Page 40 of Forever & Always You
There are pancakes available at the breakfast buffet in the morning, so of course Austin and I exchange an amused smile before stacking some on our plates.
It’s Sunday, and we’re together, and the rule is that when we’re together on Sundays we have to have pancakes. It’s literally an official agreement.
“Dad’s waving us over to join them,” Austin grumbles into my ear, and I follow the direction of his gaze to a table by the window where Caroline and Mike are already tucking into their breakfast.
“Then let’s join them.”
Austin raises an eyebrow at the suggestion. “Really?”
“Ignoring them at breakfast won’t do me any favors,” I point out with a shrug, starting forward in his parents’ direction. “I have to just keep trying my best to win them over. Since I am your girlfriend and all.”
We weave our way through the hotel restaurant toward Caroline and Mike, and I greet them with a timid smile.
Surprisingly, Caroline seems rather abashed this morning.
She nods meekly and then stares into her cup of coffee.
Mike, on the other hand, was too drunk last night to have even noticed my chat with Caroline and is none the wiser to the tension.
He pulls out chairs and keenly gestures for Austin and me to sit.
“Good morning, Champ!” he says, clapping a hand proudly over Austin’s shoulder. “Get any sleep or was the champagne flowing all night? Those glasses went down a little too easy .?.?. I’m feeling rather tender this morning.”
Austin blushes, just a little. We didn’t get much sleep last night at all, but it certainly wasn’t because we were popping more celebratory champagne.
“It was a great night,” is the only response Austin manages. He gives his mother a pointed look. “And how are you this morning, Mom?”
“I think maybe the champagne got to me a little too .?.?.” she mumbles. Lifting her gaze, she finds mine. “Gabrielle, I’d like to apologize for the things I said last night. Austin can make his own decisions, and I’ve taken on board what you had to say, and I .?.?. Well, I believe you.”
Mike furrows his brows and glances between Caroline and me with confusion. “What did Gabrielle say?” he questions. “Caroline? What did she say?”
“I’ll tell you later,” Caroline hisses, shushing him.
Mike rolls his eyes, then points a knife at Austin. “Have you seen the news?”
“No .?.?.?” Austin answers, narrowing his eyes with curiosity.
“The storm watch was changed to a warning.”
“There was a storm watch?”
“Oh, c’mon, get your head out of the stock market and check your local weather reports, for God’s sake,” Mike says with a disapproving shake of his head.
“Winds are starting to pick up on the coast already, and it’s looking like the rain will pass over Wilmington in the early hours of tomorrow.
We’re hitting the road after this to get the house secured and I suggest you do the same. ”
“Shit, okay.”
“And stock up on supplies,” Caroline instructs. “Just in case your power gets cut off.”
I stare somberly at my plate of pancakes, because although I adore living on the east coast, I do not like our hurricane season.
Hurricane Florence was the last major storm to hit the Carolinas six years ago, and coastal homes were submerged as widespread floods wrecked Wilmington.
It was the September I started studying at Duke, so I was safe further inland in Durham, glued to the TV news in my dorm while my parents evacuated our home.
There was extensive damage to the first floor thanks to the thirty inches of rain that was dumped over the city.
“It’s definitely just a tropical storm, though, right?” I ask nervously, glancing up at Mike in hope of some reassurance. I should really get out of my little Austin bubble and pay more attention to the news. “No chance of it being upgraded to a category one?”
“Definitely just a storm,” Mike confirms, but is there even such a thing as just a storm?
*
Austin and I planned to spend the day in Charlotte, but we check out of the hotel after breakfast, toss our bags in the car, and hit the highway.
You wouldn’t think there was a storm brewing, given the clear blue skies and blazing sunshine, but the nearer we get to the coast, the more the trees sway in the breeze.
Nothing says the first of September like an impending tropical storm.
As we make it back to Wilmington, Austin asks, “Would you like to visit Teddy at the shelter before we swing by the hardware store?”
“I always want to visit Teddy,” I reply.
Fiona is always thrilled to see us each weekend, and today is no different.
She’s lugging sandbags out of her van when we pull up, and of course, Austin is quick to take over.
He builds a stack of sandbags by the front entrance of the shelter, then moves some outdoor seating inside the building.
