Книга - Once Bitten Twice Shy

Once Bitten Twice Shy
Sommer Marsden


August Adams has an awful track record with love. She’s worked very hard to make herself emotionally unavailable. Her life consists of her art, her best friend, and a feral cat named Iris. Until the day Jack Murphy falls into her life. Literally.The new lawn man takes a tumble into the hole in her front yard — the very hole he’s there to deal with. This man with his big brown eyes, his muscled forearms, and his quick smile shakes up her safe little world from that very first encounter. Ready or not, here he is. Eager to love her and hoping to be loved in return. So it’s all up to August. But can she let go of her past and embrace her future? Or will she remain once bitten, twice shy?









ONCE BITTEN TWICE SHY


SOMMER MARSDEN






A division of HarperCollinsPublishers

www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)


This novel is entirely a work of fiction.

The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are

the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to

actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is

entirely coincidental.

Mischief

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers

The News Building

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.mischiefbooks.com (http://www.mischiefbooks.com)

An eBook Original 2015

1

Copyright © Sommer Marsden

Sommer Marsden asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

Ebook Edition © 2015 ISBN: 9780008168803

Version: 2015-11-20


For Jim. You never felt the need to rescue me, but were always there when I was ready to rescue myself. I love you. For ever and ever. Amen.


Contents

Cover (#uebcb5b57-1f16-59b6-96ae-00159bfeb424)

Title Page (#u0405d59b-c25f-53d8-b4d3-24ed23ad2a37)

Copyright (#u9849f354-9c42-564b-b67b-921986b1dd5e)

Dedication (#u5e546e0e-73bf-5e1d-9ef9-6c7608333226)

Chapter 1 (#u4a25abbc-24b8-55ac-9dc5-d4870bd1876d)

Chapter 2 (#u3e2588ad-2294-5f1e-b406-b0b4698c9f11)

Chapter 3 (#ubf372700-5bd2-5b30-9c56-e64d6409ee68)

Chapter 4 (#ua474581d-a717-55b1-be44-c9b8dce01d14)

Chapter 5 (#ucf514a81-81e8-582d-9c12-ea7401b9ed77)

Chapter 6 (#uad7923d1-79eb-56da-b6ad-77fb6ef99d2d)

Chapter 7 (#ue08b65fb-9160-5f2a-9439-dfd4bda0f9b4)



Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 21 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 22 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 23 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 24 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 25 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 26 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 27 (#litres_trial_promo)



Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)



More from Mischief (#litres_trial_promo)



About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)




Chapter 1 (#u5080c4cc-b53d-5016-88bb-9894d89c7470)


August glanced out of the front window just in time to see him fall in. The new lawn man was tall and walking briskly one moment, his right knee deep in a hole the next. She unlocked the door, swearing softly, her heart beating a rapid rabbit kick in her chest.

‘Jesus!’ She knew she sounded terrified and somewhat crazy, but she couldn’t help it. Her first thought was to wonder, had he hurt himself? The next, a truly terrifying thought, would he sue her? She pushed it all out of her head as she dropped to her haunches and held out her hand to him. ‘Are you OK? Are you hurt?’

He took the offered hand, his much bigger and cooler than hers thanks to the chilly October temperature. She had a moment of near hysterical amusement when she saw her fingers smear yellow ochre paint over his wrist as he clasped them. She bit her lip and began to tug as he struggled to get himself on an even keel.

Then she froze. ‘Wait! Should we move you? Should you…um –’ she blew out a breath to try and get her mind to focus ‘– stay in the hole?’

His eyebrows shot up. Thick and dark-brown above even browner eyes. It made her laugh. All her hysterical worry, fear and bizarre amusement came bubbling up at once.

‘Why in the world would I stay in the hole?’ With that, he got his foot on the grass and stooped, hands on knees, to catch his breath. He looked up at her, his eyes bright in the stark autumn sunlight. ‘I think you’re thinking of a head injury. When you drop into a hole, protocol is to usually get out as soon as possible.’

More crazy laughter tried to escape and she pressed her hand against her lips to tame the urge to release it. ‘Sorry. I was just…worried. Are you OK?’

He nodded and finally stood up straight. He popped his back and she winced at the sound. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘That’s from years of football, not the hole in the middle of your yard.’ He stuck out his hand. ‘Jack Murphy. Your new lawn guy.’

She took it and shook, noticing the way his fingers felt pressed against her wrist. She noted nicks and scars on his flesh and thought they’d be wonderful to paint, those beat-up hands.

‘August. Adams. August Adams,’ she repeated, blinking against a sudden gust of wind. ‘I’m sorry about the hole. As you can see, I really do need a lawn guy. Or a hole guy.’

When the words registered she felt her embarrassment flame in her face. She was certain that two big swatches of red stood out on her cheeks as if she’d been slapped.

He chuckled at that, took off his cap and ran a hand through his unruly brown hair. ‘I’ll say. You must have had a tree here at one point.’

August nodded. ‘Pear tree.’

‘Ah, and let me guess, the wood went soft, it started dropping limbs and then you had to have it removed.’

‘We have a winner,’ she said. ‘It actually dropped a limb on my Jeep. So that’s when I had to bite the bullet and get someone to take it down. Before it killed someone. Or my Jeep.’

He smiled and it caught her off-guard. When he smiled the skin around his eyes crinkled and made his rugged face a bit softer, more boyish. The smile itself was broad and friendly and, as odd as the thought seemed, welcoming. ‘Well, you have to protect a good Jeep. I –’ He glanced down and August followed suit.

‘Oh, crap, you’re –’

He levelled that intense gaze at her and something sleepy and slow rolled over in her chest. It was an unusual but peaceful feeling. She refused to acknowledge it. It helped when he said, ‘I know it’s very unprofessional of me to ask to use your bathroom but I appear to be –’

‘Bleeding!’ she said. Then she turned on her heels before she could admire that warm smile any longer. ‘Come with me. I have peroxide and bandages and I’ll even make you a coffee since you fell into my pit of despair on the very first day.’

She found it easier to talk to him over her shoulder. That way she didn’t have to notice how handsome he was. And she didn’t have to notice herself noticing.

He sat on her paint stool, his trouser leg rolled up so it was above his knee. There was a small tear, minimal blood, and the reason her hands were shaking was because of him. Not his wound. Being close to him had made her jittery like she’d had too much caffeine or too little sleep. It had been a long time since any man had given her a jolt. At first she figured it was the shock of seeing him fall, but now, close up, she saw it had more to do with him and the faint endearing energy that seemed to radiate off him. She’d never had someone make her feel nervous and calm all at the same time.

She tried to keep her focus by slowly removing the tabs from the bandages and then carefully put them in a crisscross, forming an X, over his wound.

He smelled like fresh air and green grass with just a hint of something else she couldn’t place.

‘Painter?’ he said. His gaze ticked slowly around the studio as she attended to his battle scars.

She stood, stretched her back and kept her eyes off him. She looked at everything but him. The irises she was working on. A series of hyper-coloured flowers, the current ones being done in the yellow ochre she’d smeared all over him.

‘Yep. Painter. What gave me away?’

When he grinned at her, she glanced back at her work. Better to look at the work than at his handsome face.

Jack rolled his trouser leg back down and fingered the hole in the knee.

‘Sorry, I’ll get you new ones,’ she said, finally.

‘No worries.’

‘No, really. My fault, I insist.’

He stood and walked over to a finished painting. The only one in the entire studio she considered truly finished. It showed the ocean during the day but the water was coloured the true reds and oranges of a sunset. The body of water reflecting a horizon that wasn’t there.

Her heart stuttered. He reached out as if to touch it and she flinched. In his peripheral vision he must have caught the reaction because he stopped before actually placing a finger on the canvas. ‘Sorry,’ he said, drawing his hand back.

‘It might be wet is all,’ she lied. The painting had been dry for a decade. ‘Let me walk you out,’ she said. She had to get him out. Now. Fast.

At the door she stopped him. ‘Seriously, let me write you a cheque for the trousers. And if you need to go to the doctor –’

He shook his head before she could finish. ‘You have a pole with a red flag in the hole,’ he said.

August blinked. ‘Yeah? And?’

Jack grinned again and she felt that electric feeling once more in her gut. It unnerved her more than seeing him take a spill.

‘And I was too distracted to pay attention. That’s not your fault, Ms Adams. It’s mine.’

She’d forgotten he knew her name. For some damn stupid reason, it threw her for a second and she said, ‘August, please.’

He inclined his head. ‘August.’ With a smile he went on. ‘This is nothing I haven’t done to my own trousers with a weed whacker or on a fence.’

‘If you say so.’

‘I do say so.’ He shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. ‘Look, I know this is weird. I fell into a hole in your yard, I had my trousers rolled up in your studio…’ A chuckle that seemed to shiver right through the centre of her came from his lips. ‘But I have a friend – Alice. She’s an artist, too. She has a showing at that teeny-tiny gallery by the coffee shop on Bradford Avenue. I think you’d like her stuff. If you have any interest in going, it’s next week.’

Then he looked at her. Those brown eyes seemed bottomless. And kind. So very kind.

A cool sweat broke out on her forehead and she exhaled loudly. August was attracted to him, there was no denying that now. Not just physically either. He was a nice person. A seemingly kind and open person. And it scared the shit out of her.

She shook her head quickly. ‘I can’t. I’m sorry.’

‘Plans?’ he asked, cocking an eyebrow.

‘Yeah.’

‘I didn’t tell you what day it was,’ he countered. But it was a kind jab. Not rude, just amused. Another endearing quality.

