by Viragh, Brea
I spared a glance at her face, and each time August spoke, it was as if tiny explosives detonated between them. Boom! He placed his hand on hers for the smallest fraction of a second, and I felt her resounding jolt of awareness in my own body. It landed hard in my chest like a wayward medicine ball.
“They love each other,” I whispered, the words holding a wealth of vicious satisfaction. Real sparks crackled between them, palpable even across the store. “Can’t you see it? The sexual tension is obvious from here.”
Nell glanced at them again before turning to face me. I recognized the look. “I’m not saying you’re wrong. But it’s still a bad idea.”
“If I can help them be together, then it’s worth it to me.” I let out a shaky breath. “I was right.”
My father didn’t raise a quitter. After Mama left and the two of us were on our own, he worked diligently to instill me with a sense of honor and hard work. I would put it to use now, for August, for true love. I straightened and trotted toward the door, Nell bobbing in my wake.
“What about your ice cream?”
“Later,” I said, my voice filling out normally from the shadowy whisper of before. “The stage is set, Nell. Now I have to work toward the punch line.”
CHAPTER THREE
I adjusted the hem of my skirt when it rode way too high on my thigh. “I should have changed.”
“You look perfect.” August gave me the once-over before nodding in approval. “Beautiful.”
“You told me to dress up nice, but I may have taken it a step too far.”
Indeed, I only wore heels on my nights out, a far cry from the flats I slipped on while cutting hair. On my feet all day, I needed sensible, if not fashionable, footwear. Now I tottered about in four-inch strappy sandals and felt like an oaf. Albeit a pretty dang good-looking one. I indicated my feet.
“The shoes are great. Trust me.”
In August’s overheating Cabriolet, we smoked toward the sole place in town worth Yelp-ing about. The French restaurant served up pastries and savories alike and did well with the common man. I’d wasted many an afternoon with an endless stock of bread and a few too many glasses of house special, seated on the terrace with a great view of the mountains.
In those days, if I drank more than a bottle I was reaching for a pack of cigarettes, despite being a non-smoker. Hadn’t had a cigarette since those hazy days in the locker room where I followed the other “girls” like a good little lemming.
“You’re sure they are going to be here?” I asked him for the umpteenth time.
August nodded. “I’m positive. And don’t worry yourself. It will be a nice evening, food and drink and conversation.”
Unable to keep from fiddling, I tugged at my skirt a second time. “I’m sure it will be,” I said sagely.
“And try to focus your attention on Duncan.”
“Duncan.” I tested his name on my lips and prepared for the worst. “I’ll try. Just don’t tell me what to do. I hate when men try to take the reins.”
August laughed, the sound full-bodied and rich, then slowed and flicked on the right blinker. He took the turn carefully, though smoke billowed from beneath the hood. “I wouldn’t dream of it. But remember, we met at the music festival and hit it off from there, although we’re taking things slow. I asked you out last Friday.”
“Asked me out last Friday? I thought we discarded the girlfriend idea,” I responded. “How disgusting. It would be like taking things slow with a brother. Try to stay away from any mention of dating, all right? We’re two friends out for a meal.”
“Don’t tell me what to do,” August fired back at me, the skin around his eyes crinkling with his grin.
An hour ago, I’d glanced up from a riveting episode of crime television to a text from August telling me to be ready in ten minutes. No other explanation. Deadlines didn’t sit well with me, and aside from falling off the chair in my zeal to get dressed in something other than yoga pants, I think I’d done rather well with the late notice. Harried, I’d bolted to the bathroom to splash water on my face, starting from scratch at a moment’s notice.
August had let himself into the house while I was changing, patiently covering his eyes while I put the finishing touches on my outfit. Nerves fluttered beneath my skin in anticipation of the evening. I’d sent a quick email to my father before getting in the car and leaving my second thoughts behind.
