Pain, because it reminded me ofDad.
Pleasure, because it reminded me ofDad.
I could almost hear my five-year-old self squeal with delight when Dad would suggest a game of hide-and-seek in thestacks.
“Ness?” August tipped his head toward one of theaisles.
I snapped out of my daze. “Sorry.What?”
“The sanders are downthere.”
As I trailed after him, I whispered, “He’s drunk, isn’the?”
After a beat, Augustnodded.
“Isn’t it . . . dangerous?” I gestured to all the heavy-duty machinery aroundus.
“I got one of my guys keeping an eye onhim.”
“Is he often likethis?”
“Liquored up? Yeah. But not usually while he’s at work. Today’s his wife’s birthday. Every year, Dad tells him to take the day off, but he says it’s easier to spend his day here than in his home where everything reminds him ofher.”
August’s words made my heart hurt. “I’m not sure I could keep living if everyone I loveddied.”
“You’d find new people to love,” hesaid.
“I don’t love veryeasily.”
One corner of his mouth tipped up. “You’re tellingme.”
Realizing what he was saying, I added, “I still loveyou.”
“It’sokay.”
“No, it’s not. Not if you thinkotherwise.”
“Ness . . .” Hesighed.
Why couldn’t I have returned to Boulder at twenty-one? I dragged my ponytail over my shoulder and toyed with the ends. “You’re one of my two favorite people inBoulder.”
A small groove appeared between his brows. “Who’s the secondone?”
“Evelyn.”
As August watched my coiling blonde locks, I wondered where I stood in his favorites list. Had I been relegated to the bottom? Was I even still on thelist?
Even though the warehouse was alive with noise, in the shade of the tall metal shelves, away from everyone else, it felt as though August and I were enclosed in our own little world, a world as fragile as a soapbubble.
He closed his eyes and took a step back, bursting the bubble. When he lifted his lids, he was staring at something behind me. He cleared his throat. “You’ll need a big drum and an edging sander. And avacuum.”
“If I can borrow all of the above, it would be reallyhelpful.”
He nodded and stepped toward the rack, his arm brushing mine. Even though he seemed absolutely unaffected, I jerked from the contact. As he grabbed both tools, I thought of what he’d told me . . . that he never did anything by mistake. Which led me to wonder if he’d meant to touch me and test the durability of mynerves.
“The vacuum’s at the end of the aisle.” He canted his head in thedirection.
As I spun, my sneakers’ rubber soles squeaked on the concrete. I hurried to grab the vacuum; then together, we walked out of the warehouse and back toward the van. I shifted my hold on the contraption in order to pop the trunk open, but August loaded everything in the bed of hispickup.