‘I’m just busy. Really busy getting ready for a big job. An attorney’s office downtown. I promised several canvases and…’

Jack held up a hand. ‘Ms Adams – August – you don’t owe me an explanation. I took a shot. No harm, no foul.’

Her heart sank. Because he understood or because he wasn’t pushing? She wasn’t sure.

‘Sorry.’

‘Don’t be. I’ll be back in the morning. That hole’s fairly deep.’ He glanced down at his mangled trousers and laughed. ‘As you know. So I’ll have to do more than just fill in with dirt. Probably gravel, filler dirt, topsoil. So…yeah.’ He studied her face for a moment and then pulled his cap off again and ran his hand through his hair. A nervous tic maybe. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘Bye,’ she said, weakly, watching him walk out of the door and down to his truck.

Damn.

Jack Murphy climbed into his white pickup, punched something into his cellphone, sat there for a moment and finally pulled off. She kept herself to the side of the curtain so he couldn’t see her there. ‘Me, here, being creepy,’ she whispered.

Six years was a long, long time to go without. The men she interacted with by accident couldn’t tempt her out of her celibacy. Occasionally, she’d feel some nameless ache for a connection. Or just to be around someone who could hug her when she was sad. Someone to catch a movie with or go to brunch with on a Sunday morning. For the most part, she was just fine by herself. Absolutely OK with being alone. It was better this way. Much, much better for everyone.

August realised she’d been holding her breath and exhaled. She pushed the curtain back into place and surveyed the silent living room. Restlessness crawled through her centre, making it hard to breathe and even harder to feel calm on any level.

‘Right. Get back to work. Stop daydreaming,’ she scolded herself, moving through the room and switching on the lights. The afternoon was waning. Soon it would be getting dark.

In the studio she turned on two extra floor lamps and found her palette. She eyed the iris she’d abandoned when she’d gone to investigate the sound of his truck. Its delicate petal was only half painted, curled down like a rumpled collar on a flouncy shirt. She smiled. Better to focus on something productive like painting and not something frivolous like wondering what those nicked-up hands would look like travelling up her bare thigh.

When August finally glanced up from the nearly finished painting, her neck ached and she was tired. No wonder. It was fully dark and well past dinner.

‘Food,’ she said and headed to the kitchen. A simple meal of grilled cheese, tomato soup, a glass of Cabernet. And then a long hot shower. A long hot shower where she pushed every stray thought of a strapping kind man named Jack from her mind’s eye.

She tumbled into bed with a glass of wine and a mystery novel and prayed to sleep like the dead. No dreams. No waking up to think about something she couldn’t have. Or, more accurately, refused to give herself.

He was on his belly. His back tan, his blue eyes staring out at the ocean.

‘The beginning of our lives,’ he said, knowing she was listening.

August stroked her hand along his strong back, liking the feel of the muscles jumping at her touch. A pre-honeymoon he’d called it. A kickoff to their lives together.

‘Are your parents still freaking out about us getting married now? Right out of high school? Before we even do the college thing?’ While she waited for an answer, she dropped a kiss on his sun-browned shoulder.

Aaron rolled on to his back and tugged her down to him. He kissed her once, and, when she pushed her body close to his, soaking up his heat, he kissed her again.

‘Yeah, but it really doesn’t matter now, does it?’ He pulled back to look her in the eye. His eyes were the same colour as the water outside their tiny, but nice, Virgin Island hotel room.

They’d saved all through high school for this trip. And their parents said they weren’t responsible enough to get married.

‘Nope,’ August said.

‘What matters is we have a plan and we stick to the plan.’ His hands came up to grip her hips, pulling her down even as he thrust up beneath her. He was hard and, though she thought she’d already been ready, she found herself overwhelmingly so. Just beyond ready to be with him again. She never tired of having him inside her.

‘We do and we did.’ She kissed him.

‘What about your parents? Still freaking out? Still convinced we’re ruining our lives?’

She laughed, her lips pressed against his strong jaw. Stubble bit at her lips and she moved them softly to feel the sting of it again. ‘Yep. Of course.’

This time when he rolled, she ended up beneath him. He looked down at her, a length of overgrown sand-brown hair falling in his eyes. His beach-bum hair, he’d called it, skipping his normal cut at the barber.

‘Let’s forget about them, then, OK? We’re here. We’ve waited the three years we’ve been together to be here. So let’s…’ He rotated his hips, grinding his cock against the wet gusset of her bikini bottom.

‘Let’s…?’ She trailed her fingers up his back, feeling how smooth his skin was. Welcoming the heat that baked off him.

‘Let’s do one of the things we do best.’ Aaron rested on his elbows and untied her bikini top. He pulled the cups down and bent to suck one ocean-cooled nipple into his mouth. Heat flooded her. Heat that had nothing to do with the bright sun or the tropical temperatures. It had everything to do with the man she loved. Had loved for three years and counting.

And counting…

The thought left her head when his mouth closed over her other nipple, a line of fire on her skin from where he’d dragged his lips across her chest. She wriggled beneath him, hooking her fingers in the sides of her bikini bottom and tugging it down. August was only successful when he raised his hips to give her room. Then they were tangled, each of them trying to disrobe the other until they were laughing and naked and everything was perfect. Just as it should be.

Eighteen, out of school, future ahead. Everything perfect.

Aaron slid into her and she wrapped her legs around his waist, moving up to take him, brushing her lips over his when he kissed her. She tugged his hair lightly so he grunted but then he laughed. Then he was rocking into her, taking his time, playing her body perfectly with every motion of his. He looked into her eyes and said, ‘And this, August, is only the beginning…’

Then the sky caught fire.




Chapter 2 (#u5080c4cc-b53d-5016-88bb-9894d89c7470)


The sheets were wet. Tears or sweat, she wasn’t sure. August stayed there, sprawled on her back, heart pounding. Sunlight, meagre and new, which meant it was just now dawn, slipped between the slats of the Venetian blind.

‘Fuck,’ she said. Wishing for the millionth time she’d bite the bullet and get a pet. Someone to hear the random words she spilled into the empty air every day.

She rolled towards the clock, towards the left side of the bed she always thought of as empty. Aaron slept on the left. She slept on the right. At least that was how it had been.

Three minutes after six. She should still be asleep. She should still be blissfully unconscious. Instead she was awake, in damp bed linen, with her heart doing a sickening little jig in her chest.

The explosion. She’d seen it in her dream. It wasn’t the first time, but even after all these years, that sound, that shock of orange and red glow, always seemed like the first time when she relived it. Awake or asleep.

She ran a shaking hand through her hair and found it, not surprisingly, plastered to her head. She needed a shower, coffee and to get into motion before the lethargy that renewed sadness often brought set in.

She pushed herself up, found her slippers and shoved her feet into them. Her cottage’s hardwood floors were lovely but viciously chilly this time of year. In the bathroom she stared herself down in the medicine cabinet mirror.

Dark circles under her eyes, dark blonde hair matted to her head, sallow. ‘It was just a dream,’ she said to her reflection. Almost surprised when the woman in the mirror’s mouth moved in time with her words. That didn’t look like her. That woman looked haunted.

‘After all this time,’ she muttered, slightly disgusted with herself. She refused to be a victim in life. It wasn’t fair to wallow. But sometimes, more than a decade after Aaron’s death, she still felt a hollow ache that threatened to buckle her knees. Today was one of those days, and she had no doubt at all it was a surging wave of guilt for finding one stumbling lawn guy attractive. Attractive enough to make her blood jump in her veins.

She stepped into the hot spray and did her best to push it all out of her head. There were canvases to plot and stationery orders to fill, and a day to move through – mechanically or not.

And Jack will be coming back…

The thought was as wispy as the steam that filled the small room. Yes, Jack was coming back. True. But Jack was coming back to do a job and nothing else. He’d asked her out, she’d said no as nicely as she could and that was that. Case closed.

She was towelling her hair dry when the phone rang. The landline, which only meant one thing.

‘Good morning, Carley.’

‘Good morning, sunshine! What are you doing up?’

Nosey as ever, August figured her best friend had earned the right. They’d been tighter than tight since grade school. It was Carley, above all others, who had gotten her through Aaron’s death. It was Carley who had forced her out of bed some days, brought food to her bed on the days she refused to get up, and it was Carley who had finally given her the kick in the ass to start shopping her paintings around and create her small indie stationery store online. Carley got to be nosey if she wanted to.

‘How did you know I was up?’

‘I saw light from your little window. I was on my way to pick up doughnuts for the office and shot down your street and there it was. The little glow of a little lamp. You up? Dressed? Alone?’ Carley snorted. ‘What I’m trying to say is I have an extra coffee – can I come in for a minute?’

‘Coffee?’

‘Yes, the lifeblood, August. Coffee. And if you’re up this early, with the hours I know you keep, then you must need it.’

‘Desperately. Use your key. I’ll be out in a moment.’

She pulled on her favourite paint-speckled black leggings, an Om tank-top – because she sure as shit needed some Om after that dream – and a big sweater that had once upon a time been Aaron’s. A marled grey knit, soft as sin. So big on her that she swam in it, and she liked it that way.

She was cuffing the sleeves as she wandered into the kitchen. A kitchen that blissfully smelled like coffee and doughnuts offered by a smiling face. She needed that smile as much as she needed the Om.

‘Uh-oh,’ Carley said, the smile caving somewhat.

‘What?’

‘What happened?’

‘What?’

‘You’re wearing –’ She pointed to the sweater as she handed August a large, hot cup of coffee. August quickly took a swig even though it burned. Perfect – cream, two sugars and hot as hell.