August had relayed the gist of what he knew during our drive to the restaurant, pausing when I asked a question. Now I considered myself quite the authority on not only August, but his childhood with Isabel as well. Not once did I tell him about the scene I’d witnessed in the store.
“Isabel has been back for a bit.” He rubbed his chin, maneuvering the car with one hand. “Long enough for me to brawl with her fiancé and have him close to collapsing my lungs. I’m not sure I told you that yet, but yeah, he beat the crap out of me.”
“How intriguing.” Scenery flashed by, trees and sky with the occasional utility pole. “I’m sure you deserved it.”
“Does anyone ever deserve a right hook? I nearly choked the man, thank you, but all is well now. We’ve come to a...delicate understanding.”
Anyone who called surviving a fist fight a delicate understanding had a screw loose. Keeping a palm on my chest to fight against the anxiety, I gave him a pat on the leg. “And yet you still insist this will be a fun night. You’re making this harder on yourself than it has to be.”
“She’s on edge, my poor dear. Gets rattled pretty quickly when things don’t go her way,” August said in lieu of an answer. He knew I was right.
“Well jeez, man, you do too,” I retorted. “Two peas in a pod.”
“This may be an odd evening, be warned. Fun but odd. Focus most of your attention on Duncan and don’t hesitate to act superior if need be. A little female competition to keep Isabel on her toes,” he continued.
“What did I say about telling me what to do?”
He drew in a breath and held it for a moment. On an exhale, he said, “You understand I don’t want to hurt her, right? I love her more than anything else in this world.”
His emotion shone through with every syllable and did nothing to settle my anxiety. “Yes, I know. You’re too kind.”
“I know it seems awkward. Backwards, even. But I would rather cut out my heart than see her marry the wrong man.”
“It’s too much.” I beamed at him. “You’re romantic to a fault.” My own heart beat faster, whether from the prospect of true love or the anticipation of a crazy dinner, I couldn’t be sure. There were too many balls in the air right now, too many variables for me to consider all at once. I settled into the seat, filled my lungs with air, and held the breath to the count of five.
“Don’t tell anyone. I have an image to maintain.”
On an exhalation, I mimed a needle sliding through my lips. “Sealed.”
The restaurant came into view before long, floodlights above the sign blinking on in the fading twilight. People twined out the front door while waiting for a table. The patio seating, in demand with the warmer weather, was full and bursting at the seams.
August pulled the car to a stop in one of the last remaining spots. I took another deep breath. “Show time, eh?” Holding out a hand, I waited for him to slap me a good high five, and he didn’t disappoint.
“Show time, baby.”
I stayed seated and waited for August to come around to my side to open the door. With old-world charm, he extended a hand and helped me rise. Some kind of guy.
I made sure to keep my cool from the first second of our entrance. To maintain the charade, I needed to strengthen my backbone. Adopt an aloofness to fight against the slivers of unease causing my fingers to tremble.
None of that! I admonished.
Instead, I kept my head high and owned the parking lot. I unfolded to my full height, feeling the cool evening air against my heated skin. With shoulders squared, I tried to channel my inner bombshel
l. I had the goods; now I needed to use them.
Together we walked through the hazy light, side by side, and August caught my hand. He kept it clasped tight in his. I hauled in a deep breath and used the air to make myself appear larger. Shoulders squared and elbows jutted, I shot August a look that made me my mama’s double. I still saw her in my reflection: the tanned skin, her sharp cheekbones, the green eyes a tad too large.
“I’m ready.”
“There they are,” he murmured as we crossed the pavement.
“Where?” I whispered from the corner of my mouth while shooting him a sidelong glance.
“Watch. This will be fun.” August switched from a whisper to a shout. “Hey there! Isabel and Duncan!”
There was a flurry of commotion on the patio, and I watched a female with wavy brown hair feign intense interest in her napkin. Ah, yes, the woman from the store. Meanwhile, her date, a strapping man of lumberjack proportions, shook the table when he stood.
“August! Over here!”
