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I winced. “Two… three days, maybe.”
“What a waste of days.”
“Yeah.”
She took the half-empty cup out of my hands and set it next to hers. A clear dismissal. “And now what are you going to do?”
“I’m going to find him.”
“And?”
“I’m going to apologize for being an asshole.”
“And?”
“I’ll tell him I love him.”
“And?”
I was running out of things to say. “I’ll… tell him I’ll do better from now on, and that I know he doesn’t lie to me anymore. If he says he doesn’t want to be anywhere but here, I’ll believe him.”
Caroline nodded, satisfied at last. After a pause, she raised an eyebrow. “You’re still here.”
I lurched to my feet, reaching the door before she called after me. “I meant what I said. I won’t always be around to give either of you a good talking-to.”
I found August in the wheat field, deep in conversation with Barclay, the other man shirtless as usual. It seemed to happen a lot around August. Funny that.
There were several ways I could handle this. I could wait politely while they finished their conversation. I could join the conversation and then request that August accompany me somewhere to talk when it reached a natural lull. Or… I could be less subtle.
I had a feeling Caroline might approve as I chose the latter and strode over to them, throwing August over my shoulder and walking off without a word. Barclay stood open-mouthed as I carried August toward the cowshed. Not glamorous. Not romantic, but it had a roof, a door, and—apart from the cows—privacy.
“Keaton, what the fuck are you doing?”
“Apologizing,” I said as I tipped him unceremoniously into a pile of straw. By the time I closed the door, he was struggling upright and spitting straw from his mouth. The cows watched me impassively as I pulled the milking stool closer and sat.
He plucked a stray piece of straw from his hair. “Go on then.”
“What?”
“Apologize.”
“I just did.”
“That is not an apology. That’s an abduction followed by…” He glanced around at the straw. “I don’t even know what the fuck this is.”
“We’re talking, aren’t we?”
He leaned back on his elbows. “We are.” He studied me, eyes narrowed. “Want to tell me what’s going on?”
“Last night, I may have been…”
“Stubborn? Pig-headed? Blinded by your own stupidity? Deaf to common sense?” August smirked. “I’ve got more if you need them.”
“I don’t, thanks.”
He raised an eyebrow—so much like Caroline in that moment it made me wonder if he’d live to a ripe old age too. I hoped so. And I hoped I got to share as many of those years with him as I could. I leaned forward. “If I ask you some questions, will you promise to answer honestly?”
“Yes.”