‘I’m wearing…? Clothes?’

‘Aaron’s clothes,’ Carley said, sitting on a kitchen stool. ‘And that only happens any more on anniversaries, birthdays, severe sadness or…bad dreams. Was it a dream?’

August bit her tongue to try and prevent the tears that wanted to come. She failed. Only a few slipped out, though, and she felt some victory at that. ‘Yeah, dream.’

‘Big boom dream?’ Carley said. August sighed. The only person who could get away with describing it that way was sitting across from her, her dark-brown hair twisted up into a knot, and no doubt late for work. Despite the bare-bones description, Carley’s big green eyes held a lot of empathy and worry.

‘Yep. The explosion. I woke up all gross but full-on awake, so I got up.’ August shrugged. ‘Took a shower then my house was inhabited by a jabbering alien lifeform known as an early riser.’ She attempted a smile.

‘Alien lifeform! I brought you lifeblood, girl.’ Carley pointed to the cup of coffee that August was using to warm her hands. ‘I brought you sugar, too.’ She pushed a cinnamon sugar doughnut toward her and August took a bite. But just one. Her stomach was still tight and hot from the dream.

Carley surprised her by taking her hand. ‘What prompted this? It’s usually something specific now – after all this time.’

August shrugged again. Nothing she wanted to talk about, but she couldn’t tell her friend that. She almost always wanted to talk to Carley even if it was about stuff that hurt. ‘No idea.’

‘I call bullshit,’ Carley said. She tried to be casual but August caught the glance at the clock. She was already late for work and would probably get nailed for it by her boss if she was any later.

‘Nope,’ August lied. ‘Not bullshit.’

‘I call double bullshit,’ Carley sighed.

‘But you have to go or Todd the dick will make your day hell for being late.’

Carley winced. ‘True. But I don’t like leaving you like this.’

‘Like what? Slightly sad but otherwise OK and drinking coffee I didn’t have to make?’

‘Yes. Well, part of it. Look, call me later. You damn well know what triggered that nightmare and you damn well better tell me. But, sweetie, if I don’t leave now, you’ll also have to let me move in because I will have lost my only source of income. And you know how messy I am.’

‘Christ, yes. Go, go! I’ll call you later.’

Carley planted a kiss on her cheek and then stared her down. ‘I’m serious. Call me later and tell me the truth this time. We’ll talk.’ She grabbed her purse and her coffee cup and was out of the door before August could deny that anything was wrong.

Just as well. It was a lie anyway.

Somehow she’d forgotten. She had no idea how. Probably the way she always forgot things she didn’t want to think about. Painting. The orchid had come to life, some of the oil paints built up enough that the texture stood out from the canvas. Her favourite way to experience a piece. Flat, part three-dimensional, bright colours with dark undertones. Light and shadow, sunshine and rain. Like life.

It was the sound of a truck backing up that had August up off her stool and at the window. There he was, manoeuvring a trailer on his pick-up so that it overhung the front edge of her yard. All she could see of Jack was his profile and one big arm sticking out of the window as he reversed his vehicle to unload the mounds of what was no doubt filler dirt.

‘He’s here,’ she said to the roomful of paintings. The almost overwhelming urge to call Carley and spill her guts slammed through her and she chewed the inside of her lip to fend it off. No need to confess anything. There was nothing to confess.

She refused for there to be anything to confess.

Jack got out of the truck and scratched his forehead. He didn’t wear a ball cap today. It was much too cold for that. She’d seen the rimes of frost on the windshield of her car this morning. The fairy dusting of icy rings on the plants. First frost had come and it had been beautiful. Almost worth getting up at the crack of dawn to witness.

The coldness meant a black knit cap pulled down over his dark hair. He wore sunglasses because the sun was out and startling, and a big grey sweatshirt over a thermal. She could see the waffled fabric peeking out over the collar. He surveyed the hole, big hands on his hips, and then pursed his lips. She couldn’t hear it through the windowpane, but August was almost certain he was whistling. It made her smile. Her grandfather had been a talented whistler.

Then he surprised her by glancing up, grinning and tossing her a wave. She jolted, startled that she’d been spotted. August raised a hand in return; she had no other option. Bolting from the window like a startled rabbit seemed a bit extreme.

He turned back to the truck and began to unload white bags. Most likely the gravel he’d mentioned. Her phone chimed from an incoming text and her heart leaped at the valid distraction from watching Jack Murphy through the studio window.

I mean it. Call me later! Huggles.

Carley. She laughed. Good to know the nosiness and concern extended all the way to her office.

She answered the text and wandered into the kitchen to make herself a cup of instant coffee. She tried not to cheat and use instant but she had no urge to brew an actual pot. It simply seemed like too much effort after the dream and the rough morning. Instead, while the water boiled, she took a white pencil and started to doodle rimes of frost on black stationery paper.

Good idea. New seasonal design for her online store August Ever After. Little crystalline spirals and lacework appeared beneath her pencil until she noted the sound of rapidly boiling water. She was either too intent or too out in space today. There didn’t seem to be an in-between.

She let the water cool a moment before pouring it over the freeze-dried espresso grounds. Two teaspoons of sugar – she really should give it up, she knew – and some non-dairy creamer that Carley always called ‘fake cow powder’. Then she sipped, looking out of the back window at the neighbour’s dog Charlie, who was doing his best to pee on every dead leaf that littered the ground. Safer to look out of the back window than the front.

‘Why so wrapped up in this guy?’ she said softly. Speaking aloud always made her wonder if she was destined to become a crazy cat lady. Only minus the cats. ‘He’s just a guy. He fell in a hole, you helped him, he asked you out – sort of – and you shot him down. It’s happened before and it’ll happen again.’

The problem was, and she damn well knew it, that she hadn’t wanted to say no. And that hadn’t happened in a long time.

When the doorbell rang she jumped, sloshing hot coffee on her sweater. She dabbed it quickly and hurried to the front. Afraid it would be Jack, but hoping it would at the same time.

Lucky or doomed, she wasn’t sure, it was him.

‘Hi,’ she said, standing in the doorway. Invite him in? Not? The anxious poleaxed feeling wasn’t the best. She stepped back finally and waved him in.

‘Morning. Just wanted you to know that I’m putting a few bags of gravel in. And then the filler dirt. Should be able to wrap it up today.’ It was warm in the house so he tugged off the knit cap. His thick hair stood up in swoops and swirls and she found herself smiling.

‘Good, good,’ she muttered, trying to cover her sudden amusement.

He smoothed his hair and smiled back at her. It made her avert her eyes, that smile. ‘I was just wondering if you wanted something in that hole.’ She felt her eyes widen inadvertently and he laughed. ‘Jesus. What I mean is, did you want me to plant anything when I’ve filled it in or do you want me to try and just match the lawn to what exists?’

‘Oh, well… I hadn’t thought about that,’ she admitted.

‘You couldn’t really plant anything big,’ he said. ‘That original root structure is still down there and it’s starting to dry rot, which is why it’s caving in. But you could probably plant an ornamental if you wanted.’

She stared at him.

Jack scrubbed his face with his hands and then offered her another brilliant smile. ‘An ornamental tree. Something small.’

‘Oh – yeah. Sure. Um…’ The fact that he made her brain scramble to the point where she sounded like a stoner was annoying. And frightening. ‘Can I think about it? Maybe look at some online?’

‘Sure. No problem. Just a suggestion.’ He tugged the cap back on. ‘Back out there. It’s cold today, keep warm.’

‘I know. Frost!’ she blurted. Then she took a deep breath and told herself to stop being an ass. ‘How about a cup of coffee? I only have instant but it’s pretty good instant. Strong. Which is how I like my coffee. But I could make it weaker if you wanted…’ Her voice faded. Her heart was pounding as if she’d suggested she disrobe, not just offered him a hot beverage.

He nodded. ‘That’d be great. Thanks. I’ll just be out front. Holler and I’ll come grab it.’

Then he smiled again, the skin around his eyes crinkling handsomely, before he slid his shades back on. He strode outside, strong and tall, and she couldn’t help but watch him go.

August didn’t call out to him; she took the coffee out and stood there, against her better judgement, and watched him work. The flex of his legs. The broadness of his back. The way his hands gripped the white bags of gravel. The way the sun shone on his face and highlighted the small wrinkles here and there that came from daily exposure to the elements.

I’m an artist. Studying people is what I do. Nothing to worry about…

But there was and she knew it. ‘I’ll leave you to it now,’ she said softly. She almost thought he didn’t hear until he straightened, dusted his hands off on his trousers and faced her.

‘I don’t mean to be that guy,’ he said.

‘That guy?’

‘The guy who can’t take no for an answer.’

‘Oh –’

‘But are you sure you wouldn’t like to see that art show? Every time I step inside your house I see something new that grabs my attention. Something tells me most of it is your own work.’

Heat flooded her cheeks despite the cold. ‘Yeah. Most of it. Some is stuff I’ve collected over the years. But I really can’t,’ she said, forcing herself to leave it at that.

‘OK.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m just saying, if it’s the fact that I asked you out, we can go as friends. Totally platonic. One person introducing another person to some amazing art. No big deal. Just friends.’

She found herself repeating what she’d said about the tree. ‘Can I think about it?’

He nodded and bent back to his task. ‘You can think about it all you want. No pressure. No worries.’

Her feet carried her back to the house and she found herself standing in her studio not really remembering the journey. ‘No pressure. No worries.’ But she was worried.

