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  His other hand moves to my hip, and just like it did when we were in love all those years ago, it finds the skin under my shirt.

  I should stop this. My eyes close as I react to his lustful touch.

  He should stop this. His fingers trail across my side.

  I know we shouldn’t be doing this, but for the life of me I can’t think of a good enough reason why.

  The string attached to my heart, the same one I threw into that ocean all those years ago when August left me, is suddenly not so slack anymore. Each touch, each cascade of breath over my face, every tiny smile from his mouth pulls that ruddy thing out of the water and onto the shore, air breathing life into it.

  He steps closer, invading my space – only not so invading now. I’m sure my body’s moving without thought and I’m inviting him.

  I blink a few times as his tongue catches his bottom lip, my gaze zoned in on it. The anticipation in my belly bubbles, but in the back of my mind, I know it’s wrong.

  At war, my brain and my heart can’t find a clear victor. I’m stuck in the middle like a lust-struck idiot, swooning over the little wrinkle near his eye. Or the strong edge of his jaw. Or the strong touch of his calloused hand.

  Oh God, I can’t stop thinking about his hand on my hip. It feels so warm and so natural.

  His mouth opens a little as his chest heaves up and down. I feel myself mirroring his actions.

  “August…” I whisper, the word trickling out of my mouth. It’s full of want and desire that I don’t think I’ve ever felt before.

  August’s lips part and I feel my knees buckle. Intense, his penetrating stare triggers goose bumps to break out all over my body and I shiver in pleasure – in anticipation. He sees it and smiles out of the corner of his mouth.

  Am I going to kiss August Wyatt? Can I handle what comes after? Or during? Or hell, I don’t know if I can comprehend what’s happening right now.

  Inhibitions lost – gone – straight out of the window, my fingers ache to touch him more. We haven’t moved much since August grabbed my hand and I think it’s because we’re both pushing our boundaries, wondering where our limits will present themselves. I want to feel the taut skin of his stomach and the twist of the muscles in his back. Limits be damned.

  He inches his mouth toward mine. I feel myself creeping closer, my unoccupied hand finding the shirt at his side. I fist the torn material, aching to do more. My fingernails dig in my palm around the shirt and I almost crave to do the same with my other hand.

  “Belle, I…” he trails off as he snakes his arm around my back. His eyes move side to side, keeping a catalogue of my every move. They widen, his long lashes casting a shadow on his high cheekbones. I want to touch the obscured skin with my fingertips – to know for sure it’s real – to make sure he’s real. August lays his hand flat on my spine, my shirt open in the middle and I almost jump at how his touch affects me. He sets me ablaze. Before, I was a dull flicker, waiting to be lit, but his touch, it sparks a wildfire inside me, raging an inferno I can’t extinguish.

  I lift my chin, inching my lips toward his when BAM! BAM! BAM! “August, we’re about to head to the next location. You need to be at the golf cart in five!” someone yells through the door and we jump away from each other, breathing heavily. August’s eyes regress to their normal size and I wish I had taken a better mental picture of him before.

  His hands move away in a flash and I feel his absence immediately – the void almost overwhelming. I want to yell and ask him to stay. To ignore the person on the other side of the door. The world can wait.

  But I don’t.

  As I watch him turn away from me, cheeks blushed and sorrow apparent, I know we’re both sensing the same crushing devastation. With our heads clear of the fog, we both know we can’t be anything other than friends right now, and it sucks. This was our chance and like trying to catch smoke, or air, with your hands, it’s impossible.

  I guess I should be thankful. This reminded me of something important. Something so incredibly pivotal.

  What we have – the connection we felt – wasn’t something I just made up in my mind. We loved so deeply before, it’s no wonder why we were able to fall back into it so easily.

  If we’re anything, it’s creatures of habit.

  I wish I could stop him. I wish I could reach for his arm and pull him to me. Promise him that if we just gave it another shot, we’d be stronger than ever. We have new chapters to write in our book. It would be so easy. I don’t think I ever lost what I felt for him. It simply always laid dormant in my body, waiting to be felt again.

