Page 49 of Forever & Always You
His laugh is delicate as he stacks the pancakes onto plates,and that’s when I notice he’s even poured out two glasses of juice and looked out my family-sized bottle of maple syrup. I haven’t had anyone make me breakfast since I left home for college at eighteen, and my chest pangs with a cruel burst of nostalgia. I can’t bear it sometimes, that painful realization that certain chapters of my life are over. I will never be a teenager eating pancakes on a Sunday with my father ever again, and that’s such a hard truth to swallow, it makes me feel physically ill.
“What? Do they look terrible?” Austin asks with concern as he spins toward me, plates in hand.
“No .?.?. No, they look perfect,” I reassure him. “I’m sorry I have no kitchen table.”
We sit down on my raggedy old couch together and I drown my stack of pancakes in so much maple syrup, I may as well just be eating the maple syrup with a side of pancakes rather than the other way around, and Austin watches on in despair.
“Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously,” I say, biting into a forkful. “Your pancakes are pretty good.”
“I’m surprised you can taste them,” he grumbles, and I retaliate by adding a tiny bit more syrup while looking him dead in the eye.
I will not be judged for my maple syrup consumption.
“You know this means we’ve started a tradition now, don’t you?” I point out. “We now have to eat pancakes every Sunday we’re together. And if we’re not at my place or yours, we have to hunt down a diner.”
“I think I can get on board with that.”
“Youthink? No, youwill.”
“Pancakes on Sundays,” he agrees, holding up his hands in surrender. His eyes brighten as an idea flashes through his mind, and he sets his plate down on the coffee table and gets to his feet. “Do you have paper anywhere?”
“Top drawer on the right,” I say, pointing over to the kitchen. “Why?”
Austin doesn’t give me a reason. He grabs a sheet of paper from the drawer and an engravedPierce Wealth Managementballpoint pen from the pocket of his jeans, then sits back down on the couch next to me. I hunch forward to watch over his shoulder as he sets the paper down on the coffee table.
He writes, in pretty damn perfect handwriting:We’ll have pancakes on Sundays.
Underneath, he signs his name with a very sexy, very professional signature. Nothing like the scrawledAustin Piercehe once wrote at the age of twelve.
At one point in time, my taste in men was tradesmen who were a little rough around the edges and covered in dirt after a day’s work. I’m realizing very quickly my type is now businessmen in suits with engraved ballpoint pens and sturdy office desks.
“What do you say?” Austin asks, sliding the piece of paper toward me and offering me the pen.
I take the pen from him, but hesitate before signing my name. “Our agreements in the past haven’t turned out that well .?.?.”
“I’m hoping you’ve learned enough from past mistakes that you won’t break this one.”
My chest tightens, and I know we’re only goofing around and talking aboutpancakes,but it feels like this is about so much more. We’re still repairing our friendship, and although there is a romantic layer this time around that is still developing, I know that at the very least, we will be friends.
I made him that promise last night, so I go ahead and sign my name alongside his.
“I think you should be the one to hold on to it,” I say, handing back his pen.
Austin folds up the paper several times until it’s nothing but atiny square, then tucks it into the front pocket of his jeans. “I’m sorry I tore up the last one. I wish now we still had it.”
I take another bite of my syrup-drenched pancakes and shrug. “It was just a piece of paper. It’s okay. And Ididbreak that agreement, so .?.?.”
Austin smiles. “I know, but it also brought you back to me in the end.”
Our eyes lock and, for a very long time, neither of us say anything. The butterflies in my stomach are multiplying at such speed, they rise all the way up my throat, rendering me speechless.
I hate myself a little bit for never realizing how sweet Austin was back when we were kids, because his confidence and wit may be a natural result of him growing up, but his pure, kind nature has always been ingrained in him.
“Oh, I can’t believe I forgot to tell you,” Austin says, breaking our eye contact as he grabs his phone. “The shelter is hosting an adoption event next month. Check this out.”
I nod eagerly as Austin shows me the flyer that’s started being shared on the Saving Paws Animal Rescue’s social media pages—the flyer I roped Zach, my super-duper graphic designer brother, into creating.