August managed to keep herself from the window by looking into ornamental trees online. It gave her an idea for a series of ink pieces. When she grew restless she started sketching her ideas for the paintings the attorney firm had requested. Oddly, one of the partners had requested fairytale themes. Since she was the head honcho, no one had questioned it. August took it as a personal challenge to put her own dark spin on the classics.

She dropped her pencil atop a sketch of the Big Bad Wolf and wandered to the kitchen for a drink. A quick peek showed Jack down to his thermal top. The manual labour must have warmed him because he had ditched the knit cap too. He was shovelling mounds of dirt into the shrinking hole.

A moment of panic speared her and she realised, as she nervously gulped water, that his quick, efficient work meant he’d be gone soon. It bothered her and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

She went to the bathroom, washed her hands and face and tied her hair back in a loose French braid. Then she took a deep breath and considered her outfit. Same as when Carley had popped in. The sweater, usually a comfort to her on bad days, resembled a dark shroud. She tugged it off, feeling a momentary wave of guilt, and went to her closet for her cream-coloured cardigan. It was another item from her stash of painting clothes. Rich, thick material speckled with a veritable rainbow of paint flecks that would never come out.

‘Better,’ she said. The doorbell rang again and she was ridiculously pleased that she didn’t jump. She even had the calm head to call out, ‘Coming!’

‘Hey again,’ he said, passing over the mug. ‘Thanks for the coffee. The only thing left is topsoil and seed or something planted if you want. Any thoughts?’ He shoved his hands deep into his pockets.

August didn’t consider it; she just stepped back and said, ‘Come on in, Jack.’

He stepped through the doorway and his sheer bulk sucked all the air from her lungs. She pressed her fingers against her thighs until her breathing steadied. ‘I was looking at trees,’ she said.

‘Good, any grab you?’

When he said ‘grab you’ she had a vivid flash of those large hands closing over her wrists, trapping her pulse beneath his thick fingers. ‘The Walking Stick tree. I like it a lot.’

He grinned. ‘My favourite. Honestly, they look like something from Tolkien.’

A tiny stab of glee pierced her heart at the mention of Tolkien. ‘I agree. I think I’d like one of those. Is that doable?’ She stroked the end of her braid and forced herself to stop. It was a nervous habit and she truly didn’t want to feel nervous around him. Nervousness indicated discomfort and discomfort meant he was getting to her. But it wasn’t really him, she thought. It was her getting to herself. If anything, Jack inspired a calm in her. The fact that she took that calm and twisted it into anxiety was her own doing.

‘Totally doable. I’ll have to run up to the plant nursery and see what they have. With the weather shifting we want to get it in soon. While days still get warm on occasion and not every night is a guarantee of frost.’ He stepped past her to one of her paintings of a local lake. It was simple. Close up. Vibrant with colours and yet shaded with shadows. ‘Wow,’ he said. ‘You’re really good.’

Then he stooped and looked at a stack of hand-drawn stationery on the end table. ‘This you, too?’

She nodded. ‘I have a small online store. Hand-done stationery. Some of it one of a kind, some lines I do regularly that seem popular, and, if a person’s willing to pay, I personalise. Do requests.’

He reached as if to touch them, but pulled his hand back. ‘Oops. Dirty hands. My sister would love these. She believes in the power of the handwritten letter. Kelly says we’re all turning into heathens with texts and emails.’

August snorted and quickly covered her mouth, embarrassed. ‘I agree. Plus, I just like stationery, cards, anything made of paper. Tangible, you know?’

The heat kicked on and she wished it hadn’t. She found it entirely too warm in here as it was, with him standing so close to her.

‘So, can I get some? I’d love to buy some for her.’

August shook her head. ‘Nope.’

His face fell and she almost laughed. She hurried on to explain. ‘You fell into my yard –literally – the very first day, ripped your trousers, cut your leg and didn’t sue me. I think that earns you a free pack of my stationery. Come into the dining room. I have some packs that are ready to go you can choose from.’ Then she turned her back to him and took her first deep breath of the day.

She laid them out on the dining-room table for him. ‘Fairies, leaves, snow, landscapes, seascapes…I think I have some that look like card suits in here.’ It was easier to ramble to him while digging through the desk. Then she didn’t have to look at him. Didn’t have to mentally process what she felt when she looked at him.

‘Card suits, definitely. Any aces in that deck?’ Jack leaned his hip against her table and crossed his arms.

August pulled out two packs. One done in red and black on white stationery, one done in white on black. ‘You might want to go with the white paper unless you know she has a white gel pen. Believe it or not, they sell big, the black sets. People like writing in white ink, apparently.’

He snagged the black set. Ornate card suits curled along the upper edges of the paper. Every envelope was inscribed with one of the suits. ‘I’ll just buy her a white gel pen. She’ll love it. Sure I can’t pay you?’

August straightened and busied herself putting the packs of paper back in a neat pile. ‘I am absolutely sure. It’s the least I can do.’

He smiled at her, his warm brown eyes studying her intently. Before she realised she was going to do it she blurted, ‘And yes!’

‘Yes?’ He cocked his head. It was a boyish affectation and only made whatever mad emotion was beating in her chest that much stronger.

‘I’d love to go see your friend’s work. I keep to myself mostly but –’ She shrugged.

‘I can tell,’ he said. ‘Some might say a bit on the hermitish side. But I’ve only known you two days.’

Two days. That was all. Felt like longer, she realised.

‘Well, you’re pretty accurate. I’m self-sufficient and I’m OK with that.’

He smacked the paper against his palm and smiled once more. ‘Well, that’s great. We’ll go. I’ll get the details from her tomorrow and tell you when I bring the tree by.’

‘As friends,’ she said softly. ‘Right? As friends?’

His smile never wavered. ‘Sure thing, August. I’ll take what I can get. As friends it is.’ He winked at her before heading out of the door.

She dialled Carley’s number with shaking fingers. When her best friend answered, August promptly burst into tears. Carley managed to extract just enough information to understand the situation.

She sighed heavily into the phone and said, ‘Oh, August. Honey, when are you ever going to stop doing penance for something that wasn’t your sin?’




Chapter 3 (#u5080c4cc-b53d-5016-88bb-9894d89c7470)


The talk with Carley had helped. She’d offered to pop in with bags of Chinese food and a box of wine, but August had begged off, claiming she had a lot of painting to do – which was true. But it really wasn’t the reason. She wandered into her walk-in closet and pulled down the box. That was how it always was in her mind. In italics, in neon, a box of brightly blazing reminders of what her life could have been once upon a time.

What it could have been, given time.

She popped the top off, sat on the bed and pulled out old love letters from high school, a promise ring, sticky notes with funny faces and ‘I Love You’s inscribed on them. She removed a packet of pictures from that fateful vacation to the Virgin Islands and almost couldn’t bring herself to open it. But she finally did. There he was, in all his eighteen-year-old glory, ready to take on the world. Aaron. Her Aaron. The pictures she’d taken on their pre-honeymoon were slick between her fingers as she shuffled through. Her in a bright turquoise bikini in front of equally stunning water. Him on his belly in the sand, arms splayed like a starfish, laughing at the camera. Them together, taken by another tourist, outside a charming restaurant. The final one was him on the wave runner.

Her throat closed with emotion, knowing that photo had been snapped mere minutes before he’d climbed onto that death trap and burst out of her life in a tower of flames and a deafening sound.

A sob ripped out of her and she put her head down. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. She still told him she was sorry, even twelve years after the fact. Not as often as she once had – in the beginning she’d muttered it into thin air at least ten times a day. The thing was, no matter what Carley said, no matter what anyone said, she never ever thought she’d stop saying she was sorry.

Never thought she’d stop being sorry.

She curled up on the bed and, when she felt sleep creeping up on her, she thought maybe she should get up and put on pyjamas or at least toss a blanket over herself, but neither of those happened. August’s last thought was that she’d never eaten dinner and it was way too early to go to bed. It didn’t seem to matter, though, and she willingly surrendered to the Sandman.

This time the dreams were darker. Not of Aaron – loving, laughing, kind Aaron. This time the dreams were of Kendall. His bite, his ire, his venom. She woke drenched in sweat again but shivering this time because no blankets covered her. August was shocked to see it was nearly 6 a.m. and that she’d slept that way all night. Kendall’s words still echoing in her ears, she stumbled to the bathroom and turned the shower on.

Even the hot spray couldn’t dissipate how cold his words made her feel.

‘You don’t want a man like me? Sweetheart, all men are like me. If you dig down deep enough. Eventually, you always get there. Into the darkness of a man.’

August was curled up in the window seat watching the day turn light when Jack’s truck pulled up. She was too exhausted to feel any anticipation. Too dumbstruck by the dream to feel any guilt at missing the jolt of electricity she’d felt the last two days upon seeing him.

She watched, studying him clinically, as he unloaded a squat but elegant tree from the truck. Next he hefted bags of top soil, tossing them one upon the other. The day wasn’t as cold so he wore just a Henley and a flannel shirt and his head was bare.

She let herself enjoy the flex and dance of his body as he moved. Just a painter studying a possible subject, she reminded herself.

Once everything was unloaded, he headed towards the door. She watched him until he disappeared from view, which meant he was standing on the porch. When the bell rang she went to answer it – slowly, as if sore from exertion rather than from haunting dreams.

‘Hey there, August,’ he said. He leaned against the door. ‘Got your tree. Did you want to give it a once-over before I put it in? Make sure it’s OK?’

She shook her head. ‘I saw it. It’s fine.’

He cocked his head, staring at her, his gaze as intent as hers when she was watching him through the window. ‘You OK?’

‘Rough night,’ she said, attempting a smile. ‘Bad dreams. Crappy sleep. You know, just a fun night.’

