Fall for You Read online

  Fall for You

  An Autumn Novella

  A.J. Truman

  FALL FOR YOU

  By A.J. Truman

  Copyright 2020 by A.J. Truman. All rights reserved. No reproduction, copy, or transmission in whole or in part of this publication is permitted without express written consent from the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either used fictitiously or are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, business establishments, or locales is purely coincidental.

  Created with Vellum

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to Paula for editing and snarky margin notes and Olivia for the beautiful cover. As always, I couldn’t have done this without your enthusiasm and encouragement, Outsiders!

  What’s an Outsider, you say? Oh, just a cool club where you can be the first to know about my new books and receive exclusive content. Join the Outsiders today at www.ajtruman.com/outsiders.

  For Mike Z., my partner in fall and all seasons

  Contents

  July

  1. Spencer

  2. Patrick

  3. Spencer

  August

  4. Patrick

  September

  5. Spencer

  6. Patrick

  7. Spencer

  8. Patrick

  October

  9. Patrick

  10. Spencer

  11. Patrick

  November

  12. Spencer

  Also by A.J. Truman

  About the Author

  July

  a.k.a. The Pre-launch to the Countdown to Fall

  1

  Spencer

  For nine months of the year, Spencer and his fellow Chicagoans suffered through brutal winds, freezing temperatures, and gray skies. But it was all worth it for summer in Chicago. Outdoor concerts at Millennium Park. After work walks along the river. Beer gardens, of course. And Spencer’s favorite - his LGBT beach volleyball league on Lake Michigan.

  The volleyball flew through the blue, cloudless sky right into Spencer’s waiting palm, which spiked it into the warm sand of the opposing team. It was a scene Spencer wanted to remember forever. There was no better music to his ears than the sound of a ball making contact with his hand.

  He let out a “YES!” that echoed off the sun-sparkled ripples of Lake Michigan, but quickly reined himself in in the name of good sportsmanship.

  Spencer’s teammates gathered around him in a group hug, cheering and high-fiving each other at the game-clinching victory.

  “I can feel the passion in your spikes.” His teammate and friend Ryan clapped him on the back. “I think you left a dent in the sand.”

  Spencer shrugged with modesty. He figured it was all the pent-up energy from being stuck inside or under heavy jackets for most of the year.

  His team, Beach Please, traveled to the other side of the net to do the “good game” handshake/slap with their opponents Bump and Grind. Justin, the player who fruitlessly dove for Spencer’s spike, kept smiling at Spencer, even as he shook hands with other players.

  One of the benefits of a gay volleyball league was that nobody was weird about being checked out. It didn’t hurt that Spencer played shirtless and had the athletic build to justify it. Even during those brutal winter months, he dragged his ass to the gym. Since it was the Fourth of July, he wore American flag boxers which peeked over the band of his shorts. He could’ve been an extra in Top Gun.

  Spencer threw on a light blue tank top for his walk home. He didn’t want to be that guy walking the streets of Chicago shirtless, but the tank top still let spectators view the gun show.

  “Good game,” Justin said with a carnivorous grin, his teeth gleaming a little too brightly against his skin that was a little too tan. Was the Chicago sun that strong, or was it a tanning bed? He shook Spencer’s hand and left something behind. A scrap of paper.

  Let’s hang out... 312-555-4753

  Ellipses were the Barry White of punctuation. Spencer appreciated the old school move, which was more thoughtful - and less overt - than the DMs he received on Instagram.

  Justin looked over his shoulder, making eye contact one last time as he walked away. Spencer closed his hand around the number and caught up with Ryan.

  “Hey, what time do you want us over tonight?” Ryan asked.

  “Fireworks won’t start until sundown, so nine is good.”

  The sand under their feet turned to grass, then to the pavement of the sidewalk. Rows of trees full of life shaded their path.

  “Is it cool if I bring Julio?”

  “Who’s Julio?”

  “The guy I’m seeing,” Ryan said, as if it were common knowledge that his best friend should’ve known.

  “What happened to...wasn’t there an Armand in there recently?” Spencer needed a dossier to keep track of Ryan’s love life.

  “Armand was back in April.”

  “Oh. Well, of course Julio is invited, man. I’m excited to meet him. Have I met him before?”

  Ryan gave him a playful shove. They reached the main road, where their paths diverged.

  “Hey, what’s that in your hand?” Ryan said to the scrap of paper peeking out from between Spencer’s fingers.

  “Nothing, man.” He shoved it in his pocket. He went right, and Ryan went left. “Great game. That’s four in a row!” Spencer said while walking backward.

  He waited until he was a few blocks away, well out of sight of Ryan and anyone else from volleyball, before tossing Justin’s number into a trash can.

  Spencer lived a few blocks from the beach in a hundred-year-old three-flat apartment that was a dime a dozen in Chicago. He enjoyed the stroll back home, taking in the greenery of the trees dotting the sidewalk, weaving around the bustling outdoor seating of restaurants. The city was alive, and he was a part of the magic. It was worth the suffering of a Chicago winter.

