“Well, indeed.” He points a long finger at me. “So you can squawk about ‘August never did this or that’ but the fact remains he’s always been into you, Pen. He’s just been utter crap at showing it properly.”
Slowly, I shake my head but then stop and give him a sharp look. “Why are you saying this now?”
“Because you’re worrying over there, thinking he’ll do you dirty like Jan did his girl. Or she did him... they’re pretty square in that department, I guess.”
“March. Focus.”
“Right.” He straightens and meets my eyes. “August is never going to let you down. You and him? That was always going to be. You two are inevitable. Like Thanos.”
A laugh bubbles up and I lean into him. “You’re ridiculous.” I muss his hair. “But I love you anyway.”
He chuckles. “I know. I’m very lovable.”
And that’s how August finds us, grinning at each other, me having just told March that I loved him. He stands just inside the doorway, an inscrutable expression on his face. The urge to squirm, like I’ve done something wrong, rises. But I squash it down. He must know that I love all of his family like my own. I won’t apologize for that.
But you haven’t said those words tohim.
He hasn’t said them either.
We stare at each other for a beat, but it feels longer. Then he turns his attention to March.
“March,” he says blandly. “Get your own girl.”
March rolls away then hops to his feet. “I don’t want one.”
“Then get your own guy.”
“Don’t want one of them either.” He grins broadly. “I’m a solo act.”
August breaks a faint smile. “One day, little bro.”
“Stop trying to curse me.” March saunters across the room, heading for the door. He stops abreast of August. “All good?”
August pauses, then nods. “Jan?”
“Went to bed. Seemed okay.”
They both exchange a long look, then August gives the back of March’s neck a quick squeeze before shoving him out the door. I say “shove” when really it’s more of a mutual scuffle with the both of them snickering and batting at heads as they often do; no one is involuntarily moving either Luck brother without considerable force.
As soon as March leaves, August turns back to me. His expression shifts from a brotherly smirk to soft tenderness that I feel deep in my chest. Warmth blooms over my skin. Any doubts or worries I have dissolve in the wake of the honey sweetness of his smile.
His tone is quiet and easy. “You ready for bed?”
Here, in this moment, is what I need to focus on: the perfect contentment and rightness I feel when I’m with him. Maybe we were inevitable.
“Yes. But I’m so full, I don’t think I can move.” I lift my arms in supplication. “You may have to carry me.”
I was mostly joking. I can walk. But August is at my side in two long-legged steps. He scoops me up with shocking ease and cuddles me close. Warm lips touch mine. A promise. A claim. Maybe both. But it’s soft and lovely, and I relax into him with a happy sigh.
August nuzzles my mouth with his. “I’ll carry you anywhere, Penelope.”
“Take me to bed, August.”
And so he does. Unfortunately, that’s all he does; I’m still too full for anything other than cuddling under the covers.
“Don’t let me eat this much ever again,” I tell August as he slides into bed next to me. “I mean it. Just slap that rib out of my hand and yell ‘Be gone, Satan!’”
He snickers. “Yeah, I can see that going over real well.”