‘Sorry about that. Did you want me to come back tomorrow?’

‘No, no. It’s fine. I’ll make you a cup of coffee, Jack.’

‘Don’t trouble yourself.’ He was studying her again and she tried to remember the last time a man had studied her face that thoroughly.

‘No trouble. Did you eat? Do you want a bagel to go with it?’ The least she could do was feed the man if he was hungry.

August pressed her lips together. She refused to believe the words Kendall had spoken to her so long ago. Her subconscious might want to push it back up to the surface, but that didn’t mean she had to believe it.

‘Sure. That’d be great. I had a doughnut about an hour ago. Didn’t stick.’ He smiled and she found herself smiling back.

‘I’ll bring it out,’ she said. ‘Or call you in.’

‘Just bring it out,’ he said. ‘Don’t want to mess up your schedule. Thanks.’ He turned and walked off. She opened her mouth to say something else, but had no idea what, so she shut it again.

In the kitchen she busied herself making his coffee and toasting an everything bagel. She hadn’t thought to ask if he was a cream cheese or a butter guy so she smeared it liberally with the former, taking a chance. Then she draped a wrap around herself, pushed her feet into her slippers and took it out. The morning was chilly but held the promise of a warmer day than the previous.

‘Ah, thanks. Food! Awesome.’ He dropped the shovel he was holding and took the coffee. When he reached for the bagel he stopped, staring at his own hand.

She laughed, it felt good, too. ‘You might want to wash those hands.’

‘Yeah, maybe. I don’t mind working in dirt but I have to admit I hate eating it.’

She headed inside, calling over her shoulder, ‘Might as well just come in and eat it. It’ll be cleaner and warmer.’

He followed willingly enough, the sound of his booted feet heavy on her slate steps. Inside he went to the kitchen and washed his hands twice. Drying them on a towel, he said, ‘I gave my sister your stationery. She’s a fan. She wants to know what your website is.’

August sat at the island, sipping her tepid coffee. ‘I must not have put my business card in that packet of stationery. I’ll give you one to take to her.’ She indicated the other seat. ‘Sit. Eat.’

He dropped onto the stool, pulled the bagel forward and took a big bite. August found herself watching his hands again, realising she’d grown somewhat fixated on them. Not just how big they were, or the small evidence of scars and nicks on the skin, but how they might feel on her skin. Running up her thigh. Holding her down…

She blinked, realising he was talking. ‘Sorry?’ she said.

‘I said that the show for Alice’s work is Monday. Can you still make it?’

She almost said no. It was on the tip of her tongue, but instead she nodded. ‘Sure thing. I’m looking forward to it.’

‘Great. She’ll be thrilled. She’s still kind of shy about her work. We’ve been friends since sixth grade. Alice was always winning awards for her art, but until she met Tonya, her girlfriend, she was too afraid to try it as a career.’ He shook his head and polished off his bagel. ‘I’ve never understood talented people being afraid to be talented.’

Jack walked to the trash can and tossed the paper plate and his napkin. He stretched, looking at the pictures in magnet frames on her fridge. ‘Is this you?’

She couldn’t see what picture he was pointing too but she had a feeling. Her stomach sank and she took a deep breath. Going to stand next to him she studied the picture of her and Aaron on the beach right before he died. She really didn’t register it any more, it had been up there so long. The image only seemed to become visible to her on bad days, the hard days. ‘Yep, that’s me at the tender age of eighteen.’

He let out a low whistle and she blushed. ‘Haven’t changed much,’ he said. ‘In fact, I’d say you’ve gotten prettier.’

‘Liar,’ she said. She crossed her arms and tried to not let the sinking feeling overwhelm her. The inevitable was about to happen. She could feel it.

Again, Kendall’s words echoed back to her. Despite her refusal to take them to heart, her face felt cold, her heart too fast.

‘Not lying.’ His voice was softer than it had been and he was watching her in that certain unnameable way men had. ‘You’re pretty here,’ he said, pointing to the magnet. ‘You’re beautiful here,’ he said, levelling that finger at her briefly.

Her face went from cold to hot in an instant.

‘He died,’ she said before she could stop herself. ‘Aaron. That’s him with me in the picture. We were engaged, fresh out of high school, on a…’ She shook her head but forced herself to go on. Somehow confessing this to Jack felt important. ‘Pre-honeymoon is what he called it. And his wave runner…’ She swallowed hard and pushed on. ‘Exploded. It was clearly defective, he’d been drinking – we both had – and if I’d just played the don’t drink and drive, even water vehicles, card, he might still be alive.’

Jack’s eyes were wide, surprised, but also very concerned. He ran his hand down her arm and finally clasped her hand. August felt her pulse jump. ‘August, that’s…I’m so sorry. But you don’t blame yourself, do you? You can’t. There was no way you could have known.’

‘I had a weird feeling.’

He smiled but it was a small, controlled smile. ‘We all have weird feelings all the time. Very few of us act on them. Very few of us notice them.’

She took a deep breath and a step back, breaking their contact.

He let her go easily and shoved his hands in his pockets. ‘Is this why you’re so…’ He shrugged. ‘Self-sufficient, as you put it?’

‘Partly.’

He looked uncertain but finally spoke. ‘There’s more? Worse than that?’

‘Yes and no,’ she said. Then she laughed. It was a bitter sound and she flinched. ‘I’m eating up your day with my tales of woe. But this is part of why it’s so important to me that this art thing is just friends. Whether you understand or not – whether anyone does – it’s how it has to be. So…is that OK?’

He looked at her seriously and her heart gave a kick. She wanted more coffee or a nap or just to curl up in a ball and cry. ‘August, you don’t have to explain yourself to anyone. Ever. Especially not me. I’m just the lawn guy.’ He grinned at her. ‘Friends it is. Absolutely.’

She watched him walk out of the tiny kitchen, her emotions in such a tangle she didn’t know up from down.

I’m just the lawn guy…

‘No, you’re not,’ she said in the empty room. ‘You’re my first real temptation.’

‘You didn’t do anything,’ Carley said, fishing out a bite of lo mein.

She’d completely ignored August’s refusal of company and food and had showed up right at dinner time toting a nice box of Cab, takeout containers, and chocolate cookies from the local bakery.

‘Exactly. I should have stopped him,’ August muttered, nibbling a shrimp. She wasn’t very hungry but the smell of Chinese had tempted her into at least a few bites.

‘Because of a feeling? Honey, I do stuff against all my weird feelings all the time. Usually nothing happens. Sometimes it does. I know for a fact that you wouldn’t berate me for doing what you did. But you have no reason to keep crucifying yourself for something you couldn’t have controlled.’

August shrugged. She had no real response.

‘And don’t you think twelve years is long enough to torture yourself?’

Another shrug. A sip of wine. August was exhausted. Her arms were almost too heavy to move.

‘But I do find one part of this story interesting,’ Carley said. She bit into an egg roll and eyed August, those bright green eyes twinkling with what looked like mischief.

‘What?’ August practically sighed.

‘That you actually cared enough to even explain any of this stuff to this guy Jack. That, my friend, is a hurdle you haven’t cleared in ages. You usually feel no need to explain your hermitude.’

August chewed thoughtfully. ‘It seemed right.’

‘Which is heartening!’

‘Don’t get your hopes up, Carley. He’s a guy who I find handsome, I feel attracted to him, but that doesn’t change anything. I’m not ready.’

‘Six years is ages not to be ready. The last roll in the hay you had was with Brian and you cut him loose the moment he started giving you cow eyes.’

‘That was a bad idea anyway.’

‘What was?’ Carley asked. Her red lips were pressed together and she almost looked angry. August found it amusing that Carley often got angry with her on her own behalf. ‘Having a sexual outlet with a guy who was actually kind and cared about you as opposed to Kendall the abusive asshole?’

‘I have bad luck with men.’

‘No. You’re trying, constantly, to fit new men into an Aaron-shaped mould.’

August blinked, dangerously on the verge of tears.

Carley caught the look, sighed and grabbed her friend’s hand. ‘I’m sorry. That sounded very asshole-ish if I do say so myself. What I am trying, in my foot-in-mouth way, to say is this: Kendall was a fluke. A one-off. He’s not the first man in history to be abusive toward an already damaged soul. Brian loved you. Too much and you weren’t ready. You wanted sex, he wanted you. But this guy, this guy is coming along at a good time in your life. Maybe, just maybe, you should give him a shot. It’s been twelve years since Aaron, eleven since you gave Kendall the jerk a shot, and six since you cut Brian loose. You’re young.’

August laughed. Her second bitter laugh of the day.

‘You are,’ Carley said, squeezing her hand. ‘And those are some long years to be alone even with my stellar company.’

‘I can’t.’

‘How about you just think about it? He’s not Aaron, babe. No one ever will be. But he’s certainly not Kendall. Just from what you’re telling me, he’s not. And instead of looking for a safe fuck buddy like Brian…why not look for something real?’

August shook her head and took a sip of wine.

‘Just think about it.’

‘I have.’

‘Liar,’ Carley said. ‘Think about it for real. Think about maybe, just maybe giving him a chance.’

‘But Kendall…’ August knew it was wrong to take his haunting words to heart. That deep down all men were like him. But the fear was a very real thing. She knew it was irrational, but it didn’t change the panic she felt at offering to let a man she didn’t know slip into her life. And possibly into her bed.

‘What?’

‘Oh, the old adage, you know…once bitten, twice shy.’

Carley smiled. I also know the old adage ‘Everything you want is on the other side of fear.’

August stared at her.