It’s all precautionary, but it does nothing to ease my growing anxiety.
“Will the dogs be okay?” I ask.
“They sure will!” Fiona says, tossing us a leash. “I’ll spend the night here to make sure the building stays secure. It’ll be one big slumber party.”
We make our way down the kennel block, saying hi to the familiar faces and hi to the new ones, and then retrieve Teddy, who seems to be our chosen one to always receive special treatment.
We can’t help it; we do have a soft spot for him, whether or not Austin admits it.
Teddy’s sign now says he has been here at Saving Paws for nine hundred and eight-two days, and his sweet brown eyes make me crumble.
“Eighteen days,” I sniff, following Austin and Teddy outside into the exercise field.
“Eighteen days .?.?.?” Austin repeats in confusion.
“Eighteen days left to find Teddy a home before he has officially been a shelter dog for one thousand days. One thousand, Austin.” I fold my arms across my chest and pout my lips at him like it’s all his fault. “I can’t bear it.”
“Look at him! He’s happy,” Austin says, unclipping Teddy’s leash as he dashes off to pee on the fence and kick at the grass.
“He’d be happier on a couch. With blankets, and head scratches, and nibbles of cheese.”
“ Everyone would be happier on a couch with blankets and head scratches and nibbles of cheese.”
I sigh and drop to the grass. Strands of curls dance across my face in the breeze as I lean back on my hands, watching Austin play tug over a rope toy with Teddy before he joins me on the grass.
It was in this exact spot he first told me he likes it when I blush, and it’s the only thing I can think about whenever we come out here with the dogs. A core memory.
“Teddy!” Austin calls, patting the grass in the spot between us. Teddy immediately prances over and curls up into a ball, because much like me, he prefers relaxation over exercise. “Gabby is still fighting for you, buddy.”
“I am,” I say with a steely nod of grit and determination as I scratch behind Teddy’s ears. “I’ll find you a home, even if it means organizing adoption events monthly and dressing you up in cute outfits.”
“Maybe that’s something we should look into,” says Austin, and when I glance sideways at him, he’s gazing pensively across the field.
He meets my eyes and adds, “Pierce Wealth Management sponsored adoption events each month. Different venues across the city. Good for business, good for the shelter, good for the dogs. And good for you, of course, because I’d obviously need to hire someone to oversee these events.
” The corner of his mouth twitches, revealing a smile.
“You clearly have a knack for marketing and event organization.”
“Oh, Austin,” I breathe, a grin stretching across my face, “that sounds amazing. I’d love to help! You wouldn’t think I major in economics considering how skilled I am in other areas. Clearly I was born to run events for dog shelters.”
Austin laughs and reaches for my hand, drawing it to his lips and brushing a soft kiss over my knuckles. “I’ll discuss it with Fiona next week. We’ll find Teddy a home, I promise.”
“The best home.”
“The best home,” Austin agrees, patting Teddy’s head. “C’mon, then. We better get going before the hardware store sells out of plywood.”
“And before Walmart runs out of snacks.”
“Well, duh. ”
We settle Teddy back into his kennel, bid farewell to the rest of the dogs and Fiona, and hit the stores.
We flick between radio stations in the car, trying to catch more of the storm reports, because quite frankly, both of us feel a tiny bit silly for being completely oblivious to the tumultuous forecast until now.
This is what I get for only watching Marvel movies and listening to podcasts and ignoring the real world, because now we’re fighting over bottled water with strangers in Walmart and ramming plywood into the tiny trunk of Austin’s car.
There’s still no risk of the storm being upgraded, but after the sheer amount of destruction Florence caused as only a category one hurricane, no one takes any chances these days.
Any kind of storm warning and people are battening down the hatches, just in case.
Austin’s house is pretty secure already, but we spend the rest of the afternoon preparing, anyway.
We lock our cars up in the garage along with all of the patio furniture from the yard, and I assist Austin by looking cute while holding a tin of nails as he boards up his windows.
It’s pretty obvious the winds are strengthening as the evening draws closer, because each rumbling gust forces me to dig in my heels to maintain my balance.
Just as we finish up and head inside, the clouds turn a threatening shade of gray and the rain arrives.
And I may hate storms, but it turns out I enjoy riding them out with Austin.