  I almost speak again, but realize yet another very important fact. Even if I don’t want to admit it, and even if he hasn’t said anything, I’m sure he has a girlfriend. Or, is at least seeing someone. He’s not a cheater and I’m not a mistress.

  So, instead of doing all the things I yearn to do, I stay silent and watch him open the door, letting the string attached to my heart he held in his hand go.

  Closing myself off, I cross my arms in front of my chest.

  In the quiet moments after this – when I’m all alone – as I feel my heart breaking all over again, I’ll have reassurance that what we had and still have are worth waiting for.

  Slap My Mama

  The rest of the month fades slowly into the next with very little talk from August. I’d be hurt but I think it’s because we pushed our limits and he’s trying to figure out a way to draw that line again. Not that I blame him. I’d probably feel like a gigantic moron if I were to see him right now anyway.

  Does he blame me? Should I blame him? Should I be angry with both of us for being so flippant with our feelings?

  Every replay and internal battle makes me cringe.

  There’s been news on the movie every day. I tune in to make sure there’s been no more incidences with crazed fans and I’m thankful it’s stayed quiet.

  Lily keeps an eye out for me, too.

  I’m still in the process of planning the details of our reveal party for the new piece at the museum and I’m drowning in the details.

  Shuffling a stack of papers in front of me on my desk, I shove them into a folder and lean back in my chair.

  The sound of footsteps forces my eyes away from my dinging computer.

  With a stoic expression, Beau stops at my office, crossing his arms in front of his chest. He doesn’t look me in the eye when he speaks. “Hey, did you get a chance to call the photographer? He emailed yesterday and said you needed to give him access so he could come to the reveal early.”

  I nod, trying my hardest to not seem fazed by his lack of personality. “Yeah. We just finished up. He’s good to go.”

  “Good,” is all Beau says and turns to leave.

  With a tight expression, I eye my computer. It’s just past six o’clock and I’m ready to head home. With the stress of the reveal and the uncertainty of where I stand with August, I’m ready to snuggle into bed and binge watch something on TV. Preferably with a pint of ice cream and a pizza larger than my dining room table.

  I quickly log into my sleeping computer and message Beau, letting him know I’m heading out. His simple, ‘fine,’ answer is all I need. Quickly grabbing my purse, I speed-walk to my car, six blocks away today, and make my way home.

  It doesn’t take me but twenty minutes to leave work, drive home, and crawl into bed. I’m pretty proud of myself, actually. It’s possible I broke some sort of world record.

  I’m about four heaping bites into cookie dough ice cream when my phone chimes for a text message.

  August: You busy?

  I set my spoon down.

  Me: It’s almost seven o’clock on a Friday night. Of course I’m busy.

  I quickly send another text, giggling at myself.

  Me: Kidding. I’m almost about to fall asleep, honestly. I’m sure you’re doing the same, old man.

  It takes him a few minutes to write back.

  August: Ha! I’ve been up since three this
morning, take it easy on me.

  Me: Can’t help it. You’ve always been one to go to bed early.

  August: I like my sleep!

  I laugh. If you asked him his favorite place in the world, it wouldn’t be some distant and beautiful land. It wouldn’t be some foreign country with miles of grassland. Nope. He’d say his bed. Every single time.

  Me: I know you do, sleepy. What’s up?

  Those three little dots appear and disappear for five straight minutes as my ice cream melts.

  August: Go out with me.

  It’s not a question and I know if he’s going out on a limb and texting me it’s because he needs me.

  I’m not sure if that scares or excites me. The sirens in my head go off, warning me to be cautious but I text back anyway.

  Me: Where?

  August: Anywhere.

  I begin typing back before I can second guess myself.

  Me: Okay.

  August: Be there in ten.

  I’m sitting on my couch, chewing on my nails when August finally knocks on my door. I rush to open it and step back when he moves beside me, making his way into my apartment.

