August stumbles from her seat, then loops her arm through mine. I lead the way out, waving a quick goodbye at Luke.
“Good luck,” I hear faintly.
We’re outside, and I take her to my truck. “I want to show you something.” She doesn’t show an ounce of concern when climbing into my truck. Maybe we’re past the point of her wondering if I’d hurt her.
I take her to the next town and park on the side of the street. Her longing gaze out the window makes me wonder if she’s sobered up at all.
“What’s over here?”
“Come on,” I tell her, pulling her across the front bench and out my door.
I take her hand, wondering why it feels so familiar to hold it, also wondering if it’s okay to feel so normal holding it.
I stop in the crosswalk and place my hands on her shoulders, twisting her to the side. “This is where it happened.”
“Where what happened?” she questions.
“The incident that caused my life to fall apart—when a speeding car hit my parents.”
August pins her hands up by her heart. She didn’t say much in the hospital when I told her about my past, and I wondered what she thought, but the look in her eyes right now tells me she understands the pain I must have gone through.
“Sometimes, I come back here for a reality check to show myself how far I’ve come in life despite surviving the moment that changed my life forever,” I tell her. “It’s sobering.”
“I can’t walk into my bathroom with my eyes open,” she says. “Even in the dark, I see Keegan’s body still lying there.”
“I can imagine,” I tell her.
“I realized the whiskey allows me to think without focusing on what I saw.”
I retake her hand and lead her down another two blocks. “We were on our way to get ice cream on the day of the accident. I never got my ice cream. I never wanted ice cream again. Not until right now.” The thought of ice cream doesn’t cross my mind anymore, but if I’m asking August to break through the demons in her head, I can do the same.
“I love ice cream,” August tells me.
For the first time in twenty-five years, I open this door and walk inside the small shop. The memory of white tiles and black squares within each title made me think they decorated the floor to look like ice cream sprinkles. The minty green tables that used to make me believe the shop’s unique flavor was mint-chocolate chip are still here, and the scent of vanilla and chocolate was how I thought life would smell if I lived inside of the Candy Land game. The simple thoughts of a child. “What’s your favorite flavor, August?” I ask. “Mint chocolate chip,” she says without thinking. Of course, it is.
I huff a quiet laugh. “Mine too.” I order two cups of mint-chocolate-chip, then keep my eyes set on August’s profile, watching her eyes light up as the young girl, dressed in a pink polo shirt and white paints with a matching white apron, scoops the ice cream.
“I’m sorry I was late tonight,” she says, reaching for a couple of spoons.
“Don’t be sorry,” I tell her.
“I didn’t deserve for you to be waiting for me.”
“I think I would have waited there all night for you,” I tell her, being honest.
After the girl places our cups of ice cream and a few napkins on the counter, I pull out some cash and pay for the ice cream. We take a seat at one of the little tables in the corner near the window, and some old-fashioned country love song grows in volume from the speakers above us.
August is dainty about how she takes a small spoonful but still manages to leave remnants of ice cream on her lips. Part of me wonders if she’s doing that on purpose.
I lean over and clean it away with the tip of my thumb. The look within her baby-blue eyes softens, and our gazes lock. I should give her space to heal, but I can’t stop myself from falling for her. I shouldn’t crowd her life with mine when she’s dealing with so much. I know all this, but it doesn’t seem to matter. Is that me being selfish?
“I don’t want to go back to my apartment,” she tells me. “I’m tired of going into my bathroom blind.”
I’m not sure what she wants me to say. “When is your lease up?”
“Two months from now—I was going to switch the lease over to just my name, but I don’t know if I’d have to renew for another year if I do that.”
“I’m not sure how that all works, darlin’.”
