“We need about fifteen minutes for your order if that’s okay?”
He nodded. “I’ve got something to do. I’ll come back.”
Gus took a right and crossed the street. If he remembered correctly, there was a bookstore a block up. He found Turn the Page a few moments later, walked inside, and was immediately greeted by a man who introduced himself as Bill Dawson, the owner. The guy was middle-aged with a balding head, large, black-framed glasses, and a paunch that hung over his tightly belted slacks. It was hot as hell outside, but he wore a beige cardigan over a blue button-up shirt.
“Are you looking for anything in particular?”
Gus wasn’t much of a reader when it came to popular fiction. He was more of a manual kind of guy and was happiest reading about the intricacies of motors or machinery or guns.
“I need the third book in a trilogy about dragons.”
Bill slowly pursed his mouth and turned toward the section that read fantasy. “Can you be a bit more specific? As you can see there are a lot of books that feature dragons.”
Shit. He felt like an idiot and scratched the back of his head while perusing the hundreds of books on the shelves. “I’m getting this for a friend and uh, the one I saw her reading had a pink cover. I think.”
“I see.” Bill walked to the section and Gus followed him. “Do you remember if there was a dragon on the cover? If there were any other characters?”
“No people. I think mainly words and stuff.”
“Sounds like something newer.” He glanced at Gus and spoke as if Gus should know this shit. “The covers tend to date the books. Anything new is bright with interesting graphics and fonts.”
“Sure. I guess.”
Bill walked to a display and grabbed a book. “Is this the one she read?”
Bingo. “Sure is.”
“Wonderful. Book three was released a few weeks ago and we just got a new shipment. I haven’t had time to unbox them yet but let me grab a copy for you.”
Five minutes later, Gus left the bookstore with the book in hand. The night before he’d had to kiss Faith senseless to get her to stop talking about the damned book. He knew she’d be pleased with the gift, and yet . . .
Yet what? Why did the thought of doing something as simple as getting Faith a gift make him feel uncomfortable? Was it too much? Too personal for a woman he’d eventually say goodbye to?
Frowning, he headed back to the diner. Gus was overthinking, and because he wasn’t paying attention properly he damn near ran over a woman exiting the bakery. He offered an automatic apology and stepped aside, though his smile faded when the woman looked up at him.
Misha.
She was older than he remembered. Her black hair shot through with silver, her skin pale and paper thin, though her eyes were still as dark as night. Her frame was slender, draped in a peach-colored dress, and she wore sensible shoes.
Just like before.
His throat wasn’t working, and the words wouldn’t come. He could only stare down at the woman who’d cooked and cleaned and kissed and hugged. As a kid, when things were bad, she was the one constant that had been good and kind and gentle. Sometimes, it felt as if it had hurt more to leave her behind than his father and siblings.
“August,” she said softly, angling her head. She was small. Barely five feet. “I always wondered when you’d be back.”
Time did that wonky thing; it slowed down. Stopped entirely. And it felt as if they were the only two people in the world.
It seemed that today his past was giving him the kind of ass-kicking he deserved and ashamed he shuffled his feet, glancing away because he didn’t trust himself to speak. There was no denial. No smokescreen. He had nothing.
“It’s okay, my boy.”
Gus could count on one hand the times he’d cried or been close to tears. It took a lot to penetrate his shields. He fought the surge of emotion that rushed through him, bringing with it a host of memory. Hot chocolate. Cinnamon buns. Warm hugs.
She still smelled like lilac soap.
He looked at the ground. Anywhere but at her, and when her hand slid over his, he froze. Him. A fucking Navy SEAL brought to his knees by a little slip of a woman.
“Look at me.” Her voice was soft, and there was zero judgment.
