Page 19 of August Lane
Luke blinked. “Excuse me?”
“For all the free food you ate here. It’s time to settle up, don’t you think?”
He watched her grab three sugar packets and rip the tops away. “That’s a really specific number,” he said slowly. “Did you keep track?” The thought of her petty bookkeeping shouldn’t please him as much as it did.
She dumped the sugar into his cup. “Don’t you think a guy who runs off and gets famous should at least send a check for all his unpaid orders? Plus twenty percent for the poor person who had to wait on him for nothing?”
“How do you know I didn’t send a check?” Luke leaned into the table and tried to make eye contact. He was slipping into something, falling through the blurred gaps between then and now. August met his eyes, and he grinned. “You been keeping tabs on me?”
“Why would I bother?” She grabbed a jar of creamer. “You haven’t been interesting in years.”
The insult was a face full of cold water. Luke sat back and tried to anchor himself to the present. “I need to talk to you.”
“We just talked.” She set the creamer down. “Now we’re done.” She pointed to his mug. “Coffee’s getting cold.”
Luke glanced down at the cup. “I take it black these days.”
August stared at the mug, confused, before her expression darkened to fury. “Well, that happens when you disappear for thirteen years. No one knows what the hell you drink anymore.”
“August—”
“Stop saying my fucking name!” Her voice ricocheted throughout the room, and she glanced at the startled customers. “Why are you here?”
Luke started to speak but faltered. The words wouldn’t come. Not good ones, anyway. It didn’t matter whether he’d intended to run into her or not. She felt ambushed. Unlike him, she hadn’t been picturing different versions of this day every time she sang their song. She’d probably been grateful for his absence. Hell, she might have been pretending they’d never met.
“I’m—” He moved to stand because it felt appropriate to give themoment its due respect. The contempt that flashed in her eyes kept him pinned to his seat. “I need to apologize for… what I did.”
She went still for a moment and then laughed—a sharp, high-pitched burst that made him flinch. He was so startled that he didn’t notice the mug sliding across the table until it was too late. She nudged it over the edge, and a wave of sugary coffee doused his crotch in heat. He shot up and yelped. Maybe screamed a little. Not in pain, but with the mental torture of what-if. What if that goddamn coffeepot had worked the way it should?
Luke grabbed a handful of napkins and started wiping his jeans. When he looked up, she was on her way to the door. “August! Wait!”
She jerked her apron off and threw it at Gemma, who caught it with one hand. The door swung open with a loud creak and slammed shut behind her. Clyde stood and stared at Luke with wide eyes.
“Damn, boy. What the hell did you order?”
PART TWO
THE FIRST VERSE
This Is Our Country: Podcast Transcript
Episode 12—“Jojo Lane”
August 21, 2024
[cont.]
Emma:
There’s a rumor that “Sundown” is your least favorite song. Is that true?