‘What? Motivational day-of-the-month calendar, baby!’

August couldn’t help it. She laughed.




Chapter 4 (#u5080c4cc-b53d-5016-88bb-9894d89c7470)


August finally ushered Carley out when she’d had enough pep talk.

‘You think about what I said,’ her friend said at the door. Her eyes suddenly serious, her voice soft.

‘I will.’ August would have said anything to regain her solitude.

‘For real. Not just to get me to shut up,’ Carley said. She threw her arms around August and hugged her tight. ‘Because, baby, if there’s anyone out there who deserves some happiness – finally – it’s you. Just don’t blow me off, OK? Really consider giving this guy a shot.’

August hugged her back. Tight. Then shut the door behind her friend and locked up for the night. She hadn’t seen Kendall in ages, but just talking about him had put her anxiety about him in the forefront of her mind. She shut off all the lights, checked the back door, put away the leftovers Carley had insisted on leaving behind. Then she poured herself a glass of wine and wandered upstairs. Once in pyjamas, she turned on a bad serial-killer movie and crawled into bed.

She watched the end of the movie, starring one of her favourite 80s actors, and then, yawning, shut off her bedroom light.

Splotches of streetlight wound their way through her Venetian blinds and she found, annoyingly, that she couldn’t sleep. Instead, she studied the white Rorschach blotches on her darkened walls. When sleep still evaded her, August sighed, and did the only thing she could think of that almost always let her fall asleep.

She slipped a hand down into her pyjama pants and stroked herself softly. Too many years, she thought, feeling only her own touch. She considered herself, secretly, a born-again virgin. She had once joked to Carley that she’d been rehymenated. Carley hadn’t found it nearly as amusing as August had. She’d been horrified and had launched into a two-week campaign for August to find a lover. Since then August had left those weirdly humorous thoughts unexpressed.

Her touch was gentle at first on her clit. In the beginning, she pictured, in her mind’s eye, Aaron. She always defaulted to picturing Aaron. Occasionally, she’d superimpose men she found attractive on TV. Sometimes she’d picture a random man she’d seen on the rare instances she went out. But tonight she found, parting her outer lips, stroking slowly over her clitoris, that Jack’s face kept popping into her mind. Jack on his knees, Jack holding her thighs as he licked her, Jack pushing his thick, nicked-up fingers deep inside her. Stroking her to orgasm.

‘You’re screwed,’ she whispered in the dark, thrusting two fingers inside herself, mimicking her mental images. She arched her hips, fingers thrusting, other hand stroking. She was getting close and she both welcomed it and wanted to shun it.

Release was often too much emotionally. It was a reminder that she was alone. And not just alone, she was lonely.

She bit her lip and let her hands take care of what needed to be taken care of. In her mind she saw him, Jack of the small creases around his brown eyes and the unruly dark hair, flipping her so she was beneath him. Kissing down her belly, lapping at her sex, before finally – so slowly that she thought she’d expire from the waiting – moving between her thighs and entering her.

She imagined that first thrust. The first time in six years she felt a man drive inside her. The first moment of being filled and taken.

She came, a half sob, half laugh flying off her lips. Outside a horn blared, a dog barked and she heard rain begin to hit the metal awning. She lay there, shuddering lightly, until the final contraction worked through her. Then she rolled to her side, shut her eyes and waited to sleep. She was just thinking that sleep would never come, now that she’d let this man into the protected territory of her mind, when she finally drifted off.

She woke early again, hearing the ominous, gruff tone of Kendall in her ears. A dream, she was sure. She knew it was her worry, her fear, the blind panic she experienced whenever she considered dating a man. It was all in her head, she knew, but still the message was unnerving. Making her feel as if he was there in the room.

Be careful, you know I’m right. Deep down we’re all the same. And you’ll wear on him the way you wore on me. And then he’ll have no choice but to put you in your place…

Saturday morning often meant one thing for August. The market. Sure, she was a homebody that many would call a borderline shut-in, but it wasn’t really that bad. She simply preferred the company of herself, her latest project and the good vibes of her tiny cottage.

That didn’t mean she never got stir crazy. An echoing warning from her dream was just the kind of thing that provoked the restlessness, so she decided she’d go out, shop for food and a few other things.

Skinny jeans, old beat-up brown boots, oversized cardigan and her outrageously untamed hair up in a knot made August as ready as she was going to be. She made a pot of coffee, filled her travel mug and put a cup of granola in a Ziploc bag for the drive up.

The thought, strange and unbidden, popped into her mind to call Jack and see if he wanted to go to the market with her. After all, it was mid-October and the farmers’ market rarely went into November, never past the first week, at least. She only had the option of going for two or three more weeks.

‘No Jack,’ she muttered, walking through the house to ensure everything was off, locked and safe. ‘Not even Carley. You don’t need her cheerleader chatter in your head. Rah-rah Jack! Rah-rah take a chance! You need to think.’ August pulled her coat on, grabbed her bag and her keys. ‘And you need to get a cat or a dog, or even a hamster, for Christ’s sake, so you don’t sound so bonkers talking to yourself.’

She locked the front door behind her and headed toward the Jeep. The Walking Stick tree sat there gnarled and gorgeous. Crouched low on the ground like some ancient thing that couldn’t bear to right itself any more.

Like something from Tolkien …

Again, that simple remark provoked something in her that made her smile. But just because Jack knew of Tolkien didn’t mean shit. Everyone knew who Tolkien was thanks to the wonder of epically long movies that, despite being amazing, she always dozed off during because of their length. Knowing Tolkien didn’t mean nearly as much now as it had when she was in middle and high school.

‘Shut up,’ she told her own spinning brain. She climbed into the Jeep, waved to her neighbour collecting the paper, and drove off toward Nottingham for the farmers’ market. Some time out in the sun around clusters of people appraising honey and bread and vegetables was just what she needed to shake off the weirdness of the last few days.

The market wasn’t nearly as crowded as the week before. The chilly temperature of October tended to keep the less than diehard open-air market buyers at bay. August parked the Jeep, grabbed her cloth bags and made a beeline for her first stop: the rustic bread stand.

‘August!’ Mr McAllister was a ruddy older man with white hair, sparkling blue eyes and a booming voice.

‘Hi, Mac,’ she said. He’d insisted on their second meeting she call him Mac, his old Navy nickname.

‘Here for my hearty white bread? Or possibly Beatrice’s honey-wheat-raisin loaf?’

Beatrice, upon hearing her name, wandered out from behind their restored antique Chevy pickup truck. ‘Mine, of course,’ she said, winking at her husband. ‘Who wants your boring old white bread when you can have a spectacular mélange of flavours in your mouth?’

Mac playfully elbowed his wife and winked at August. ‘Settle this bread war, August,’ he said.

She laughed, her soul lifting at being out in the sun, as meagre as it was today, and joking with the couple she always looked forward to seeing. ‘Actually, I’d like one of each. And a loaf of that Amish cinnamon bread I bought last time if you have any.’

Beatrice held up an only slightly gnarled finger. ‘One left. And it’s in the cab of the truck. I was just about to put it out on the table.’

‘But we’ll put it right in your bag instead,’ Mac said. ‘Coffee, August?’

She shouldn’t, she’d already had her super-strong concoction for the day, but when he poured a small paper cup of their superb coffee – offered free to customers – she unprotestingly let him doctor it to her liking and hand it over. ‘Thanks. Cold today.’

He nodded. ‘Yep, you can feel those cold November winds working their way into the mix already. Just a few more weeks and it’ll be too cold for an old geezer like me to stand out here and hock bread.’

‘Still setting up at the downtown indoor market when it turns cold?’

He grinned at her. She smiled back. Mac reminded her of a leprechaun for some reason. It almost always kept her on the verge of giggling. ‘You know it. So you come down there and stock up on bread through spring. We’ll miss you if you don’t come.’

Beatrice reappeared with the Amish loaf and began to gather August’s other requests. She pulled a small cellophane bag from a pile and tucked it into August’s market bag along with the bread. ‘That’s just a treat from me. Sugar cookies. My grandmother’s recipe. You look like you can afford a cookie or four.’

August felt herself blush. Her work hours and her obsession with her current projects often left her forgetting to eat except once, maybe twice a day. Her jeans were a bit loose and her face a little gaunt, she’d realised this morning. A cookie or four would be welcome.

‘Thanks, Bea.’

‘No problem. Now you stand here and drink that coffee and tell us about what you’re working on now.’

August obliged, sipping her coffee, explaining the iris paintings and even showing them some pictures on her phone. Then she went into the fairytale canvases and somehow found herself mentioning Jack and the Walking Stick tree.

‘You’re blushing,’ Bea said, leaning close.

‘What?’

‘When you mentioned his name.’

August took a deep breath and forced herself to say, in an airy voice, ‘Jack? Oh, no. Nothing like that. He’s just the guy fixing the giant pit in my front yard.’

‘Hmm,’ Bea said. Then she smiled. ‘Pity.’

August said her goodbyes and gathered her bag. She hurried off to find the farm stand that sold the best raw honey and always had wonderful big zucchinis. She put a hand to her face, feeling the heat there. She had been blushing after all.

She was deciding between cloverleaf and lavender honey when she saw him. His hair jet-black in the sun, his eyes gleaming bright as he squinted at heirloom tomatoes. Her heart rabbit kicked and her stomach dropped. August heard herself let out a low moan and the honey man noticed because he looked up.

Kendall.

August felt her lips go numb. Her number one signal that her body was under extreme anxiety. Her fingers started to shake and then the man glanced her way. Not Kendall. His doppelgänger perhaps. But not him.