  His apartment was on the top floor, and climbing three flights of stairs on a regular basis helped him get in his daily cardio. On the front stoop of his building, a guy sat hunched over heaving for oxygen, a column of sweat imprinted down his back. Two moving boxes stacked atop each other teetered on the sidewalk.

  “I’m guessing you’re the guy who moved in across the hall. Spencer.” He held out his hand.

  The neighbor gave it a shake/slap like the players of Bump and Grind. It seemed to be all the energy he could muster. He appeared to be in his early twenties, same as Spencer, and looked up at him with squinty green eyes interrupted by strands of blond hair falling into his face.

  “Patrick,” he said in between breaths.

  “Do you need help?”

  “No. I’m done. My friends helped me out. They just left.”

  He had a dazed look in his eye, like he just realized that he would have to walk up and down those stairs every day. Spencer didn’t mind the three flights. He didn’t have to deal with sounds from neighbors, and he had a view of the lake.

  “You still have two boxes.” Spencer nodded at the pair on the sidewalk. Patrick followed his eyeline and instantly deflated.

  “Shit.”

  Spencer waved off his fears. “I got you covered.”

  “Thanks.” Relief washed over Patrick’s face, bringing out a pert dimple on his left cheek. The redness of his exertion made his green eyes gleam, holding Spencer in place for a second.

  “Hey, I’m inviting some of my friends over tonight to watch fireworks on the roof, if you wanted to join.”

  “I appreciate it, but I’m not really into the Fourth of July.”

  “We have awesome views of the lake and fireworks going off at Navy Pier.” Who wasn’t into the Fourth and fireworks? Th
at was like hating going to the beach. Patrick had probably never seen good fireworks; these would blow his mind. “Come on.”

  “That’d be cool. Thanks,” Patrick said with another dimpled smile.

  “You’ll love them.” Spencer picked up the two boxes, which were heavier than he expected. He wouldn’t let on to his new neighbor, though. He climbed the steps of the stoop, inhaling a deep breath at the front door. With the heavy jangling bottom and light top, it felt like some glass items mixed with clothes.

  “You don’t have to carry both,” Patrick said.

  “I got it.”

  “If I hadn’t already made a million trips up and down, I could do it.”

  Judging by the lean muscles hugged by his maroon T-shirt, he probably could, Spencer thought to himself.

  “Can you get the door?” Spencer tried his best not to grit his teeth. The boxes seemed to gain weight the longer he held them.

  “Right!” Patrick jogged up the stairs and around Spencer. He tried two keys on his ring until the third one was the charm. He opened the door wide and with a smile, like a doorman expecting a tip.

  The staircase creaked under their steps. Patches of the carpet had water stains that could’ve been older than both of them. It was part of the character of a three-flat.

  “So where’d you move from?” Spencer asked, struggling to make sure the top box didn’t slide off.

  “Santa Monica.”

  “California?”

  “Yep.”

  “Isn’t Santa Monica by the beach?”

  “I lived five blocks away.” He stated it matter-of-factly, not a hint of longing in his voice. Spencer had more longing in his voice than he did. He’d never been to California, but he thought about it plenty during the nine months of dreary, cold, utterly craptastic Chicago weather.

  “So why are you here? You realize that Chicago has winter.”

  “What’s this winter you speak of?”

  “Hell frozen over.”

  Spencer’s arms strained against the weight of the boxes. He was battling gravity, and the glass objects of Patrick’s were fast becoming his mortal enemy.

  “You okay?” Patrick asked.

  “Yeah,” Spencer - or more accurately, his male pride - responded.

  His heart lifted when he felt a familiar warped groove in the top flight of stairs. A few more steps and he placed the boxes at Patrick’s door.

  “Thank you so much. You are a rock star.”

  “Just some good old-fashioned Midwest hospitality.” Spencer smiled as he caught his breath. “So seriously, what brought you here?”

  “I went to DePaul, graduated three years ago and moved out to L.A. with some friends. But it...it wasn’t for me.” He stopped himself, and his face clouded over for a moment before returning to his sweet smile. “I missed Chicago.”

  “You say that now, but wait until January.”

  “I’d rather have some January than this all year round.” He flapped his hand at the absolutely gorgeous, sun-kissed sky out the window.

  Spencer felt his jaw drop to the front stoop. “Are you serious? It’s perfect out.”

  “Imagine having this weather every single day of your life, year after year.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  “It is! It’s monotonous. It was like living in Groundhog Day.”

  Spencer scoffed. If Groundhog Day took place at the freaking beach.

  Patrick sifted through his ring of keys until he found his apartment key. “I need seasons. I need the change. You need the bad weather to appreciate the good.”

  “That’s up for debate.”

  Patrick opened his door. The apartment was a mirror image of Spencer’s railway plan: an open living room leading to a narrow hallway with bathrooms and a bedroom and finally a kitchen at the end. Boxes were sprawled across the floor with a few basic furniture items sticking out amid the mess. It had the mismatched look of Craigslist finds and Ikea. Spencer did not miss moving. When he moved in two years ago, it rained like hell, and he fought against slippery boxes and hard pinches of rain hitting his face. He planned to stay in his apartment for as long as possible.

