Page 10 of My Forbidden Valentine

"Come on, August. You always make yourself difficult to reach. I’ve already told Delilah to make extra with you in mind. Don't let those tacos go to waste."

He knows me and he knows that I wouldn't turn him down if Delilah is expecting me. So I take my car and follow them. When I stop in a traffic light, that's when it occurs to me: this feels like a wake-up call. I'm never going to have another chance like this. After our kiss, I'm sure Emma will never come by the garage, not after the way I handled things. And I'll probably never see her again.

Just the thought alone is enough to make my chest hurt, as if it has been crushed by a car in a junkyard.

So screw it. Screw all the logic. Screw everything. If I can have her, even if it’s only until she's done with me, I'm okay with that. Because that woman owns me. I'm hers and I'm not going to waste a single second more trying to stay away from her now that the universe is allowing me to spend some time with her. Now I just have to figure out how the hell am I going to make her look at me again.

Chapter 8 - Emma

Of course my dad would invite August over for lunch. August is his best friend after all. Now that I've talked more with August, I can understand why they are best friends. I never spent much time with August and he always seemed to be in a bad mood when I did. Even with the crush I secretly harbored on him, I couldn’t understand why my dad, who’s always in a good mood, would be best friends with someone so grumpy. But I get it now. August is thoughtful and kind and it's clear he is someone you can rely on. I just wished he'd turn down his friend request for lunch. Not that it's possible to ever turn down my mom's tacos. I'm salivating just at the thought.

I stew this over while maintaining a calm posture. My dad can be incredibly perceptive and I don't want him to meddle. Plus, I'm unsure what he would do if he found out we just kissed.

It'll probably never happen again, not after August's rejection. It's clear he enjoyed our kiss as much as I did but he said it was a bad idea. Why was it a bad idea? Because of me? Because of my father? Or because of something else I don't know about him? Why do I feel so hurt about his rejection? Even more so than being stood up last night where every couple around my table was pitying me? A part of me knows why. Well, all of me knows why but it's so hard to accept it. Have I truly fallen in love this fast for August? Is it possible? Is it possible to feel this rightwith him? To want to trace every single inch of his body while learning every single thing about him?

Wait. This doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t. And yet, my heart refuses to accept the rational explanations I keep throwing at it—refuses to acknowledge that what I’m feeling can’t possibly be real. But the truth is, it feels undeniable. It doesn’t matter how little time I’ve spent with him. What matters is this overwhelming pull toward him, a force I can’t ignore, no matter how hard I try.

A sadness washes over me, remembering I'll have to endure this lunch even with this new found knowledge. I feel my stomach tighten and I'm no longer hungry, not even my mom's tacos can fix this. It's just a couple of hours at most, then he'll be gone from my life. Our paths rarely crossed before, they won't start now.

The clouds get darker and darker as we drive to my parents and by the time we park outside their place, it seems a snowstorm has set in. The wind howls, whipping around the car and rattling the windows and I'm glad we're not that far from the front entrance. I turn to see where August parked but I can't see anything with the snow clouding my view.

We get out of the car and run towards the door. In just those thirty seconds, I'm covered in snow. My mom greets us with a warm smile and, despite everything that's happened today, I'm glad I'm here. She is my rock.

It doesn't take long for August to join us but it doesn't take a genius to see he parked farther away. He looks in a rougher shape than we do, his beard caught some of the snowflakes and it makes me want to touch it again, the way his eyes seem wilder now, is enough to make my knees wobble.When I realize I've been staring at him, I shift my attention somewhere else.

"You're drenched! Take a quick shower!" My mom fusses over him as she drags him towards the stairs.

"There's really no need Delilah, I'll shower when I get home."

"No. You're not sitting in my dining room like this. Go!"

He glances at me for a quick second, almost telling me he's just figured out where my stubbornness came from. She shoves him gently. "Come on!"

He does what he's told while my dad and I take off our shoes.

"And you two, you need to at least change your clothes. Go ahead while I finish lunch."

There's not a chance we will do anything other than what my mom is asking. We both do what we are told because we want her in a good mood.

Once I'm back in my old bedroom, surrounded by everything I loved as a teenager, I strip off my clothes and quickly change into a cozy wool dress. It's the one I always wear on Christmas, a little tradition I hope to carry on for years to come. I only take it out once or twice a year to keep it special, ensuring it stays perfect for the holidays.

When I'm downstairs, I ask my mom if she needs any help.

"I bet your father forgot to hand over clothes to August, and now he's taking his sweet time in the bathroom like it’s not lunchtime," she grumbles. Her tone is sharp, but I can tell she’s not really upset, her movements still light and happy. She’snever in a rush for lunch on weekends. But if the tacos were ready, my dad would definitely be in trouble right now.

"Can you grab some clothes and bring them to the guest bathroom?"

I groan, I don't want to be close to August any more than I need to be. Having lunch with him around will already be torture.

One look from my mom and I turn around to go upstairs. With my dad's clothes in my hand, I knock on the guest bathroom door. "My mom asked me to bring you clothes."

"Come in."

The bathroom is foggy with steam but I see August with just a towel wrapped around his waist and I can't think. His neck tattoo spreads across his chest joining several other tattoos, his arms are also full of them and they suit him. He is bulky, toned in a way that seems impossible, every single muscle in his chest is too perfect. I urge myself not to look lower.

"Emma," he pleads.

"I will leave your clothes here," I point to a chair that's by the door. But before I'm able to do anything, he closes the distance between us and closes the door.

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