Falling Like Leaves (Bramble Falls, #1)(52)

My phone buzzes in my pocket.

Pen Thief Jake: Are you coming tonight?

The Boots and Blankets Bonfire is tonight, and I’ve never been happier to not have to set up for something. I’d probably fall asleep lugging wood to the fire pit. The second this race is over, I’m napping to my heart’s content—or at least until Sloane drags me out of bed to come back here.

Me: Yeah, I’ll be there

I slip my phone back into my pocket.

I’m watching Sloane smile shyly at Asher as he tells her something when Aunt Naomi approaches me.

“Are you racing?” she asks. “We still have a spot left for one more team.”

“Oh no.” I shake my head. “Definitely not. I don’t even have a partner. I—”

“Listen up!” Aunt Naomi shouts into her megaphone, nearly bursting my eardrums. “Do we have any single racers? Anyone who needs a partner?”

The crowd goes silent and glances around.

“Aunt Naomi, I really don’t—”

“My niece needs a partner,” she announces, ignoring me. “Do I have a volunteer?”

I lower my eyes and try to shield my face with my hand, avoiding the stares I’m undoubtedly receiving right now.

“Cooper Barnett! Get your butt over here!” Aunt Naomi shouts.

My head whips to the Caffeinated Cat tent. Cooper’s gaze meets mine as the older woman he’s working with says something to him. When he doesn’t budge, she gives him a little shove. He shakes his head at her, takes off his apron, and makes his way out of the tent, garnering cheers from a few people in the crowd.

How mortifying.

“All right, Mitchell,” he says with a smirk as he approaches me. “You ready to win this thing?”

“You really don’t have to be my partner,” I assure him.

He stretches each arm across his body like he’s warming up for a triathlon instead of a silly town race. “Oh yeah? Well, you can be the one to tell your aunt that. And Betty Lynn, for that matter,” he says, pointing his thumb back at the tent. “I’m pretty sure she was about to fire me if I didn’t run this race with you.”

“What’s with these small-town people being in everyone else’s business?” I mutter.

He furrows his brow. “These small-town people are just excited.”

I flinch at the annoyance lacing his tone. “I didn’t mean…” I sigh. “Sorry. You’re right. I’m just tired.” And Sloane’s comment clearly got under my skin, putting me on edge.

“It’s fine.” He shakes out his muscles like he’s shaking off my snide comment. “For the record, I don’t mind racing. But I don’t like to lose any more than you do.”

He flashes me his lopsided grin, letting me know I’m forgiven—or at least that we’re moving on from it. Hopefully the former.

“Well, perfect. I guess we just have to win this thing, then.”

His dimple sinks into his cheek as I stand there with my hands on my hips, once again displaying a fake confidence.

Because, in reality, my athleticism rivals that of a newborn giraffe.

Aunt Naomi holds up her megaphone again and shouts at the crowd. “For this year’s race, participants will run in teams of two and have to complete three tasks.” She turns her attention to the teams. “Once you and your partner reach the bottom of the hay bale drop-off, you’ll run to your first task, where you’ll have to wrap each other in toilet paper from head to toe, with the exception of your face. When you’re both mummified, you can sprint to my favorite task—apple bobbing. As a team, you must retrieve five apples. Each teammate must retrieve at least one. The final task is a three-legged race. You will stand next to your partner, tie your inside legs together with a rope, and run to the finish line. If your rope comes untied, you’ll have to stop to retie it. The first team to smash their pumpkins at the end wins!”

The crowd whoops and applauds as we make our way to our starting markers—bales of hay stacked into climbable steps. I set my scarf in the leaves next to us, and the seven other teams step up to their bales. Sloane and Asher give each other a high five.

Cooper bumps my shoulder with his. “We’ve got this.”

I nod, forcing myself to focus on the obstacle in front of me instead of his amber irises.

“On your marks, get set…,” Aunt Naomi shouts, “go!”

Cooper bolts forward, his long legs taking the wobbly, makeshift steps two at a time. When he reaches the top, he extends his hand toward me instead of jumping off the ledge. I take it, and he pulls me up the last two steps and onto the landing with him.

“Pick up the pace, Mitchell,” he says, letting me go as he leaps off the edge and lands gracefully.

I follow him, tumbling into the leaves below with a thud.

“Are you okay?” he laughs.

“I’m fine.”

On either side of me, teams sprint away with a chaotic sense of urgency, everyone screaming at their partner to move faster.

I definitely underestimated how seriously people take this race.

“Focus,” Cooper says. “Eyes on the prize, not on the competition.”

My eyes fall on him.

Which is, of course, not at all what he means.

I stand and brush the leaves off my butt. “Right. Let’s go.”