  Spencer placed the two boxes he carried on the floor just under the window A/C unit, which was going on full blast. He couldn’t believe he was inside the apartment of someone who moved to Chicago for the weather.

  “Chicago doesn’t have seasons, you know,” Spencer said. “It’s just chilly, cold, really cold, then hot.”

  “Would you really want to celebrate Christmas in seventy-degree weather with full sun?”

  It rarely snowed in Chicago at Christmastime. It was mostly cold and windy, like Pottersville in It’s a Wonderful Life, so Spencer seesawed his head.

  Patrick disappeared into the kitchen. Spencer noticed the two boxes he hauled in were labeled seasonal. Odd for someone who came from a place with no seasons. He returned moments later carrying two glasses of water.

  “Well, you have a few months until Christmas.” Spencer gulped down his drink in two seconds flat.

  “It wasn’t Christmas I missed,” Patrick said, sitting on his couch and taking a sip of water. “It was fall.”

  “Fall? Is it even a real season?”

  Patrick seemed to take offense to that. “That’s what I used to think, too. I didn’t realize how much I missed fall until it was gone. There were all these little things that hit me, that I didn’t even think about. The changing of the leaves. The back-to-school feeling. I haven’t experienced fall in three years, except via lifestyle Instagrammers.”

  Spencer rolled his eyes at that, although he followed shirtless guys and their pets on Instagram, so he wasn’t any better.

  “What? You don’t like fall?” Patrick asked.

  Spencer shrugged and leaned against the wall trying to picture the color of the leaves of the trees on his block in autumn. He drew a blank. He could only remember them lush and green in summer and stark naked in winter. “I don’t really think about it. I mean, there’s Halloween, and that’s fun.”

  “Halloween is different. It falls within fall, but it’s not really fall. It’s part of it, but there is so much more to the season.”

  Spencer looked down into his empty water glass. “You’ve thought a lot about this.”

  “Fall is...magical.” There was no hint of sarcasm in Patrick’s voice. He had a gullible smile as if he were talking about Santa Claus. Oh no - was he one of those people, too?

  Patrick stood up from his couch. He knelt down at the box that Spencer had just lugged up three flights of unforgiving stairs and ripped open the tape. He moved aside a thin layer of bed sheets. Spencer peered inside, and his body couldn’t determine whether rage or disbelief was the right response.

  Scented candles. Fake pumpkins. Decorative plates with pumpkins on them. More scented candles.

  Pumpkin this.

  Apple that.

  A box three-quarters filled with shit his mom and aunts would buy. It was like Patrick robbed a Home Goods store, and Spencer had to carry them up three of the steepest flights of stairs in the city.

  “That is a ton of candles,” Spencer said. “You realize this is just a one-bedroom apartment.”

  Patrick opened two, double-fisted them and inhaled their scents like they were smelling salts bringing him to life.

  Maybe he was going to host a seance to bring back the ghost of fall past or something. This could not be kosher with the building management.

  “It’s only July.”

  “Fall is around the corner.”

  Spencer’s memory stretched way back to whatever grade he learned about equinoxes. “Isn’t it September 21st? It doesn’t really start cooling down until the end of October.”

  “My timetable is a little bit different. I’m on more of a retail schedule,” Patrick said with a laugh. Spencer couldn’t enjoy what a cute grin he had with all the craziness coming out of those lips, but at least the guy had a sense of humor about all this
.

  “Do you want to smell?” Patrick held out a candle called Pumpkin Patch.

  “It’s okay.” Spencer stood up and puffed air out of his nostrils. The multiple scents attacking his nose were making him dizzy. He wasn’t ready to think about fall and the cold that came with it. Days like this - sun, clear skies, warm breeze - were meant to be savored, not tolerated. “I gotta go.”

  “Thanks again for the help.” Patrick tucked the candles back into the box. “I’ll see you later. On the roof.”

  “Cool,” Spencer said, regretting that he extended an invite. There went his hope of having a normal neighbor.

  Technically, per the rental agreement, no tenants were allowed on the roof. It was not meant for people to lounge. There were no borders, just a flat black surface. It was an insurance nightmare the building management company wanted to avoid.

  Being on the top floor, though, Spencer found the hatch in the hallway ceiling that led to the roof. He watched his friends, made sure nobody got wild or drunk. The roof was for chilling out with buds, not epic ragers.

  Spencer, Ryan, and a few other friends from the volleyball team shared beers as the last glimmers of sunlight slipped beneath the urban landscape. Patrick awkwardly joined their circle, small-talking with his teammates about moving to Chicago. They had mutual acquaintances from DePaul, so Patrick wasn’t the odd man out - even though Spencer kept looking at him that way.

  Fireworks were set to go off at Navy Pier in a few minutes, and they’d have a perfect view of them shooting across Lake Michigan. Spencer hoped Patrick didn’t shoot off any verbal fireworks about his love of the awkward seasonal link between glorious summer and dreadful winter.