Page 57 of Falling Offsides

“What’s this,” I ask, sniffing the soft frosting.

“Yogurt frosting,” he replies matter of fact. “Made it with coconut and almond protein yogurt, powdered sugar, and lime zest.”

I lick the peak, trying the new addition before I tell him, “Good job, Masterchef.”

“Thanks, Princess. Make sure you defend that muffin with your life, Sammy’s already devoured two and licked the frosting bowl.”

“Of course, he did… cause it’s yummy, right, baby boy?”

Auguste chuckles at me when I offer Samson just a little more frosting on the tip of my finger. When the engine rumbles to life, my playlist starts through the speakers like the past five mornings—except something’s off.

The first song isn’t mine.

I scroll on the infotainment system. Swipe out and then tap back into the playlist to make sure it’s the right one. It is, but with new additions.

He’s added songs to my playlist.

My gaze cuts to him. “You hacked my Spotify?”

Auguste doesn’t even glance my way. “It was already connected. I just… contributed.”

“Contributed?”

He finally turns, eyes gleaming. “Curated, if you prefer.”

“Seriously? This is some next-level playlist manipulation. That’s sacred ground, Masterchef.”

“Now you know how serious I am.”

I look back at the screen, lips twitching. He addedLike Real People Do. Youth. Talk Too Much.

Not going to lie; I’m impressed—the man’s got range.

I try not to read into it.

Like,really, I do.

Buuuuut, I fail, and I don’t mind the giddiness that flutters in my belly one bit.

We stopat a small brick building near the edge of the city, tucked behind a cluster of trees and flowering shrubs. The sign readsSecond Home Rescue, and it’s quieter than I expect.

“Why did we stop here?” I ask, tucking Samson deeper into me.

“Matheo’s sister works here. I asked her to sit Sammy for the day… I don’t like the idea of leaving him on his own at home.”

Oh!Be still my heart. This man is something else.

Auguste lifts Samson from my lap and tucks his leash into his pocket before he heads towards the shelter.

It takes him a while to return to the car. When he does, Auguste keeps looking back to the shelter, like a parent that’s just dropped off their child at school for the first time.

“You okay?” I ask, my hand hovering over his on the centre console.

It takes everything in me to pull it back and sandwich it between my thighs when Auguste looks up at me with a sort of lost expression. As though he’s not sure what to do with himself now that Samson isn’t with him. It’s so darn adorable that I sigh deeper into the leather seat, breathing in his scent as we hit the freeway again.

The rest of the drive is silent, with my playlist rolling in the background with his tracks interspersed between mine. I like this. It feels so normal. Too normal. The kind that you imagine when you think of two people together.

Except we’re not together, and we can’t be. Auguste’s life is in LA and my life is soon going to be in New Orleans. We are literally a whole country apart.

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