Page 54 of August Lane
She laughed—and, holy hell, how he’d missed it. The sound hummed in his stomach. “I’m getting divorced,” he said, because Terry’s tauntshad bothered him. He didn’t want the news to get out before Charlotte was ready, but that had nothing to do with August. He needed her to see him clearly.
“Isn’t everybody?” She looked pointedly at Terry’s abandoned bouquet.
“Charlotte and I have been separated for ten years,” he told her. “She finally signed the papers a few weeks ago.” Knowing she had every reason not to trust him, he pulled out his phone and showed her the signed settlement Darla had sent that morning. The email from Charlotte’s future wife was riddled with exclamation points. She was excited about starting the next phase of their lives.
August read it, flicked her eyes up, then refocused on the screen and whispered, “Oh.” Her mouth puckered over the word longer than necessary. The woman was painfully kissable. Resisting the urge was going to give him migraines.
“How do you feel about that?” she asked.
“Good. Relieved. For her more than me. I’m heavy baggage.”
“No shit.”
Luke laughed. She watched him, smiling, and then said, “Terry told me he was getting divorced, too. Then I found out he was lying, so I dumped him and picked a fight with his wife.”
He raised his brows. “Afight, fight?”
“Hair was pulled.”
“Did you win?”
“I can’t believe you just asked me that.”
“It’s a fair question.” He stepped back and looked her over, using the moment to admire how that thin sundress hugged her curves. “Trying to picture you scrappin’ on the ground.”
Her skin flushed—deep umber brushed with red. If things were different, if they weren’t who they were, he’d grab that little knotted belt beneath her breasts and tug her closer to get a better look.
August wiped away the sweat on her neck. “None of that bothers you? Me being with Terry?”
“Only if you love him.”
It was basically a confession.Please don’t, is what he was saying.Hate me all you want, just don’t love him where I can see.Luke was strongerin a lot of ways: Physically. Mentally. But not when it came to her, his favorite weakness.
August seemed confused at first, then seconds from laughing, but finally settled on irritation. “Why do you care?” she asked, but then immediately shrugged. “Forget it. Doesn’t matter.”
“You deserve better. Mistakes are one thing, but loving a guy like that—” He gathered his thoughts. Thinking about how Terry had spoken to her made him angry again. “It would mean you don’t believe in it anymore. Not the way you used to.”
August folded her arms like she needed protection from him. Maybe she did. He couldn’t be trusted when she was like this, all teasing smiles and sweaty skin devouring light. He’d slip up at some point, admit to having feelings she didn’t want to know about, and their fragile truce would be over.
“Those were just songs,” August said.
“They were your stories.” She tried to move past him, but Luke blocked her path. “Don’t you remember?”
CHAPTER TEN
2009
Birdie stood at the kitchen counter with a line of baking ingredients in front of her, frowning at an open cabinet. There was no cookbook or recipe card. She made everything from memory, even the complicated desserts she was known for. Every major event in Arcadia had been blessed with one of her triple-layer cakes.
“What are you making?” August plopped her strategically heavy book bag on the kitchen table. It was filled with thick textbooks she hadn’t opened in months. “Is that for Aunt Carrie’s birthday?”
Birdie’s eyes cleared. She snatched a can of evaporated milk from the shelf. “Yes. Caramel is her favorite.” Birdie looked August over, noting her new outfit. “Why’d you change clothes? Didn’t you just get home?”
“I’m going to the library with Mavis.”
Birdie’s suspicion faded just as August knew it would. No one thought her cousin would lie or make mistakes. Once, when August had brought home a first-place ribbon from the third-grade spelling bee, she’d been accused of stealing it from Mavis, who was in the same class. “How could I have known?” was all Birdie said when Mavis confirmed August had beaten her that year. To drive home her point, Birdie had hung the ribbon on the bottom corner of the refrigerator surrounded by coupons and old Polaroids, confident that it would be August’s lone academic award.
She’d been right. But still.
