Page 90 of Symphony of Salvation

Did caving make me a masochist? I wanted so badly to believe in August and for this to mean something. Did it stem from desperation or loneliness? We didn’t click. We clashed. For two people who’d only met a few short weeks ago, we argued like a married couple. None of this boded well for the future, but did I care? Of course I did. I’d been looking for Mr. Right since my university days.

Maybe this was dating in your forties. Giving in. Giving up. Taking what you could get.

I drove home, August’s headlights shining blindingly in the rearview mirror. The star-speckled sky made the night seem later than the glowing numbers on the dash claimed. 6:27.

I parked, and August pulled in behind me. He spent a minute texting before getting out of the vehicle. Even then, he regarded his phone for several long seconds before pocketing it. His hands followed the device, stuffed deep within, shoulders raised in apprehension, body a taut bowstring.

“Is everything all right?” I motioned to where he’d tucked the phone.

“Yes. I wanted to be sure Constance was okay,” he explained. “She’s suddenly far too interested in her father’s affairs.”

I smirked. “Sounds about right. Teenage girls are whimsical. They have yet to learn that romance in real life does not reflect what they read in fiction.”

August seemed to consider as he glanced along the darkened street. “I won’t spoil it for her. She’s already growing up too fast. I’d rather she believe in fairy tales.”

“Unfortunately, she’ll learn the truth someday.” I located my house key on the ring and turned to the door. “We all do.”

Inside, I offered August a drink, which he readily accepted. We lingered in the kitchen, sipping red wine and silently staring across the room at one another, neither choosing to sit. August leaned in the doorframe, visibly on edge, while I relaxed against the counter, waiting for a sign.

“You’re jaded,” he observed.

“Meaning?”

“Your comment outside. You don’t believe in fairy-tale love?”

“Not anymore.”

“You’ve been burned.”

“Haven’t we all at some point?”

August shrugged noncommittally. “Do you still love him?”

I didn’t have to ask who. I’d only spoken of one past relationship, and my feelings toward Koa had never been masked. “I do, but I’m notin lovewith him anymore. Beingin lovewith Koa was a lesson in futility, and it took finally letting those feelings go for me to walk away.”

“His partner, the hockey coach—”

“Jersey.”

“Yes. He seems like a decent guy.”

“He is, and Koa’s different with him, but that’s a whole other story, and I’d rather not chat about exes if it’s all the same.”

But August wasn’t done with the inquisition. “Were there others?”

“Other men? Of course.”

“No, others you loved. Others who contributed to this… vexed viewpoint.”

“Oh.” A sad, quiet laugh tightened my chest. “Yes. I loved almost all of them, but that’s a me problem. I’m sentimental to a fault.”

August’s furrowed brow said he didn’t understand.

“I have a knack for falling head over heels with every guy I date. It’s a character flaw. Hence the extreme caution here.” I swung a finger between us. “I’d like to think I’m learning to hold back as I get older, but…” I shrugged. “Fret not, Maestro. I don’t love you yet. You annoy me too much, for starters. I’m not even sure I like you half the time.”

August smiled, unaffected by the stab at his person. “No offense taken.”

“How about you? Any wildly romantic love stories in your past?”

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