There was a lot of shouting going on across the lot, and if I were a weakling, I would have been trying to hide in my napkin the same way Isabel did. As it was, I made sure each step counted as we continued to walk forward.
“Hey you guys!”
My attention zeroed in on the lumberjack and in the span of a second, my heart fluttered in my chest. Oh. My.
I practically heard the theme music from Ferris Bueller as time slowed around me. Inner romantic, buried before under the weight and responsibility of August and Isabel’s affections, clawed her way to the surface then swooped to the ground in a dead faint, beatific smile plastered on her face.
Oh my? What I should have said was oh no. I hurried to stop my tongue, ready to lick my lips.
In Heartwood, there were few eligible men with such broad shoulders, and none of them half as attractive as the one I saw now. Duncan was tall and broad-shouldered, with a round, open face shadowed by a dusky golden five-o’clock-shadow. His eyes were dark and almond-shaped, the hair on top of his head shaved to within an inch of stubble. I could smell him from across the way. Each line fanning out from his smile captured my attention and I swallowed hard, mouth suddenly parched.
He must have said something, for Isabel at last raised her gaze from the table. I noticed the moment she saw me, her face souring.
August and I strolled over to the black iron railing surrounding the patio. He paused for a moment before clasping hands with the hunk.
“Fancy meeting you here.” Duncan draped his arms against the railing, the sleeves of his button-up rolled to his elbows and the hint of a slow drawl in his voice.
“We’re getting a bite to eat.” August’s response was casual, the noncommittal type parents reserved when they didn’t want to outright promise anything. “This place has the best Alsatian pizza. As close to France as you’ll ever get down South, so I’ve heard.”
My heart threatened to disintegrate. I blamed it on my nervousness. And the heavy mass of Isabel’s disapproval. She did not so much as glance at me, but I saw her mouth tighten. She kept her eyes on her husband-to-be.
“There’s a line out the door,” August said. “We’re never going to get a table at this rate.”
Duncan tilted his head to the side, considering the options before him. I couldn’t take my eyes from him and made a concentrated effort to look bored despite the pounding in my chest.
“Why don’t you come on over and join us? The table is big enough for four.”
Isabel would rather eat an entire plate of mud than endure dinner with August and me. I wanted to tell her right off the bat how it wouldn’t be enjoyable for me either, as the realization of my agreement crashed down. There were equal parts fascination and dread warring for supremacy inside of me.
August was dead set on convincing her of his love. And I’d agreed to help him. What had I gotten myself into? I tried to remember the moment in the store the other night, when the two had eyes for no one else. The rest of the world had dropped away. Yes, true love.
“Are you sure? We wouldn’t want to impose...” August let his words drag, digging his elbow into my side to regain my attention.
I shrugged. “I’m starved. If we have to sit with them, then fine by me.” It was better to make it look like less of a set-up. Right? My head spun and logical thoughts seemed just out of reach. I hadn’t bargained on the crippling self-doubt. What if I messed it up for August and Isabel?
“Come on, then. We’ve already placed our order but I’m sure the waiter will be back soon.” Duncan gestured for us to come forward.
Yes, Isabel would definitely rather eat mud than sit across from me. Poor woman. I hated doing this to her, even if she was a stranger. A stranger with a drop-dead-gorgeous man at her side. What woman in her right mind wouldn’t be swayed by his face? Carved by the tears of angels.
I wanted to slap myself back to reality.
August held the wrought-iron gate open for me as I walked through, keeping my face schooled in a pout. The sort of lowered-lip disappointment trophy wives perfected to get what they wanted. I’d seen plenty of them come through Mama’s salon chair and leave with one more weapon in their arsenal: a good head of hair.
With August’s hand in mine, we took the two open seats at their table and settled in. Slow going for me, because if I moved too fast the skirt would ride clear to my hips. It was bad enough enduring this awkwardness without feeling a breeze on my backside. I wondered where the old, confident me had disappeared to, and was careful to keep my eyes away from Duncan.
