I am excited to finally introduce my new small-town romance, Falling in Autumn!

After seeing so many Substack Notes about the beauty of autumn, I couldn’t resist crafting up a little story about the season.

I have 12 parts planned, this being the first. I will be releasing them throughout the next couple months! I’m really interested to see what people think of this, as its not my usual style. It’s lighthearted, easygoing, and cozy!

Here is a quick synopsis before the story begins:

When Wynnie returns to her hometown for the first time in years, she promises herself it’s only temporary. A short visit to help her mom get back on track, to fill in at her friend’s bookstore, and to get her life together. But autumn in Ruebens Hollow has a way of softening even the most restless hearts—especially when he’s there.

Tilly’s older brother.
The mechanic with oil-stained hands and a quiet smile that used to undo her as a teenager.
Now he’s older, rougher around the edges, and better at making coffee than most people are at saying “hello.”

What starts as a harmless bet at the bookstore—whoever loses performs at the open mic—turns into something deeper. The closer they get, the harder it is to tell what’s changed and what never did.

Set against crisp mornings, glowing porch lights, and the hum of small-town gossip, Falling in Autumn is a story capable of making anyone fall in love with the season, as well as second chances.

Without further blabbering from me, I’ll let Wynnie welcome you to Ruebens Hollow.

Part One: False Starts

A soft life.

Something I have always tried to convince myself that I want.

A life built in a place like Ruebens Hollow. A place where September rolls around, and the whole town turns orange and red. Leaves crunch under feet on the rain-slicked sidewalks. The wind bites just enough to raise the hair on your arms, and the smell of fresh cider wafting from the diner is deliciously tempting.

The market is full of pumpkins, ready to be carved and stuck on the manicured doorsteps of every home. The old ladies hold competitions in the town hall for desserts and drinks, an annual tradition.

And yet, despite all of my worrying and persuading, I never stayed.

I was young when I left. Very young. I wished to get away. To see the big cities. To go to school, and party all night. I wanted to make a home that was just for myself, just for my comfort and desires.

But I didn’t know one thing—that home would become very dependent on my relatives. It’s no secret that my mother had me late in her life. And when I got the news of her bad knee, when I couldn’t be here for the surgery, I knew something had to change.

“You still doing okay?” I ask, gently patting my mom’s hand, which is grasping my arm.

She looks up at me above her glasses, annoyance swirling in her eyes. “I have told you so many times, girl, I’m fine. I insist.” Her auburn hair swings from its ponytail, wisps of gray catching the sunlight.

“Well if you insist, I must be crazy to assume that you still need help.”

“Must be,” she laughs.

This whole “taking it easy” thing still seems a bit too intense for my liking. The daily walk around town—all it does is worry me. One wrong step, one catch of her shoe, and everything could be ruined. However, her therapist said it was time for her to start walking on her leg more, and getting her out of the house could really improve her mood.

Who am I to disagree?

And besides, my mother has always done what she wanted anyway.

A few kids roll by on their bikes as we walk up her driveway. The house looks exactly the same as it did when I left, only now it’s dressed in its autumn best. Warm brick glows against the blaze of yellow trees. Ivy crawls red and orange across the front, and two pumpkins sit neatly on the steps, waiting to be carved.

The arched white door is as welcoming as ever, though it makes my chest ache a little. Walking up the drive, I can’t help but think about how this house had always seemed like something from a storybook. And yet, somehow, it had never quite been mine.

I open the door and we step inside. The smell of apples and cinnamon hits me. I soak it in, reveling in its warmth. Mom continues into the house, and I stay by the door, shrugging off my coat and shoes.

I follow her into the kitchen, where she’s pouring herself a glass of water.

“Want one?” She asks, her tortoise shell glasses sitting low on the bridge of her nose.

I shake my head. “No, I’m good.” I sit down at one of the bar stools, leaning my forearms on the dark, wooden counter top. This space has always been special. And oddly beautiful. It’s never clean—not exactly, but that’s part of its charm.

The mismatched jars of baking goods, the flannel dishrags hanging from the stove, and the window above the sink that always catches the afternoon sunlight. And my favorite part, the vacation magnets—the little badges of the trips we took together plastered all over the fridge. Which reminds me…

“I forgot to ask, how is dad’s trip going?”

