Page 16 of Hearty

Cracking an egg into the pan and grabbing a spatula, I let her guess.

“Scrambled eggs? Really?” Her amused tone hits my back, but it’s closer than before.

Before I can look around at her, August is hoisting herself up onto the counter next to where I’m cooking. Those long legs, still clad in the jeans she came to Hope Pizza in, cross at the ankle, and I can’t help staring. Her scent invades my nostrils, and I want to lean in, to feel if her hair is as silky as it looks. This is intimate, me cooking for her all alone in this house at midnight.

I’ve never done this for a woman, save one who I’ve known for years peripherally. There is a slight tinge of a blush on August’s cheeks as I realize I’ve been staring for a minute too long, so I turn back to my pan and start rambling.

“How long will you be in town?”

She pops a shoulder and hands me the pepper, indicating she wants more in her eggs. Being the kind of person who wants to dial up seasoning even further, I appreciate that.

“I’m sure Warren made you aware that my mother passed away. I’m just back to close out her affairs, probably list her house. Whatever needs to be done, I’m the only one around to do it. After that, I’ll be out of your hair.”

She harkens back to the line she gave me when I was flirting with her that first day in the kitchen. I can’t crack the same joke now because we’re solidly in each other’s hair.

“I’m sorry about your mother.” I say it solemnly because I’m still not quite sure what the situation was.

August takes a piece of cheese from the package I put next to the pan to shred up in the eggs and starts munching on it.

“Don’t be, I’m not.”

My mouth must fall open in surprise.

August blanches. “Jeez, that probably made me sound like a psychopath. I swear, I’m not. Your family can vouch for me. While you and I kind of missed each other over the years, your family knows me, and I think they’d say I’m actually a nice person. It’s just … my mother was a horrible human being. No two ways around that. Her being off this earth is better for me and probably everyone in her path, so I’m not sorry she’s gone. I’m sorry I have to come back and clean up one more of her messes, but I’m not grieving in the traditional sense. So you don’t have to say sorry.”

Fuck. I can’t imagine how fucked up someone must have been to make this woman feel this way about her own mother. If my mom died, I’d be devastated. My life would never be the same. So what August is admitting? That her mother was awful is probably only the tip of the iceberg. No one who has a mother who unconditionally loves them would be relieved when they left this life.

“And you got a degree in hospitality?” I change the subject, unsure what to say to that blunt explanation.

August chuckles as if she catches on to what I’m doing and nods. “Yes, I went to school specifically for it, to learn the ropes and get into the industry.”

“Do you have a job lined up?”

I’ve heard of Bethson University, where she went, because many of the front-of-house managers at restaurants I’ve worked at have been through that program. It’s a renowned program, and I am impressed already at the little August has let slip about where she interned.

The eggs clump up in the pan, and I stir them, careful not to burn them. I won’t fuck up an easy dish just because a hot girl is next to me, right?

“I have a few offers, but then I got called back here and I had to keep them on the hook. I’m hoping they’ll all still be interested when I finish this, but I knew that I had to close this chapter out before I could move on.”

“That makes sense.”

Inside, a zap of jealousy singes my heart. Here I am, called home for good because I have to attend to a chapter that will never end … my time as the chef for our family restaurant. August has her slate wiped clean; she can go out and be or do anything she wants.

My eyes catch on her again, and once more, I’m struck by how gorgeous she is. Fresh-faced, with the perfect bone structure, long, dark eyelashes kissing her cheeks when she blinks, and the fullest lips I’ve ever seen. How easy it would be to walk right between her legs as she sits on this counter, to take her hips in my hands …

Fuck, it’s just been a while since I’ve been this attracted to a woman. I haven’t had many days off since helming the restaurant, and I don’t like to hook up with women in Hope Crest because they all know who I am and where I work. I might need to go out of town for a few to sew my wild oats and work out some of this stress.

“Do you want hot sauce or ketchup on your eggs?” I pose the question, hoping she answers correctly.

“Ketchup. Is there any other option?” She rolls her eyes like it’s a dumb thing to ask.

I should not be so satisfied that she prefers the same condiment as I do.

We sit at the table, and I add a beer to my eggs and toast because what the hell. It might not be normal working hours for some folks, but I want to relax with a drink when I finish my shift, and to be honest, August is making me nervous. I could use something to take the edge off.

“Can I have one, too? I forgot how much noise buzzes around in your head after a waitressing shift.” She chuckles.

“You’re old enough, right?” I half-joke as I go to the fridge to grab her one.

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