Air whooshed into her lungs but the damage was done. Her body, despite the false alarm, was on red alert. All she wanted to be then was home. Home, painting, sipping a cup of tea and listening to The Dead Weather on her iPod.

August took a deep breath, handed the man fifteen dollars for the honey and took her change.

‘You OK, Miss?’ he asked. He was younger than Mac, but just as weathered. His truck read Hollow Farms so she knew that like Mac he was a farmer.

‘Fine. Just…tired. I thought –’ She smiled suddenly, waved him away and said, ‘Fine. Have a good day.’

She turned quickly, eager to get back to her car and home. The magical quality of the market had worn off. She’d skip the vegetables and wouldn’t run into the stationery store for blank cards the way she’d intended. She just wanted to get home.

August promptly ran right into a small blonde woman whose cider proceeded to spill over and soak them both.

‘I am so, so sorry –’ She started, looking into deep-brown eyes that somehow reminded her of Jack’s. ‘I’m so clumsy. Sorry – can I –’

She was cut off in mid-sentence when a familiar face appeared behind the woman and said with great concern, ‘August? Are you OK?’

Jack.

The man was Jack.




Chapter 5 (#u5080c4cc-b53d-5016-88bb-9894d89c7470)


‘You know, I’d have a hard time forgiving cider on my favourite shirt if it weren’t for the fact that you made that amazing stationery,’ Kelly Murphy said. She had rich brown eyes like her brother but her hair was a shade lighter.

‘Stop busting her chops, Kel,’ Jack said, setting a decaf caramel latte in front of August.

‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘And it’s fine. I feel like such a klutz.’

‘You looked spooked,’ Jack said, pulling up a chair next to her. He took a sip of his Chai tea and the spicy scent of it hit August fully. For some reason it made her crave pumpkin pie. She didn’t acknowledge his statement.

‘I was only joking,’ Kelly said, laying a hand atop August’s. ‘You know that, right?’

‘I know. I know. I do feel horrible, though.’

‘Don’t. I’d have spilled this on myself anyway,’ Kelly said, hoisting a double mocha concoction.

‘It’s true,’ Jack said. ‘We’ve become convinced she has a hole in her chin.’

Kelly shot her brother the bird and August couldn’t help but laugh.

‘Glad you joined us for coffee. Do you shop at Toby’s?’

Toby’s was the stationery store located on the shopping strip that housed the open air market. It had been on her list of things to do today. ‘I do. I get all my blank paper and sets there. I know the manager and since I buy in bulk he gives me a discount.’

‘Nice,’ Kelly said. ‘I wanted to head in and get some beads. I make bad jewellery when the mood hits me. Come with us.’

August hesitated. It was the concerned look on Jack’s handsome face that made her nervous. She could see him wondering what was up and the fact that she liked him being concerned about her was unsettling. The only person allowed to be concerned about her – besides her parents, who currently resided in North Carolina – was Carley.

Her heart sped up as he studied her, his face set in grim determination as he tried to figure her out. She was forced to look away.

‘Oh, I can’t intrude on your day.’ She said it to Kelly, still avoiding Jack’s gaze.

‘Please. You’ll save me from listening to talk about you. You’re here so he won’t embarrass himself,’ Kelly said.

‘Kelly –’ Jack growled.

‘What? I’m only speaking the truth.’

He talked about her? August wrapped her hands around her paper coffee cup to keep them from trembling. He talked about her, and the fact that he did so set off what felt like bright white fireworks in her stomach. And lower.

‘You’ll embarrass her.’

‘More like you,’ Kelly countered. She touched August’s hand again. ‘But seriously, it’s not every day I get to meet an honest-to-God artist. I’ve had delusions of grandeur about being an artist for years. Let me follow you like a stalker in the art store. You’ll make my week.’

August’s face went hot again but she really liked Kelly. And despite the yammering, negative part of her brain that wouldn’t shut up, she enjoyed being around the two of them. Their energy.

She couldn’t help but hear, in her mind’s ear, Carley egging her on. She knew damn well what her friend would say. ‘What have you got to lose, August? Your loneliness? Your hermitude? Your fear?’

‘OK,’ she said, before she even knew she was going to say it.

When Jack’s face lit up and he smiled at her, she felt those fireworks spread up into her chest and her heart gave what could only be a joyous little kick. Either that or she was going to stroke out from fear.

‘So you like white, black and red?’ Kelly said, following August patiently through the store.

‘I do. They pop the best. Sometimes, if they have a deep purple or a vibrant blue. But I am…boring, I guess.’

‘Oh, my stationery is anything but boring,’ Kelly said ‘The pack Jack gave me, I mean. It’s your stationery but now…that pack is mine.’ She winked and August laughed.

Jack had wandered off into the woodworking section and it was just the two women. August had a million questions she wanted to ask Kelly about what she’d said about her brother, but the questions didn’t seem to want to come out of her mouth. She got lucky, though, because Jack’s sister was nothing if not talkative.

‘What I said is true, you know,’ she said, picking up a packet of pale-pink stationery and then putting it back.

August’s heart skipped a beat, but she tried her best to keep her voice light. ‘What is?’

‘That he’s talked my ear off about you. August is an artist…August does the most amazing canvases…August seems to like lilacs.’

August laughed and picked out a packet of mini cards. She’d been considering doing a line of gift tags. Charging two bucks a pop for something that took her about ten minutes to create was a good thing, she thought. A low-priced item that people would gravitate to when trying out a new online shop, and a reasonable payoff.

‘I do like lilacs,’ she said, softly. And I like your brother… But she left that part unsaid.

‘August is coming with me to Alice’s show on Monday. But just as friends!’ Kelly mimicked, throwing her hands up as if to ward off argument. August assumed she was imitating Jack.

‘Yes,’ August said. ‘Just as friends.’

Kelly pressed her lips together and looked as if considering her words. Finally, she said, very softly, ‘You know you’d put him over the moon if it weren’t just as friends.’

August felt her guard go up. It was an involuntary reaction like sneezing, and she regretted that’s how she was wired when Kelly’s happy expression dimmed. ‘I’m sorry. I’m not…dating at the moment,’ she said. She focused on the paper again.

‘Oh, sure. Sure,’ Kelly said, hurriedly. ‘I get it. I wasn’t prying.’ She picked up the pale-pink paper again and turned it over. Then she grinned. ‘Well, yes, I was, but I wasn’t trying to be a pain in the ass. I was just…well, I just wanted you to know that my brother is an amazing man. A good man. He’s kind, he’s funny, he’s…well, not to sound gross, because he’s my brother and everything, but he isn’t hard to look at. And I guess I just wanted you to know that he thinks the world of you. Already. And that’s odd, because Jack usually wouldn’t run his mouth about someone he has no shot with. In fact, I can’t really remember him running his mouth like this about anyone.’

August bit her lip to bring her mind into focus. To distract the girl, she grabbed the paper and said, ‘You really like this pink, don’t you?’

Kelly laughed. ‘I guess. Why do you say that?’

‘It’s the second time you’ve picked it up and held it. What about some personalised stationery? On me. To make it up to you that I soaked you in apple cider. What theme would you like?’

‘Oh…’ Kelly pretended to think. ‘How about irises?’

August shook her head, smiling. ‘Something tells me I can handle that request.’

‘There you are!’ Jack said and they both jumped as if caught in the act. Of what? August wondered. Talking about him.

‘Here we are!’ Kelly said.

‘I have wood glue,’ Jack said, waving the bottle. ‘You two need more time?’

‘No,’ August said quickly, though it didn’t escape her that she’d really enjoyed her time with the Murphy siblings. It had completely rerouted her mind from the panic attack over her false Kendall sighting. ‘I have to be getting home. I have a lot of art to do and limited time to do it.’




Chapter 6 (#u5080c4cc-b53d-5016-88bb-9894d89c7470)


August made herself a cup of tea when she got home. She unpacked her market purchases and tried to still her mind and her heart. Both were racing.

The walk back to the car had been full of banter and fun and she’d truly felt an ache in her chest – the part of her that had once been truly alive, no doubt – when she’d said her goodbyes and driven off.

Now, in the safety of her own home, she faced a wall of canvases in various stages of completion and sighed. ‘I have to finish you. All,’ she told them. Her eyes were drawn, due to the emotional turmoil of the day, to the canvas depicting the fiery water that represented her loss of Aaron.

She remembered Jack’s fingers hovering close to the paint and then him reading her body language perfectly and stopping before he touched it. He was in tune, she thought. He was observant.

She changed her clothes, tied her hair up and rolled up her sleeves. Then she dipped her brush in a paint so deep purple it was nearly black, and went back to her iris. This one was in shades of deep purple, black and hints of grey and white. It was her favourite so far and she threw herself into giving it her full attention.

In the background Jack White sang of dead leaves on the dirty ground and she let her tea go cold as she worked. When the doorbell rang, the sky was a shade of purple found in her iris and she realised not just the tea was cold. The house was. At six the heat was set to automatically dip to 62 degrees unless she kicked it up. She usually remembered, but she’d been so lost in her art she’d forgotten.

‘Coming!’ August yelled. Then she pushed the button until the digital readout said override and turned the heat up to 69. Then she hurried to the door, frankly expecting a nosey and peppy Carley on the other side.

‘Oh!’ she said, softly, when she opened the door to Jack. Jack looking sheepish. Jack with his hands tucked deep into his pockets against the cold.

‘“Oh”? That’s bad. Sorry, I shouldn’t have come,’ he said. ‘Sorry.’ He turned on his heels as if to go and, without thinking, August reached out and snagged his jacket sleeve.