  In dark sweatpants, a hoodie and running shoes, he looks downright handsome but more exhausted than usual.

  “Hi,” he greets with a pensive expression and pulls me in for a hug. I oomph at his suddenness but wrap my arms around him with as much ferocity as I can muster. I don’t know why, but I feel like he needs it.

  “You okay?” I ask, pulling back to get a good look at him.

  He smiles but it’s forced. “I’m…I’m good.” He’s lying and he knows I see it, but I let it go.

  I grab for my keys, his antsy behavior telling me he just needs to get out of here. I’ve seen this August more than a few times in my day. I already shoved my ID and credit card in my bra before he got here, so when he opens the door and offers me his hand, I take it immediately.

  It’s less than five minutes before I’m sitting in to the passenger seat of his old pickup truck. I sit crisscross on August’s wide, red bench seat and listen as he turns up the volume on his radio a little, so I can hear it. “September Song” by JP Cooper spills from the speakers and I lay back, resting my head against the window behind me.

  August pulls out of the parking lot and shifts into a higher gear as he makes his way to the freeway. He puts the pedal to the floor, driving dangerously fast, but I let him.

  The roads are quiet tonight, much like every other night, especially here in Bradshaw. We aren’t like normal cities. Everything closes after dinner and most people are locked away in their houses way before then.

  Settling into a comfortable silence, August turns onto the freeway, gliding into the fast lane. He sets his right hand on the gear shift and his left on the bottom of the steering wheel. Comfortable, he relaxes his body into the seat.

  I watch him with curiosity, trying my hardest not to gawk. I’ve gone years without much so a glance at him, and now that he’s right in front of me.

  August huffs and I open my mouth to ask him what’s going on, but think better of it.

  I wasn’t one to push August to talk. I always figured if he needed something, he’d come to me. It worked out well before with us. August was one to tackle his demons internally before he was ready to let them all out. If I pushed him too far before he was willing, he’d shove me away. Being intrusive wasn’t my thing anyway, though.

  As I continue to study August, he gives far too much in his silence. It’s the little things that give him away. It’s the way he rubs his lips together in a tight line or the way he sniffs out of one side of his nose. He’ll pop the knuckles on his right hand – only his right hand – and he’ll rub the back of his neck, lightly groaning. His subtle tells. He’s never been overly theatric and by the looks of him right now, I’d say he’s in panic mode. He’s already done three of the four sure-fire signs.

  Going with my gut, I say, “Let’s play Truths.”

  August pushes air out of his nose and smiles. “What’s that?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. I just made it up. It’s like Truth or Dare without the dare because I always hated that part of the game.” The teenagers in this town liked to make the dare portion of the game humiliating.

  “Was that one of your truths?” He snickers, teasing me.

  “No,” I scold with a grin. “Do you want to play or not?”

  He rubs his jaw. “You know I’ll play.”

  I sit up straight. “I don’t think I ever told you about my best birthday.”

  He thinks on it for a couple of seconds. “I don’t think so.” He looks over his shoulder to exit, taking a right off the freeway, down another highway I’ve never been on.

  I uncross my legs, feeling warm, and turn to him. “My dad and I didn’t get along when I was younger.”

  The corners of his eyebrows wrinkles. “You both seemed so close when I was around.”

  “That’s because we were by that time. This one birthday sort of changed it for us.” August takes his hand away from the gear shift and rests it on top of the steering wheel. “So, it was my golden birthday.” He turns his eyes away from the road, confused. “I was born on the twelfth so my golden birthday is when I turn twelve.” He nods once, a little confused. “Yours will be your thirtieth birthday because you were born August thirtieth.”

  “Got it,” he chides with a smile.

  “Anyway, this birthday was supposed to be this big blow-out. Bouncy house, pony rides, a snow cone truck – all my favorite things – but I ended up getting sick. Like, ridiculously sick. I was in the hospital for a good week. I slept through my birthday, and, of course, because I blamed dad for everything, I thought it was his fault. I came to after sleeping for two days and Mama wasn’t there. I’m pretty sure the first words out of my mouth were, ‘How could you do this to me, dad?’ I was an asshole.”

