Page 79 of Symphony of Salvation

But?

I sighed. “But there are… feelings involved.”

I didn’t know… I’ve never seen… Dad’s had a lot of girlfriends.

“Oh really?” I chuckled, and she punched my shoulder, sneering.

Maybe not a lot. Maybe they weren’t girlfriends. I don’t know. Women like him, and he seems to… like them too. I mean, I didn’t know he…She waved a hand, letting the gesture encompass what she couldn’t put into words.

“It’s not always cut and dried for some people.”

Is he bisexual?

At that exact moment, as though summoned, August appeared in the shadowed entrance to the living room, wearing only underwear and an open robe. Hair mussed, he took in the scene with an expression of muted horror as though wondering if this was real or if he was stuck in a nightmare.

Our gazes locked, and Constance switched her attention between us.

“That’s a question you should ask your dad.”

“Shit,” August muttered, scrubbing a hand over his face.

I stood from the couch and did my best to appear put together. “Merry Christmas, Auggie. How about I make coffee while you chat with your daughter.”

I left the pair alone and rooted around August’s kitchen until I found coffee beans, an antiquated hand grinder, and a percolator of all things. Although not a coffee snob like Koa, I appreciated a decent cup of joe in the morning. I had not, however, learned to use a proper percolator, and what was up with the hand grinder? Koa owned several fancy machines and multiple moka pots, but he never let me touch them. At home, I used a basic drip pot. It offended Koa, but I didn’t care. Some of us preferred simple over extravagant.

I studied the contraption until I thought I’d sorted the mechanics, and I set to work hand-grinding beans like I lived in the Stone Age. It required more spunk than I usually employed at six in the morning and on holiday, no less.

August appeared long before I’d made a dent in the beans. “That was fast.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Did she—”

“Niles, please. I don’t want to talk about it.”

I held my tongue and passed him the grinder. “Fine. Make yourself useful. They have machines to grind beans now, you know? Had I known this was what you owned, I’d have bought you one for Christmas.”

“It’s the Italian way. My mother wouldn’t hear of owning an electric grinder.”

Your mother’s not here, I almost said.

August fully displayed his annoyance as he aggressively churned the beans to grounds, checking their coarseness occasionally until he was satisfied. “I thought you were leaving last night.”

“I thought so too, but someone asked me to stick around a bit longer, and I fell asleep. I tried to sneak out, but she was already awake and reading on the couch. I got caught.”

Lips pinched, August prepared the percolator in silence, stinking the air with repressed fury.

“Is it such a big deal?”

“Yes.”

“She didn’t seem overly offended by the idea. Surprised, yes, but not—”

August spun to face me. “And if she tells her friends? Her mother?”

“So what? Who cares?”

“I care.” He huffed and resumed making coffee. The gas stove took a second to catch, and the igniter’sclick, click, clickpierced the air.

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