’d win you something.” He handed her a small plush ghost, the cheap stitching pulling at the seams, but Mel took it reverently, tucking it under her arm.
“Thank you,” she said softly. And she meant it. Not just for the toy, but for the evening, for this ridiculous, ordinary joy she’d never thought to want.
Jayce looked startled at her sincerity, then his expression softened. He pressed a kiss to her hairline before she could tease him out of it.
The haunted barn was next, though she’d insisted only to see him flustered. Inside, black lights flickered, skeletons dangled, and fog curled around their ankles. Mel laced her fingers through his, partly for the fun of watching him startle at every jump scare.
Sure enough, when a costumed ghoul leapt from the shadows, Jayce nearly tripped over himself, clutching her tighter. Mel leaned close, lips brushing his ear. “Scared, Jayce?” she whispered, savoring the goosebumps she felt ripple across him.
“You’re enjoying this too much,” he muttered, but he didn’t let go of her hand, holding on as though she were the only thing anchoring him.
When they stumbled out into the night air again, he was flushed, hair mussed, still glaring good-naturedly at her. She only smirked, stole a bite of his caramel apple without asking, and declared herself victorious.
Later, they circled back toward the main square, lanterns strung overhead in warm arcs. Jayce stopped at a bench, guiding her down beside him. “So, Lest and Elora’s party next weekend,” he began, slipping an arm around her shoulders. “Couple’s costume?”
Mel raised a brow. “You actually want to dress up?”
“I think it’d be fun. You’d look amazing in anything.”
She tapped her chin, pretending to deliberate. “We could do something classic. Bonnie and Clyde? Or dramatic. Hades and Persephone.”
“Or something silly,” he countered. “Like… peanut butter and jelly.”
She burst out laughing, leaning into his side. “Jayce, you’d be the peanut butter. Too much, impossible to swallow, yet somehow beloved.”
“Wow,” he said, mock-wounded. But the way he looked at her —goo-goo eyed, utterly undone— left no doubt how smitten he was. And Mel, to her own surprise, realized she was no less gone for him.
She lifted her hand to cup his jaw, thumb brushing his stubbled cheek. He stilled, watching her as though the world had stopped. Then she kissed him, slow and unhurried, the lanterns glowing overhead, the scent of cinnamon and cider wrapping them in warmth.
When they pulled back, she was smiling. “Let’s figure it out together.”
Hand in hand, they left the festival behind, the plush ghost tucked under her arm, the night crisp and perfect around them. For once, there were no expectations, no duties.
Only this.
Only them.