‘I’m sorry, Jack,’ she said. ‘I was expecting Carley. She’s the only person who stops by without letting me know. And it just threw me is all. I hope I wasn’t rude.’ August noted with satisfaction that her hands were steady and her breathing almost so.

He shook his head and smiled at her. The smile went right to that cold dead spot that seemed to live in the centre of her chest, and warmed it. ‘No. I was rude. I should never have stopped by without calling. You just seemed…on edge when we first ran into you. So I wanted to stop by and check the tree because frost is coming tonight. I figured while I was here I’d check on you.’ He nudged a chip in her concrete porch with the toe of his boot. ‘But mostly I wanted to check on you, so that was partially an excuse wrapped in a lie.’

I just wanted you to know that my brother is an amazing man. A good man. He’s kind, he’s funny…Kelly’s voice was suddenly in her head and she surprised herself again by tugging that jacket sleeve and saying, ‘Why don’t you come in? I have tea or coffee or hot chocolate. Something warm. It’s downright raw out there tonight.’

He shook his head. ‘I don’t want to intrude.’

‘What intrude? I was lost in painting. My house is freezing because I forgot to turn up the heat, and I need something hot anyway. Just as easy to make two as one.’

He looked uncertain. Like he’d inserted himself into her day and shouldn’t have. Truth be told, August thought, she might feel that way if it were anyone but Jack at the door. His excuse seemed plausible and just like him. She couldn’t begrudge someone kindness. She’d shut herself away from kindness for far too long. It was starting to dawn on her that she was punishing herself into a sad, tightly closed life. And that hurt.

It’s also not what Aaron would want for you…

That thought came as an utter shock and she tried not to let it show on her face. When he took a step inside, her body relaxed but her nervous energy skyrocketed. Mostly because she was just now realising how very much she’d wanted him to come in.

‘Come on. Let’s warm you up.’ She knew it was a double entendre in a way, and found that she didn’t care. ‘Coffee, tea or –’

‘Me?’ Jack piped in. He grinned and then his face went serious. ‘Sorry. Friends. I know. I get it.’

Her lack of laughter wasn’t because he’d upset her. It was because she realised she’d been about to jokingly answer, ‘Yes, please!’

‘I’ll just have whatever you’re having. Two of whatever’s on the menu.’

‘You know what?’ she said, feeling flustered as they walked into the kitchen. ‘I saw you got Chai today. How about a sorta vanilla Chai latte?’

‘Sorta?’ He was staring at a stool and August waved her hand at it.

‘Sit, sit. Yeah, sorta because I can’t really steam the milk, so vanilla, Chai tea and some warm milk. It’s really good.’

‘Sold.’

She chattered about his sister, her sense of humour, how bad she felt spilling on her, and the stationery she was going to make for Kelly by way of apology.

‘You don’t have to. She’s not a grudge keeper,’ he said. He was spinning her salt and pepper shakers on the countertop. It occurred to August he might be as nervous as she was.

‘I want to. I love doing personalised stuff. I love a good challenge.’ She set his mug in front of him and then took the seat next to his, holding her own mug for the warmth and comfort.

‘Tree looks good.’

‘It does,’ she agreed. ‘Think it’ll take?’

‘I do. They’re stronger than they look.’

She stared at him, thinking on some level he was referring to her. She cleared her throat. ‘Lots of things are stronger than we think they are.’

‘Look,’ Jack said, turning to face her fully. ‘Like I said, I don’t mean to intrude, or wig you out or anything. I get the feeling I’m stepping on your solitude. Invading your space. It wasn’t my intention. I was just worried, is all. When we bumped into you –’

‘Literally!’ she said, trying to bring some levity to the situation since he seemed genuinely distressed. ‘Or more like, me into you.’

‘I guess what I’m trying to say is, I was concerned. But like some idiot, I came rushing over here, uninvited, thinking – fuck, I don’t know. Thinking I was some white knight on a horse going to help out the damsel in distress. But you’re not a damsel and you’ve got your shit together and you sure as hell don’t need me to come in and rescue you from some imaginary dragon.’

‘Jack –’

‘I’ve known you three days.’ He sipped his Chai. ‘Three days and I just felt this restless urge to come over here and make sure you were OK, but the thing is, I think that was stupid because three days ago you didn’t know me and you were just fine. Anyone can see that.’

She stared at him, not knowing what to say. Not knowing how to respond to any of the things he’d said. Spot on, and yet so far from the truth. She often didn’t feel OK or together. She often felt like a hot mess, operating under the thin guise of being a competent human being. She’d let her guilt and her worry weigh her down and it was only now that it was beginning to dawn on her that that weight was starting to pull her under. To drown her. Her life was slipping past as she avoided experiences and people and kept herself tucked away, safe, busy but alone.

‘August?’ He cocked his head and she watched the concern bleed into curiosity.

‘Jack?’

‘Yeah?’

She shook her head. Then she pressed her hands to his stubbly cheeks and leaned forward and kissed him. He went rigid for a split second, and then his lips softened and met hers with as much urgency as she felt. When she moved closer, his lips parted and her tongue slipped along his. He cupped the back of her head, anchoring her, to earth it felt like, and kissed her more deeply.

August rose from her stool, pushing away the crazy rat-brain panic that told her to run, and took a step toward him. Jack tugged her into the V of his widespread legs and wrapped his arms around her. The kiss went on and on. The feel of his warm tongue against hers, his soft lips. It hit her like a strong cocktail, flooding her limbs with warmth.

August shut down the worry and pushed her fingers into his thick hair. She moved her body even closer, feeling the heat of his legs on either side of her hips. The strength of the arm wrapped around her. She broke the kiss, intent on saying something even though she didn’t know what. What came out of her mouth surprised her. Surprised Jack too, from the look in his dark eyes and the way his eyebrows rose.

‘Touch me, Jack,’ she said. No embarrassment. No apology. ‘Please…touch me.’

He studied her for a moment, weighing the words, reading her expression. His mouth descended on hers again and she reminded herself of the logical things Carley had said, the wonderful things his sister had said. Now that she’d made the decision to trust in those words, in him, she felt an urgency that she hadn’t felt in too long to recall.

His hands settled on her hips as his lips brushed softly down the slope of her neck. He scraped her collarbone with his teeth and she shivered, her nipples tightening inside her bra. The soft fabric against the sensitive skin was maddening.

He slid his fingers inside her waistband and stroked her skin until a rash of goosebumps sprang up along her hips. Then one hand was at the back of her head again, holding her close for the kiss, as the other slid down inside her trousers and breached her panties. His fingers parted her, found her clit, stroked.

August felt that heat already raging inside her increase. Her body quivered with a fine tremor as he continued to stroke, and her breath left her lungs when Jack changed his touch. He slipped a finger inside her, flexing it so that it stimulated every desperate nerve ending deep inside her that craved this intimacy.

‘Wet,’ he murmured, lips against hers. Then he added a second finger and began to slide them in and out. Her body was growing taut, the tremor turning into outright shaking.

But his arm was around her and he was holding her tight. She shut her eyes, met his kiss with a need she had long ago forgotten. His thumb found her clit even as his fingers continued to thrust and when he pressed his lips to her ear and said, ‘It’s OK, August. Just let go…,’ she did.

She let go and let the orgasm take her under. So intense for a bit of fumbling about, she thought wildly. But so nice, so perfectly, wonderfully, good to be touched by another person. To feel safe enough to let herself go completely.

All those thoughts swirled restlessly in her head even as her body did what it was designed to do. Flexing and gripping and riding the wave of euphoria that seemed to come from nowhere in its suddenness.

She stilled, his arm looped around her waist, and she said, ‘Wow.’

‘Wow,’ he said. Then he reared back and looked her in the eye. His eyes were an unpaintable colour, she thought. Nothing could capture the shade or the depth.

‘You OK? I know…a little,’ he said, suddenly unsure of himself, ‘about you. And…’ He shook his head, withdrawing his hand. ‘The time that’s passed for you.’

‘There’s more to that sad tale of woe than I even told you,’ she said, and laughed softly.

She didn’t feel embarrassed, she was surprised to note. She felt lighter. And calmer than she had in ages.

She finally stepped back from him, but kept her hand on his. The fire in her cheeks continued to blaze and she knew if she looked in the mirror there would be twin red spots, as big as blooming roses.

‘Then tell me,’ he said, seeming hopeful.

She picked up her cup and smiled. ‘OK. I’ll tell you some now. And some later. It’s too much to put out there at once. It exhausts me to think about it, let alone say it. You’re very good at this, you know,’ she said. ‘The listening thing.’

‘Hey, not all of us are Neanderthals.’

‘Anyway, I began to shut myself off after Aaron,’ she rushed on, afraid the spell of this moment in time would break and leave her once again building walls around herself.

‘Understandably.’

‘But,’ she said, levelling her gaze with his, ‘I embrace my damage, Jack. It’s my damage that makes me as strong as I am. I know I might not seem strong to you –’

Jack opened his mouth to speak but she held up a hand and shook her head. Eager to finish her thought and make her point.

‘It takes an enormous amount of strength to cut yourself off from everything the way I have. More than you can imagine.’

He brushed her too-long bangs out of her eyes and said, ‘August, I’ve never mistaken you for anything other than strong.’




Chapter 7 (#u5080c4cc-b53d-5016-88bb-9894d89c7470)


‘I’m going to nutshell this,’ August said. She found herself rushing her words in case they dried up. For so long she’d been refusing to open up about this to anyone other than her most trusted friend. Now she found the urgency to say it aloud overwhelming.





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