Page 9 of Splintered Memories (Ember Hollow Romance #2)

Emersyn

I glared at the man sitting at my table.

He seemed absolutely unbothered, casually eating my cereal, one elbow propped on the tabletop while the other hand shoveled food into his mouth.

I, on the other hand, felt completely shell-shocked. I’d hoped that when my eyes opened this morning, yesterday would’ve been nothing but a bad dream. August Ramsey’s presence in my kitchen at this moment proved that it hadn’t been, and my stomach soured.

As if he felt my piercing stare, his eyes bounced up from the bowl he was decimating. A mug sat next to him, steam curling above the top. The smell of fresh coffee rushed over me, the one thing about this morning that didn’t seem like a complete nightmare.

August’s lips pressed together, as if fighting a smile. Those steely-gray eyes gently combed over me.

“Morning,” he said .

I was aware I probably looked as wrecked as I felt. Hell, this was my freaking house, and I’d just rolled out of bed. If he expected me to look presentable for him, he was going to be highly disappointed.

Still, my fingers curled into the soft plush of my robe, pulling it tighter around myself to keep my hands from smoothing down my braided hair that was a mess from sleep. “An unfortunate morning,” I grumbled. “As you’re still here.”

I turned toward the coffeepot before he could reply.

Part of me couldn’t comprehend what was happening, even though August had gone through the contract with me line by line.

It had taken much of last night after I made my father leave, exactly ten minutes after I let him enter. At least he’d kept his word and left.

The contract was surprisingly thorough for something that had seemingly been drawn up so quickly. It was woefully overbearing, but I supposed I shouldn’t expect anything different from Tristan Hawthorn.

I grabbed a mug and poured myself some coffee from the pot, inhaling the scent deep into my lungs. It smelled perfect, which surprised me. I enjoyed strong coffee and used way more per cup than the instructions suggested. Apparently, August enjoyed his coffee strong too.

I tried not to let that minor similarity make him seem more amiable. August wasn’t here to be my friend. He was here as an employee of my father. An employee expected to be in my presence for nearly twenty-four freaking hours a day and live in my damn house.

I shuddered at the thought of everything that was happening and how I felt utterly out of control to stop any of it.

When I turned around, August was staring. I sipped my coffee, letting the warmth of it flow through me and ease my tense muscles .

His head tilted to the side as he surveyed me. It seemed as if his expression was almost…guarded. Like he was trying to hide his thoughts, though I could’ve sworn there was a hint of regret in his eyes.

“I don’t plan on going anywhere…at least not for a while.” He turned back to the cereal and consumed another mouthful.

My fingers clenched around my hot mug, the stinging heat biting into my skin. I didn’t want to let my anger and annoyance get the best of me so early in the day, but I wasn’t trying that hard to stop it.

I marched over to the breakfast nook and slammed my mug down on the table, stifling a wince when some of my precious coffee sloshed over the edge.

August stilled, his eyes catching on the mug that I now realized probably looked ridiculous.

It was shaped like a cat, with actual pointed ears that stuck up above the rim like two little triangles.

Its green, cat eyes stared right at him, and I swore I saw the catch in his throat where he swallowed his chuckle.

He was infuriating.

Before I thought it through, I reached for him, one hand curling around his bowl while the other gripped the box of cereal, and I yanked them both away from him. Then, I sat in the chair opposite him, the cereal and bowl now on my side of the table.

He quirked a brow.

I stared at him pointedly. “This is my cereal,” I said between clenched teeth.

Again, bemusement danced in his eyes, grating on my nerves that were raw at this point. He leaned back, raising his palms out toward me. “My bad. ”

When I did nothing in reply, he let out a long breath. “Look, I know this is a lot to get used to. I’m not exactly thrilled about this arrangement myself, but,” he paused, eyes trailing over my face, “we might as well try to make the best of it.”

My eyes widened. “Make the best of it?” My hands gripped the sides of the table hard, my knuckles turning white.

I leaned toward him—toward this almost complete stranger who was suddenly living in my house and eating my food and drinking my damn coffee.

“I don’t want to make the best of it. In fact, I don’t really even want to talk to you. Ever.”

I clamped my mouth shut, and then I stiffly reached for my stupid cat mug and held it to my chest, letting the comforting scent wash over me.

