Page 61 of August Lane
She pinched off some bread. “I thought those were extinct.” She took a bite. “Are these from scratch?”
He nodded, smugger than she’d ever seen him. “What do you think?”
“You should sell these at King’s. They’re that good.” She scanned the kitchen. “Where did you get all this food?”
August immediately regretted the question. They hadn’t discussed his finances since she’d offered to let him stay there.
“You mean, where did I get the money?” He poked at the greens again, tasted them, then grabbed a bottle of hot sauce. “One of Ava’s neighbors is a contractor. Been helping him out with a few jobs.”
“Ava?” She kept her voice flat to hide her irritation. The only way he would have met this person was if he was still visiting his mother. “Do you think seeing her is a good idea?”
Luke opened the oven and pulled out a pot roast. She sat down at the kitchen table as he piled her plate high with meat, greens, and rolls. He took his time fixing another plate before answering her question. “I don’t know. But she’s not doing well and I’m the only one around to help her.”
She considered asking about his brother, Ethan, but decided against it. Luke was fighting the same battle she’d repeatedly lost with Jojo, so she wasn’t qualified to offer advice. No one ever won those, though, wars waged on mothers. You can’t change who carried you. Sift through the skeletons in your closet and you’ll find their bones.
Once both plates were on the table, Luke sat down and waited for her to eat. August picked up her fork. “We’re supposed to be writing.”
“That wasn’t happening. Figured I’d try something else.”
She prodded the food. “Did you put something in this?” He laughed. She took a bite of the roast, and it tasted like heaven. “Oh. Just your foot.”
“All right, smart ass. Finish your dinner so we can talk about what’s going on with you and this song.”
Her appetite vanished. Luke ate for a while before he noticed she’d stopped. “What’s wrong?”
“Not hungry anymore.” She stood with her plate. He stood, too, blocking her path to the kitchen.
“Don’t do that.”
“What?”
“That.” He flung a hand at her. “Shut down and pretend you’re not upset. We both know you’re struggling. I thought we could work on a solution together—”
“I know what the problem is. And you making the best meal I’ve had in weeks wearing”—she flicked her hand at his chest—“an apron, of all things, isn’t helping.”
He ripped it off, revealing a formfitting black T-shirt that made her want to bare her teeth like a wild animal. “Better?”
“Fuck you.” She tried to move past him. He grabbed her arm, and all the food on her plate slid to the ground. They stared at the mess until August looked at him and said, “I was going to eat that later.”
Luke squeezed her arm. “If being around me is this hard, maybe we should stop. I’ll think of another way to get your song out there. We don’t have to do it this way.”
August gripped the plate tighter, pressing the edge into her stomach. Another insult was on the tip of her tongue, waiting for deployment.But she was tired of arguing. Sick of hiding. “I don’t think I hate you,” she said. “And I should. Right?”
His grip slackened, and he took a deep breath. “Yeah. Probably.”
She looked at his mouth. “What does that say about me? After everything. That I don’t want to do this without you.”
He bit his lip. “Don’t look at me like that, August.”
“Like what?”
“Like…” He swallowed hard, his fingers tight on her arm. “Just don’t put the plate down.”
August stared at the only thing separating their bodies. “They’re ugly anyway.”
She let it fall, and his mouth was on hers before it shattered.
Touching her was a mistake. He thought he was long past those with August, but she made it so damn easy to keep turning left when all his instincts said turn right. Left was the road of no return. That’s how it felt when he kissed her, like there was no turning back from this. No waking from the dream that was her lips parting to welcome him, her tongue slow dancing with his.
