Page 74 of When Sky Breaks

We start with the first item on her list—rolling all the silverware into napkins.

August rumbles out in that deep voice of his. “I remember that day. We played on the playground and Mira’s dad busted us.”

I laugh and toss my finished silverware into the wicker basket. “He wasn’t joking either. I thought he was going to tell on me to Foster.”

“I would’ve taken all the blame.”

My hands pause their movements, and I roam his face. The sincerity almost knocks me off my feet. It’s clear he would sacrifice himself for anything, and that alone makes me want to bake the best damn birthday cake I can.

While August sets to the rest of the tasks on Louise’s list, I scour the cabinets and let out an excited holler when I find a box of chocolate fudge cake mix and frosting.

August grins from behind a mountain of wrapped sandwiches on a tray before shoving them into the fridge. “Jackpot?”

“You’ll have to wait and see.”

Once the cake is in the oven and most of the tasks are complete, I stand in the kitchen as my palms grow slick with sweat.

What am I doing here?

I’m smiling and laughing with a man I loathed for years. But the shroud of August has lifted and underneath is a person hurting just as much as me. Foster and Trek both told me I love to take on the strays of the world. August and I are the strays, and for a while, all we had was each other.

Music fills the silence, bringing me back to the present. August had turned on a tiny speaker in the counter’s corner and found a station playing slow tunes. The timer dings for the oven and I spring off the countertop where I was sitting and, grabbing some hot pads, take out the cake.

Piping hot and steaming, I set it near the stove and fan toward me the chocolaty scent.

August, at my side, leans his head down, taking in a big whiff, his eyes closed and his mouth arranged in a serene smile. “It smells good.”

“Glad to know my skills transferred over from when I was nine.” I meant it as a joke, but he turns his head and regret clouds his eyes.

“No one should cook for themselves that young.”

Maybe, maybe not.

I shrug. “No parent should forget their kid’s birthday either, but you and I were both dealt shitty hands in life. It’s okay to joke every once in a while or we’ll never get over it.”

I slide past him to locate a spatula for the icing, and he snags my wrist, his long fingers curling, branding me with the heat of his palm.

“Thank you,” he says, running his thumb along my sensitive skin.

I try to breathe evenly, but the more I’m around him, the harder it gets to pretend I’m not affected by him or his tender touch. “You haven’t even tasted it yet. It could taste like ass.”

He smirks, and I bat at his arm, laughing at his lewd mind. “For real, though, it could taste terrible.”

August shakes his head, his hand still on my wrist, and me not resisting whatsoever. “I highly doubt there’s anything you make that’s bad. I’ve had bad, trust me.”

There it is again. The punch to the gut. This man lived in his car for a year, if not more, and did his best with what he was given. He hardly complained and often would look out for others above himself. Whether or not it was the guilt driving his actions, August, at his core, is a good person. He just has to see it for himself.

The petals of forgiveness unfurl even more as I find the icing and spatula. Each swipe of chocolate, a piece of my walls crumble. I keep it to myself as I scrounge for a packet of candles hidden in the back of a drawer. I light a few candles and bring the cake over to the front counter.

August stares down into the flames of the candles, wavering in the air.

“Make a wish,” I whisper and nudge him on the shoulder.

He turns, his stubble highlighted from the light of the candles, his eyes hypnotic. “I’m afraid. But the possibility of it coming true…”

I swallow the lump in my throat and nod toward the candles. “Hurry before they melt into the cake.”

One more heavy look. And then he blows them out.

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