Page 38

TWENTY-FOUR

COURTNEY

The roof is down and the sun is beaming along the coast. Auguste has a soft soulsy playlist that's perfect for the chill mood. I’ve never been a fan of this kind of music, it reminds me of all the Sunday services Mom dragged me to because Martin wanted to portray some kind of image to climb the career ladder.

Right now, I’m falling a little bit for the bluesy swagger that Auguste is bopping his head to.

I like it. Seeing him like this—light and open.

The sunshine suits him. The rays bring out the golden tones of his light brown skin, and with his baseball cap on backwards, his hair is a dark, goofy disarray of curls sticking out of the loop.

It’s comical and mesmerizing all at once.

We come to a stop outside a blue and yellow painted store with a large black trident sign along the side.

Auguste pulls his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose, leveling me with a lazy smile. The sun is giving his eyes a bottle green, glass-like quality that I can’t pull my stare from.

So perfect.

Entirely too beautiful.

“Come on, Princess,” he says, nodding for me to follow him out of the car. “Let’s get you the best strawberries in California.”

Okay…

I’m unbuckling my seatbelt when Auguste reaches my side and opens my door. He’s been a gentleman the whole time we’ve been running errands. Keeping me hydrated and feeding me random snacks he picks up at every store we go to. Simply because he heard my stomach rumble in between tracks.

I take the hand he offers, pausing when I get out of the car to fix my dress. I keep waiting for him to touch me. Like actually touch me—wrap his arm around my shoulders or my waist… or maybe put his hand on the small of my back or between my shoulder blades.

He’s done all of those things before. I’m waiting for him to do it again. The longer I wait, the deeper the desperation sets in. Exactly the same way the need to see him ate at me earlier.

Of course, once I’m steady on my feet he starts for the store. Walking backwards with that stupidly gorgeous grin on his face.

“What’s your grocery list saying?” he asks, backing up into the store door and opening it for me to go through.

“Strawberries, coconut cream, and…” I check the list I scrawled before we left. “That’s it.”

Auguste’s eyes cut down my body with an absent-minded lick of his lips when he pauses on the hem of my skirt.

My thighs press together while tugging at the hem of my white summer dress—I’m a typical pear shape, and what I lack up top, I make up for on my hips and thighs.

It’s always been something I’m self-conscious about.

If it wasn’t for Delilah nagging me all the time about showing off my curves, I would probably be living my best skater girl life in baggy jeans and tank tops.

However, the way Auguste fixates on my thighs, is doing wonders for my confidence. If only he’d actually touch me now…

Instead, he watches me walk past him and follows at a distance behind me. His stare on me is palpable. Raking the length of my back to my ass. I watch him gnaw on his lip in the fisheye mirror overhead and put a little extra sway in my walk.

His stare flashes to mine in the mirror and a tight-lipped grin divots his cheeks when he slowly lowers his gaze back to my ass and intentionally slows.

Oh my God , I squeal in my head, my entire body squeezing tight.

“Auguste!” A deep voice calls from the cash desk when I get to the end of the tightly packed shelves.

The store is utilitarian to the max with no-fuss double-sided, metal shelves.

Everything is stacked so high that I can’t see the top.

And there’s a rich scent that hangs in the air—molasses and spices with a hint of coconut that makes me all fizzy inside when Auguste steps up behind me.

So close that we’re almost touching. His body ghosts mine with a giddy heat .

“Hey, George,” Auguste greets the man.

Warm brown eyes find me and the man’s face beams into a megawatt smile. “And hello Auguste’s… friend .”

“George, this is Courtney, my… friend . Court, this is George, my Frutee dealer.”

“Hello, friend.” George extends his hand towards me. Brown skin swirled with dark ink tightens around my much smaller hand when I shake his. He leans across the desk and whispers, “Just friend?”

Instantly, my face flashes hot. All I can do is giggle like a deranged toddler. Meanwhile, Auguste steps forward and easily untangles the man’s hand from mine, shaking it firmly.

“I’m trying to convince Courtney to give me a shot, but…” His green eyes side glance my way and as if it’s the conclusion to his sentence, he winks at me.

Oh shit.

It shouldn’t be allowed. His level of swagger is criminal, and I lap it up. Every single second of it as he remains at my side. Just not touching me.