“Don’t you think that’ll make things a little…awkward?”

I stared down into the dark liquid in my mug, and then I shook my head. I didn’t care.

Another sigh came from his side of the table. Then, his voice so low I wasn’t sure whether I heard correctly, he said, “I’m sorry, Emersyn.” He paused, and then added, “I shouldn’t have eaten your food without asking. That was rude of me.”

I blinked, forcing my gaze to stay pinned to my coffee. The last thing I’d expected from my little outburst was an apology, let alone an apology that sounded sincere.

I clenched my jaw, and before I could do something stupid like forgive him, I stood from the table and hurried away, locking myself downstairs in the safety of my studio.

T he next few days crawled by.

August was always there. Always.

I hid away as often as I could, immersing myself in work.

It was easy, because it’s what I did often.

This time of year was busier than normal.

Every spring, the town held the annual Emberlight Festival, which was right around the corner.

I always had a booth there for my podcast and had a little meet-and-greet with fans who wanted to come.

It was my favorite event of the year. I loved it.

But today, I wasn’t seeking solace in my studio. Today was all about my best friend.

Best friend.

My hand tightened around my second glass of champagne. I glanced down into the shimmery, effervescent liquid for a few beats.

My best friend.

For a long time, my best friend was my sister.

A pang of grief hit my chest, sharp and vicious, and I clenched my jaw.

It had been almost ten years since my sister was killed, and still, when I thought about her, it hurt like an open wound, pulsing and bleeding. Delainey had been the best of us, the strongest of my siblings, and I had depended on her for a very long time.

When she died, I’d been getting ready to graduate from high school that very year.

I was only months away from moving out of the house where my mother ruled.

Delainey and I were going to get a place together when I finally moved out.

She was going to save me, like she had so many times before growing up.

But then, she was taken from me. Slain in the middle of the night in her own apartment by a monster who wasn’t even there for her, but for one of her roommates. She just happened to see him and became nothing more than collateral damage in the crime.

“I’m not so sure about this one.” Lark’s voice distracted me from the sudden, drowning grief.

I looked up from the bubbles of champagne.

She stared at herself in the wall of mirrors on a raised platform.

The dress she wore was stark, blaring white with swirls of beaded filigree that sparkled in the lights above her.

I blinked at my friend, still wading through that burst of grief.

Lark had been there the night Delainey had died. She lost someone precious to her, too. Her best friend, Thea Ramsey. The real target of the attacker who took my sister from me.

Something nudged my knee, stealing my fractured attention.

My eyes slid to the space next to me. August sat there, man-spreading and taking over two-thirds of the velvety, blush-pink couch. His knee was touching mine. One arm was draped over the top as he leaned back, looking the embodiment of ease.

But his eyes tightened as he looked at me, his head tilting to the side as he scanned my face. There was a question in his expression, one that I could hear as clearly as if he’d said it out loud.

Are you okay?

My back straightened, highly aware that those gray eyes saw too much sometimes. I forced myself to reel in that grief, swallow it all down and pretend like it didn’t exist. I slapped a bandage over the raw wound, considering it healed, as I raised my chin and threw my shoulders back.

I cut my gaze back to Lark, to my friend, and this moment in the bridal boutique. This wasn’t about me.

This was about her.

I opened my mouth as I scanned the dress again. “It’s…pretty,” I said with a shrug, happy my voice sounded normal. Not clogged with the heavy sadness from a moment ago.

Lark’s big brown eyes met mine through the mirror. Her teeth sunk into her bottom lip. “It is,” she agreed, but her tone was unsure. She shifted on her feet, her fingers drifting absently over the fluffy, beaded skirt that puffed out at her waist.

“I’m not sure if it’s really you, though,” August said.

Lark let out a breath, her shoulders sagging. “Right?” She spun around, facing the two of us. “It just…doesn’t feel like the one.”

I glanced at August out of the corner of my eye.

He shook his head. “Definitely not the one.”

Part of me bristled. We had been here for an hour, me sipping on champagne while we sat on this couch and watched Lark try on dress after dress. I didn’t know what I had expected August to do when I told him I was going to Lark’s wedding dress appointment, but it wasn’t this.