“Have you eaten here yet?” August asked Isabel, his attention focused on her alone. I’d seen priests worshipping God with less rapture. His ardor was crystal clear. If I were the fiancé I would have smacked the sparkle out of his eyes.
August’s hand clenched mine beneath the table and I squeezed in return. I understood those nerves. Noted them the moment we got out of the car. This was the first step on a long path. If the need ever arose, I trusted August to take care of himself. Tonight, he led the dance but I was the one he leaned on. How long had it been since I’d danced like this?
Oh, to be a fly on the wall of his brain, to hear his thoughts...
Isabel Cook was a good-looking woman with girl-next-door charm. In my mind, I could picture August and her together, the life they would create from their pledge all those years ago. Yes, it fit well. I wanted that happiness for him. Although I had to admit, the strength of her pessimism hit me like a slap in the face. I couldn’t be sure if she resented me because of August, or because I was another woman.
And her fiancé... Woof.
I gave in to temptation and licked my lips. Once. The moment Isabel and Duncan turned away, I winked at August.
“Oh God, my manners. Leda Cox, meet Duncan Whitaker and Isabel Cook. Everyone, this is Leda.” August clamped his hand down on mine again until blood rushed from my fingers and refused to return.
I flashed a nod in Isabel’s direction before turning back to Duncan. For him I reserved my special smile, a come-hither gaze accompanied by sideways, under-the-lash eye contact for five full seconds. It was an ingrained response, and a technique I managed to perfect in high school when other girls were tearing themselves apart wondering how to get a man. Mama assured me there was no hard work required on my end. I never wondered how to garner attention; I simply did. There were certain tricks, passed down to me by the woman who would rather lie on her back than raise me, and guaranteed to work like a charm.
Too far, Leda. It was work to reel myself in.
“Charmed, I’m sure. How long have you two known each other?” Isabel asked, choking over the words. Her fingers tore at a chunk of bread.
I cut August off the moment he opened his mouth. “It’s been years now, although August finally worked up the courage to ask me out last Friday.”
Wait, what had I said? Damn it! Logic slipped further and further away the longer I sat at the table. Duncan turned those chocolate-brown eyes in
my direction, pulling my attention elsewhere with the strength of a magnet. Worse than a brain fog, this sort of consideration burned the ability to form sentences from my head.
Heat pooled in my core. Any more of those feelings and I would have to excuse myself to the restroom.
“How wonderful for you.” Isabel’s lip curled as she spoke.
I thought about my feelings for August when I knew Isabel had taken an instant loathing to my presence. For his sake, I would keep going to the end. Yes, family stuck together.
Duncan leaned on the table, a smile stuck to his face like glue. He flashed it in my direction before asking August, “So tell me the truth. Should we have gone with the pizza tonight?”
The obvious answer? Absolutely! Most people don’t associate the French with fabulous pizza pies, but this restaurant put all the naysayers to shame. An indulgence of cheese and onion and bacon, in one heady combination. I could go for one myself, but the butterflies in my stomach were back again. No way I could handle greasy cheese and bacon. At the moment, the thought of food turned me into a quivering mess with a desire to run fast and far away. I needed to buck up, and quick.
“Don’t worry. Everything is delicious.” August patted Duncan on the arm.
I was about to interject when the waiter returned to the table with two extra menus for us. Thanking him for his time, I turned to desserts first. Ice cream? Of course not. My roiling gut would have to wait for my magical cure-all until I got home.
August squeezed my hand a third time, my tendons crackling together, before ordering a bottle of wine for the table. On an exhale, he looped his arms behind his head, shifting back in the chair.
“It’s too nice of a night to stay home. We had a running debate as to cooking or dining out, but in the end Leda won,” he said.
Sure, blame it on me, though we’d had the argument many times in the past. Tonight, I remembered anticipating a calm and relaxing respite at home with television and an endless spread of snacks at my disposal. Then August had sent me into a tailspin of clothes and makeup, shoes and accessories.