Chapter eight

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Three years ago

Blue, red, green. Night, day, big, small, medium. Pads, tampons, I don't even know what the fuck these are, more pads, more tampons. How many different options can there be?

I unlock my phone to send my sister a text message about which one of the mountains of options she wants because I have no clue.

"Sir, I don't want to mock you or anything, but you look a little lost," a soft voice comments, and my chuckles ring through the supermarket aisle.

"Not mocking me because I absolutely am, ma'am," I admit as I cross my arms studying the shelf filled with women's products.

"Ma'am?" Her teasing laugh makes me spin around and I meet a pair of joyful eyes who curve my mouth into a smile. God, she's stunning.

It's been a week since I walked August home.

Since she turned me down.

It's been a week since I asked for five minutes. What I got instead was a whole fucking week of her unapologetically waltzing through my thoughts.

I wanted to kiss her that night. I still do. But friend's exes are messy and I can't deny that I've been messy at drawing the line in Lucie and I's relationship over the past months. I've been postponing putting a final stop to our drunken make-out sessions because I never saw the harm in it. They're fun, sexy, and meaningless for me and even though Lucie proclaims to share the same opinion, I'm starting to doubt it. Because after all, they're dragging out something that we both agreed wasn't working. August's words warned me of the possibility I was going to hurt Lucie, so I took a step back. Not that that made ignoring the attraction easier.

I walked her home and kept my distance, which I think she appreciated. Or at least I hope she did because it was fucking damn hard not to kiss her goodbye after seeing her face light up like a candle in the night when she started ravishing about her favorite director, Christopher Nolan.

We debated about the end of Inception and the complexity of Interstellar, and every time I had a different opinion she tried so very hard to convince me. She'd go all big hand movements and 'but do you know' on me when I argued her vision. And even though she failed to lure me to her side of the debate, she pulled me in in all the other ways and she didn't even realize it.
I hadn't even realized it until she stood in front of her door, a goodbye hanging from her lips and I caught myself wishing the moment would never end.

But it did when she simply thanked me and closed the door behind her, leaving me alone in the street with my thoughts.

"Need any help?" She asks as she picks a few boxes from the shelf I've been examining for the past 10 minutes. She strolls to her shopping cart and crosses off something on what seems like a grocery shopping list.

"I texted my sister because like you said, I'm fucking clueless." As if on cue, my phone vibrates, indicating her response. I focus on Brooklyn's text message, switch to the shelf, back to my phone, and then to August, who's biting her lip to hold back her smile from showing.

Yet her eyes are open books reading their words aloud to me. "Are you mocking me?"

"I wouldn't dare to." Her rosy cheeks shine in the daylight as sarcasm radiates from her voice.

I narrow my eyes at her, causing her to press her lips together in an attempt to suppress a laugh, which she fails miserably. "Straight through my heart, do you know that?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you." She apologizes, not being able to wipe away the grin on her face. "What does she need?" She holds out her hands and I give her my phone so she could read the message. Without another word, she walks past me and grabs a few boxes and packages, and drops them in my shopping cart. "Anything else you need?"

A date. With you preferably.

"I don't think so." I hear myself answer instead. "Anything else on your list we need to cross off?"

At the sound of my question, she furrows her eyebrows and nibbles on her bottom lip deep in thought as she marches toward the little paper clipped onto her cart. She hums as she skims over it. "I still need blueberries, raspberries, dark chocolate, rice, and vegetarian spring rolls."

I gesture for her to lead the way and stroll behind her as I let my curiosity take over. "Are you a vegetarian?"

She shakes her head. "No, but my dad is, so most weekends we eat vegetarian."

I stop in my tracks to let a woman pass and rush after her to continue our conversation. Her small legs sure as hell can walk fast. "And weekdays?"

"Occasionally, but my dad isn't home before dinner most days, so then it's not really necessary." She slows down when we arrive at the fruit and vegetable section and without having to peer around in search of the fruit she needs, she takes a halt at the glass door that seems to be the right one.

"What does he do for work?" I let my arms rest on my shopping cart as I ask.

She pulls the left side of her bottom lip between her teeth just as every other time she had to focus or when she was caught up in her thoughts. "He's a business consultant," she absentmindedly answers as she inspects the different packages filled with blueberries. "What do your parents do?"

"My mom's a pilot, my dad's a flight attendant." At the sound of my response, she turns around her eyebrows raised as if she didn't expect it.

"I can imagine they aren't often home as well." I can't place the tone in her voice yet my mind lingers on her 'as well' and I slowly puzzle the pieces together.

She must miss her dad. I know I did.

When I was younger my dad didn't have the privilege he now has to choose his schedule. He'd sometimes be gone for days or come home when my sister and I were already asleep. However, as we got older, he got more seniority which gave him more power over his schedule. Which resulted in us getting to see him more.

"They do have different work schedules than the average nine to five, but over the years they got more say in their schedules, so I wouldn't exactly say they aren't home much. They mostly fly short-haul so they can come home every day, although my mom has been thinking about changing to long-haul." She pushes her cart into another aisle, glancing my way once in a while to make sure I know she's still listening and not just sitting through a conversation.

Or at least, that's what I hope it means.

"Doesn't that come with her being away for a couple of days in a row?" She questions.

"Yeah, but she won't do it until both Brooklyn and I are in college. She doesn't want to miss any of our 'growing up' days." I mimic my mom using air quotes, chuckling at the memory of the look on my dad's face when she used those words. 'I didn't know my kids are still 7 and 5' my dad had answered earning himself a soft smack on the crown of his balding head. It didn't take him long to go whining 'meu Querido', begging her for a forgiving kiss.

"Yeah, lots of growing up to do on your part." Her teasing comment immediately snaps me back into the moment.

"If you're referring to my non-existent beard I'm deciding to simply ignore it to safe my heart from breaking." She raises her eyebrows at my statement, clearly amused.

"Your heart?" The sound of her giggles makes the corner of my mouth itch as it desperately wants to show the smile I'm holding back.

"My heart," I confirm with a curt nod whilst holding my hand over my left pec.

"Are you calling me a heartbreaker, Colin Donovan?" Her eyes are radiant and it's too addicting not to let myself drown in them. Her lips are curved into a soft smile that's impossible not to make you feel warm inside and when her question sinks into my thoughts there's only one answer crossing my mind.

If I don't watch out I think you're going to be.


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