This man is going to be the death of me. My pulse is pounding so hard I can’t hear a single thing aside from the thump-thump-thump . The psychedelic rhythm is burning through my veins while Auguste picks out the best strawberries from the fruit stand George directs us to.

“They’re the best,” he says, picking a large juicy berry and brushing it clean with his thumb before offering it to me.

I don’t even think about it, I open my mouth and allow him to feed it to me as I take a big bite. It’s so sweet and ripe that the juice trickles down my lips. I’m too stupefied, watching Auguste throw the half that’s left of the strawberry into his mouth and savor it with a hum, to clean my mouth.

He’s still licking his lips when he steps closer and his large hand cups my jaw, thumb swiping the juice off my lips.

The touch is so much more than I anticipated.

So much more than I’ve been waiting for…

and still, it’s not enough. Auguste pulls away too soon.

Leaving me wanting and needing in a blaze I won’t survive as he sucks the juice off his thumb and casually goes back to picking strawberries.

Fuck, I’m in so much trouble right now.

This damn dog is killing me. Samson follows me back to the other side of the kitchen where I’ve started unpacking groceries. It’s just as well I got him a little something at the grocery store.

“You’re certain this is okay for him?” I ask Auguste while I read the label on the antler bone we picked up.

“Can’t be worse than the pot pour he ate the other day,” Auguste answers back, still hyper focused on figuring out the oven.

The instant I give Samson the bone, he runs outside to the patio with it. I just catch sight of him leaping up onto the seat when there’s a knock at my door.

“That’s for me,” Auguste tells me, heading for the apartment door.

I pause lining up the ingredients on the kitchen island when a woman’s voice filters down the hallway. It’s too soft for me to make out what she’s saying, but I hear it loud and clear when Auguste grumbles, “Take it easy, okay? We’re kinda just friends so don’t go overboard and?—”

“Auggie, I’m here for the oven not to mess with your… friendship .”

“Mom, please … don’t make it awkward. J'essaie d'être cool and easy, and not scare her… avec plus de folie que j'en ai déjà.”

I swallow hard, trying not to freak out that he’s brought his mom here. I should know better than to play games with Auguste. He always comes out on top one way or another. And now here I am, frantically checking myself in the reflection of the glass fridge door.

My dress is too short. My hair is a knotted mess and?—

“I can’t do this,” I whisper to myself one second too late.

Before I can run and hide, Auguste appears. Trepidation paints his face as a woman pokes her head around the corner, her smile big and wide. Exactly like Auguste’s.

She waves at me before stepping beside him.

Next to each other it’s impossible not to notice their similarities.

Although her eyes are more hazel than green, they have the same glass-like shine to them that makes them bright.

Her skin is a deeper shade of brown that still allows her freckles to come through noticeably like Auguste’s.

Although her hair is styled into dark shoulder length waves with a grey money piece at the front of her parting, it’s as coarse as her son’s.

She’s stunning, and refined in her wide-leg linen pants and matching tank. Still, the nose piercing glittering in the light gives her a laid-back air that eases the nerves swirling in my belly.

“Introduce us.” She nudges Auguste’s arm. “Before you make it awkward. ”

“ Mom. ” His green stare is on me while he ushers his mom closer with one hand on her back.

When he pauses in front of me, his other hand finds my damp-palmed and jittery one.

He’s looking at me the whole time he makes the introduction, his thumb stroking along the back of my hand.

“Court, this is my mom, Sabrina. I figured it was safer to ask her for help rather than asking Matheo to bring his mom.”

I nod. “Makes sense.”

“Mom, this is Courtney,” he tells his mom, giving my hand a tender squeeze.

“So pretty,” she murmurs, closing the space between us and giving me a one-armed hug while Auguste groans, “ Mom. ”

“Nice to finally meet you, Courtney.”

“Same… Mrs. Broussard…” I don’t have much experience on addressing moms. I’ve never had a man introduce me to his mother and the only parents I talk to are Delilah’s. And we’re on first name terms.

“Call me Rina,” she says with an encouraging rub of my shoulder.

Sabrina is taller than me and even with the grey money piece in her hair, she looks youthful.

“Where is this oven then?” She looks around the kitchen, focusing on the ingredients I have laid out on the counter along with the treats Auguste bought at the Caribbean store. “You still haven’t given me a list of what you want me to bring back for you.”

“The usual,” he replies, releasing my hand and gesturing to the double oven stacked on the wall behind me.