Page 38 of Until August

The sea breeze lapped at my cheeks, and the sun warmed them.

“It’s complicated,” August said finally, long after I’d given up waiting for an answer. “There’s a part of me that will always love her. We met young. She was only eighteen, and I was twenty-one. I tried to take care of her and protect her, and in return, she showed me how it felt to be loved. She accepted me in all my fucked-up glory. Despite my flaws and weaknesses, she loved my stubborn ass.” He paused to collect his thoughts. “For a long time, what we had was really special. Until circumstances changed and everything fell apart.”

He'd given me a lot more than I expected. But it almost sounded like he was talking to himself. Trying to work through the heartache and the pain of losing someone who was once his everything. I heard the vulnerability and honesty in his voice, and I wanted to comfort him. To wrap my arms around him and tell him he would find another love. That everything would be okay and time would heal his wounds.

But that would make me a hypocrite. I didn’t really believe that time could heal everything.

So, I said the only thing I could think to say. “I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “That’s life. You love, and you lose. Nothing is made to last forever.”

It made me sad that he believed that, but I suppose it was true. “Some things should last forever. Why is life so unfair?”

“It is what it is. But we just gotta keep fighting the good fight. It’s either that or take a dirt nap.”

“Wow. That took a dark turn.”

He chuckled and pushed off the wall, jerking his chin toward the door. “So what are you cooking up in there, Chef Vega?”

“It’s top secret.” I pretended to zip my lips like we were in grade school again.

He moved closer and dipped his head. It took me a few seconds to realize what he was doing. When I figured it out, I shoved him away. He staggered back in a comical display, his hand going to his heart like I’d wounded him. I rolled my eyes. “Were you sniffing me?”

He grinned, seamlessly progressing from stricken to playful in the blink of an eye. “You smell sweet as sugar. I detect raspberries. And a hint of chocolate.”

A smile swept over my face. I liked his playful side. “Do you always go around sniffing people?”

“Nope. Only you. So who are you baking for?”

“My secret admirers.”

“Hmm. More than one. Need help?” He rubbed his hands together like the prospect thrilled him.

“Nope. I’ve got this.” I slid my phone out of my pocket and checked the time. “Oh, crap.” I flew through the door and heard his footsteps following behind. “I didn’t invite you,” I called over my shoulder as I made a mad dash for the oven.

“I’ll just watch.” He went to the sink and washed his hands like a surgeon about to go into the operating room. That should have been my first clue. August was incapable of just standing back to watch.

After tapping the center of the cakes with my index finger and concluding they were done, I slid them out of the oven and set them on a rack to cool. “I’m sure you must have better things to do on a Saturday morning.”

He poured two mugs of coffee from the fresh pot I’d brewed earlier and added cream to mine before he handed it to me.

It felt intimate, just the two of us alone in the kitchen, with the morning sun dancing across the stainless steel and my music piping from the speakers.

He knew how I took my coffee and always added the perfect amount of cream, just how I liked it. Because August noticed little things like that.

He took a sip of his black coffee and eyed me over the rim. “This is my favorite place to be.”

It was mine, too. My house was too big for one person and didn’t feel like home anymore. So now it was just a place where I went to shower and sleep.

“So, who are the cakes for?” he asked, eyeing the bowls of frosting I’d whipped up earlier.

“My best friend’s daughters. They’re twins, and every year I bake them their own cakes. Everly is getting vanilla with salted caramel, and Isla is getting chocolate with raspberry buttercream.”

I smacked his hand away but too late. He sucked the frosting off his finger, then waltzed over to the stove and poured castor sugar into a saucepan.

I planted my hands on my hips. “I thought you were just here to watch.”

He adjusted the heat under the pan and ignored my question, asking one of his own. “How old are they?”