  August stops me. “Why would you think that about him?”

  Ashamed, I shrug. “He was never around. Gone for days on end, working. My juvenile brain thought he loved his job more than he loved me. He was such a harsh man. I had to mind every P and Q and I hated him for it. I wasn’t perfect. I’d rather walk around in Chuck Taylors than sit at a debutante ball dolled up in some overpriced dress. He wanted me to be the perfect southern belle daughter and, even at such a young age, I felt like I constantly disappointed him. It wore on me and our relationship.”

  August reaches across the seat and squeezes my thigh lightly. Turning into an orchard of some sort, he pulls in between a row of trees, kills the engine and unbuckles his seatbelt.

  Ignoring the buzz I feel to have him touch me again, I look around. “Where are we?”

  August leans forward, looking out the windshield. “I dunno. I just wanted to go somewhere quiet.”

  My eyebrows furrow but I begrudgingly agree. This is obviously what he needs, so I won’t push it. “Back to the story. So, I wake up from my mono-induced coma and see dad, sitting there, reading glasses on, writing in a notebook. I threw a hissy fit. I just knew he was working. It wasn’t my finest moment and I saw the hurt in his eyes the moment I spewed some rude comment at him. He left, Mama came back and she sat with me until I calmed down.”

  “That sounds like the worst birthday ever, Belle. I don’t know where you’re going with this.”

  The back of my throat stings but I smile. “It gets better, promise.”

  “Go on, then.”

  “So, dad ran off and I didn’t see him for the rest of my stay. When we finally got home, the entire house was decked out for my birthday. I’m talking a bouncy house in the back yard and the pony I was so excited to ride standing on the side of the house, saddled and ready to go. There was even a snow cone truck parked out front. I turned to Mama, thinking she did it, but, she had tears in her eyes, hand on her mouth and I knew it wasn’t her. We walked inside the house and dad was standing there, hands knotted. I could tell he was nervous, but his smile was as big as I’d ever seen i
t. We closed the door behind us and he got down on his knees, tears in his eyes and said, ‘I’ve been a bad dad. You’re perfect and I’m sorry I made you feel like anything less. I should have never waited this long to tell you that – you’re my princess and always will be. Today will be the change. Will you forgive me?’ He kissed the pad of his pinky and booped my nose with it. I threw myself into his arms and we hugged for so long, I remember thinking we’d never had a connection like that. That was the day I truly met my dad for the first time. Before, I didn’t know him. He was a stranger in my eyes. He seemed more like a houseguest who helped pay the bills. That day was the best day because I got to spend it with him. The new him. The three of us bounced in the bouncy house all day, we rode that pony and we ate so many snow cones, I still haven’t had once since then.” I smile, touching my bottom lip with my finger.

  August grins, the breathtaking stars of the sky lighting up his handsome face. “I love that story. I love that it’s a part of you.”

  “I don’t love that it took him twelve years, but after that birthday he was great, so I’m glad he got to that point. He was the best dad I could have ever asked for.”

  I turn my head away from August, staring at the tree beside my door – feeling my dad’s absence all over again. I tend to block out the overwhelming sadness because it just brings up things I don’t like to feel, but telling August my story, is almost cathartic.

  “How come you never told me that story?”

  I set my foot on the dashboard. “I don’t know. I guess it’s always been my secret. I didn’t have many friends back then, so no one knew the hurt I was going through. It never felt right bringing it up because I only had the good dad for seven years. I felt like it tarnished all the hard work he did on himself.”

  August’s bobs his head.

  The sounds of nature come to life around us. A coyote howls in the distance, crickets chirp just outside the truck.

  “Want to know one of my truths?” August asks, his voice barely a whisper.

  I touch the back of my hand to my mouth and I stare out the windshield, the darkness so vast and so raw. “I do.”