“Oh,” she sighs, placing the water jug back in the fridge, “he’s chipper as ever. Said London’s a real sight at the moment. I think Louis flew in a few days ago to keep him company.”

“That’s nice.”

“I’m still a bit broken up about staying home.”

“You need to stay where your therapist is close, mom. London will still be there next year.”

“Well, I won’t be as young next year. Sixty-five is halfway to seventy, Wynnie. And seventy is only eight years away from the average life expectancy.” She takes a slow sip, nails tapping on the counter.

I swallow. “Mom. That’s…morbid.”

She smiles. “I was joking. Come on, lighten up a bit. This whole thing will be over soon. I’ll be taking a celebratory vacation just for the hell of it. You’re home now, which is exciting.”

I laugh, “yeah.”

“Have you seen Tilly yet?”

I nod, “oh absolutely. Yeah. I moved all my stuff into the studio yesterday. I’m all set up. My first shift is scheduled for Monday.” I lean forward and rest my chin on my hand.

She smiles and slaps the counter, delighted, “Wynnie, that is wonderful. I’ve always loved Tilly, ever since she was just a girl. And what she’s done with that old place is really impressive. I think it’ll be great for you.”

I laugh.

When I made the decision to move out here, I didn’t have many options. I could’ve rented a house, which wasn’t all too appealing. Apartments in Ruebens Hollow are nonexistent, and the jobs are mostly taken.

Tilly saved my life. When her dad passed, she renovated his old hardware store. Turned it into the town’s only bookstore, complete with a coffee bar. Above it are two studio apartments, one of which is mine. I believe the other one is taken as well, but I haven’t met my neighbor yet.

I have a job with my best friend as my boss, and I’m not homeless. Things are really looking up.

“Anyway, Mom, on that note, I should probably get going. I need to get back to the store and figure out what Tilly wants to do for dinner.” I stand and rub my arm.

She flicks a crumb off the counter, then meets my eyes, “alright. Have a good time. I’ll see you soon.”

I nod and walk back to the door. I gather my things, shouting a quick goodbye before leaving.

The wind is still rustling the leaves on the ground as I dump my purse into the passenger side of my truck and crank it.

The engine sputters, a loud groaning sound echoing in the yard. I try it again. And again. And then the smell hits me. I can’t identify it—but it doesn’t smell good.

“Shoot.” I mutter. I lean back, defeated.

Of course. Of. Course. I knew driving this thing across the country would push it to it’s limits. I’ve had this truck since I was a teenager. It’s old. Very old. But it was my first car, and I wholeheartedly intend on dying with it.

I swing open the door and slam it, stomping up the steps again.

I open the door. “Mom!”

“Yeah Wynnie? What’s the matter?”

“My truck won’t start.”

She doesn’t respond for a second, but then she appears from the hallway. She has her slippers on now, and her hair has come down from it’s ponytail.

“Truck won’t start?” She asks, her mouth forming into a concerned frown.

“No. What do I do?”

She sighs, pulling her phone out of her pocket. “Well, worst case scenario, you can walk to the store. Best case scenario, I can get the mechanic on the phone and he’ll come fix it.”

Woah.

“You guys have a mechanic now? When did that happen?”

I assumed I’d have to have someone come out here from the nearest city. But a town mechanic sounds lovely.

“Oh, he’s been working for a while now as a mechanic.” The phone rings next to her ear, “you know?”

“No, I uh, I don’t know who you’re talking about.” I rock back on my heels.

“Has it really been that long? It’s Griffin.” She says, rather plainly.

My blood runs cold.

I swallow, and that simple movement seems restricted.

“Griffin…Clem?”

“Mhm.”

Oh God help me.

Soooo what do you think?

The next chapter is definitely where the story gets started, but since this story is supposed to take on a more slow, cozy feeling, I thought it was important to really let the town and her mothers house sink in a bit.

Griffin definitely means trouble, and Wynnie knows it.

Thing is, he’s already on his way, and she has nowhere to go.

Sparks are going to fly.

With all the words

—Chloe

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Be sure to let me know if you have any thoughts! This genre is pretty new to me, so any advice means the world<3

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