Chapter 3: Sweet Sixteen, Bitter Destiny

After that, with Uncle out of the way, Eli and I ran all over town together.

We left footprints all over Maple Heights—hit up every funnel cake stand, listened to garage bands at the park, checked out every coffee shop, even the ones that smelled like burnt toast.

We were so free back then. No worries, no rules, just us.

We’d spend whole afternoons wandering the riverwalk, sharing milkshakes at the diner, watching the world go by. Sometimes we’d sneak into the old drive-in theater, hiding in the back of Mason’s pickup. That kind of freedom? You don’t realize you’ll miss it until it’s gone.

And just like that, I grew up. By fifteen, everything felt different.

At my Sweet Sixteen, I saw my mom for the first time in ages. She’d gotten thinner, but she was still so lovely, so graceful. During my coming-of-age ceremony, I thought I saw a tear slip down her cheek. Then she said, “My little girl has grown up.”

I’ve always been the lively type. After the ceremony, I snuck out to the gazebo by the lake and pretended to nap.

The lake was still as glass, fireflies blinking over the water. The breeze was soft and warm, rustling through my hair. I listened to the distant music from the house and let myself drift, eyes closed, just breathing it all in.

Suddenly, I opened my eyes and there he was—a young man grinning at me, that devil-may-care smile lighting up his whole face.

“Happy birthday, Autumn!” Eli called.

“Where’s my present?” I shot back, rolling my eyes.

He rapped me on the head with his knuckles. “You goof, all you care about is presents. I ditched the party just to see you.”

Eli looked so annoyed, his mouth twisted in a dramatic frown. I rubbed my head, which didn’t hurt at all, and just burst out laughing.

Hearing me laugh only made him grumpier. He pulled out a wooden box, tossed it into my lap, and stomped off.

Watching him storm away, I couldn’t help but think—he was really cute when he was mad.

I opened the box. Inside was a jade hairpin. The jade was lovely, but the carving was a little rough—like someone had tried their best but wasn’t quite a master. I loved it anyway.

I held it up in the moonlight, running my thumb along the uneven edge. It wasn’t perfect, but it was mine. I tucked it into my hair, feeling a little more grown-up—and a little bit beautiful.

Spring turned to autumn, and three years flew by before I knew it. Sometimes it felt like time was running faster just to spite me.

My uncle had run Whitmore for decades, and by now, the Shaws were the biggest deal in town. They had more influence than anyone, but it never changed how our family felt inside those walls.

That year, Uncle came home from the border, a war hero. Eli went with him. The battle lasted months. When Eli left, it was summer; when he came back, it was already winter.

When he left, I went to church to pray for him—even though I knew he’d be okay. He teased me about it, but he still wore the charm I gave him.

I’d pressed a little silver cross into his palm and told him to keep it close. He rolled his eyes, but I saw him slip it into his pocket. Later, I’d catch him fiddling with it when he thought no one was looking. It made me smile.

That day, I took a nap and slept so hard I woke up not knowing what day it was. Everything felt out of place.

When I opened my eyes, there was a young man in light armor, sitting cross-legged across from me, resting his chin in his hand, a tired smile on his lips, his bright eyes watching me with something dark and heavy behind them.

“Eli!”

“This is my room!”

As soon as I realized, I shouted in outrage, grabbed the nearest pillow, and threw it at him.

He caught the pillow, walked over, and flopped onto the edge of my bed. He looked more exhausted than I’d ever seen him.

“Autumn, quit fussing. Let me rest a minute.”

That’s when I saw the dark circles under his eyes. My anger faded. Looking at him—my young commander, so tired—I reached out and lifted his face, wanting him to rest easier.

Eli must have been running on empty.

Later, I found out that the day Eli returned, he came straight to see me—didn’t even take off his armor first.

I felt something shift inside me. I think, from that moment—or maybe long before—Eli stopped being just a character in a story. He was real to me. He was everything.

I guess I’d liked Eli for a long time. When did it start?

Maybe it was the jade hairpin at my Sweet Sixteen. Maybe it was the year we trained together, or when he took me riding as a kid. I can’t really remember when it began.

But honestly, who cares?

All I know is I like him. That’s enough for me.

Who cares about main characters or plotlines? Who cares what the book says? I’m Autumn Jennings, and I just like Eli Shaw. That’s it.

The border war ended, the president was thrilled, and Eli was named young commander.

That day, he ran up to me in full armor, a little out of breath, clearly just back from the mayor’s office. His eyes sparkled like a thousand stars.

“Autumn, did you see? I’m a commander now!”

I saw. My commander.

That day, he took off his helmet, and I could finally see him up close. He was tanner, thinner, with a scar across his face…

I reached out, wanting to touch it, but I hesitated.

Eli grabbed my hand, pressed it to the scar on his brow, and grinned. “Autumn, doesn’t this scar make me look even more handsome? Be honest—are you mesmerized?”

“Yes.”

He froze, eyes wide, looking kind of lost—and, honestly, a little adorable.

I leaned in and hugged him, then whispered again, “I said yes, my commander.”

He went stiff all over.