Chapter Seventeen #2
Gus wasn’t much of a reader when it came to popular fiction. He was more of a manual kind of guy and was happiest reading about the intricacies of motors or machinery or guns.
“I need the third book in a trilogy about dragons.”
Bill slowly pursed his mouth and turned toward the section that read fantasy. “Can you be a bit more specific? As you can see there are a lot of books that feature dragons.”
Shit. He felt like an idiot and scratched the back of his head while perusing the hundreds of books on the shelves. “I’m getting this for a friend and uh, the one I saw her reading had a pink cover. I think.”
“I see.” Bill walked to the section and Gus followed him. “Do you remember if there was a dragon on the cover? If there were any other characters?”
“No people. I think mainly words and stuff.”
“Sounds like something newer.” He glanced at Gus and spoke as if Gus should know this shit. “The covers tend to date the books. Anything new is bright with interesting graphics and fonts.”
“Sure. I guess.”
Bill walked to a display and grabbed a book. “Is this the one she read?”
Bingo. “Sure is.”
“Wonderful. Book three was released a few weeks ago and we just got a new shipment. I haven’t had time to unbox them yet but let me grab a copy for you.”
Five minutes later, Gus left the bookstore with the book in hand. The night before he’d had to kiss Faith senseless to get her to stop talking about the damned book. He knew she’d be pleased with the gift, and yet . . .
Yet what? Why did the thought of doing something as simple as getting Faith a gift make him feel uncomfortable? Was it too much? Too personal for a woman he’d eventually say goodbye to?
Frowning, he headed back to the diner. Gus was overthinking, and because he wasn’t paying attention properly he damn near ran over a woman exiting the bakery. He offered an automatic apology and stepped aside, though his smile faded when the woman looked up at him.
Misha.
She was older than he remembered. Her black hair shot through with silver, her skin pale and paper thin, though her eyes were still as dark as night. Her frame was slender, draped in a peach-colored dress, and she wore sensible shoes.
Just like before.
His throat wasn’t working, and the words wouldn’t come.
He could only stare down at the woman who’d cooked and cleaned and kissed and hugged.
As a kid, when things were bad, she was the one constant that had been good and kind and gentle.
Sometimes, it felt as if it had hurt more to leave her behind than his father and siblings.
“August,” she said softly, angling her head. She was small. Barely five feet. “I always wondered when you’d be back.”
Time did that wonky thing; it slowed down. Stopped entirely. And it felt as if they were the only two people in the world.
It seemed that today his past was giving him the kind of ass-kicking he deserved and ashamed he shuffled his feet, glancing away because he didn’t trust himself to speak. There was no denial. No smokescreen. He had nothing.
“It’s okay, my boy.”
Gus could count on one hand the times he’d cried or been close to tears. It took a lot to penetrate his shields. He fought the surge of emotion that rushed through him, bringing with it a host of memory. Hot chocolate. Cinnamon buns. Warm hugs.
She still smelled like lilac soap.
He looked at the ground. Anywhere but at her, and when her hand slid over his, he froze. Him. A fucking Navy SEAL brought to his knees by a little slip of a woman.
“Look at me.” Her voice was soft, and there was zero judgment.
“I can’t,” he managed to say.
She moved closer and he had no choice. Her eyes were kind, her smile sad. “I’m not mad that you left. Please don’t put that on yourself. You were just a little boy with a cowlick I couldn’t control and a smile that made my heart sing.” She winked. “I hope that smile still exists.”
“On occasion.” He attempted a smile. “For the right woman.”
“There he is. The charmer. Just look at you. How handsome you are.” She blinked away the wetness in her eyes and cleared her throat. “How are the boys and Iris?”
“They’re good. Harrison is a dreamer and travels a lot. He wants to save the world. And Ollie is an intern with his eyes on becoming a surgeon.” He waited a heartbeat. “Iris is here with me. She kind of forced the situation and refuses to leave.”
“She sounds like a handful. I’d like to meet her.”
“You have no idea.” He paused for a few moments. “How did you know?” The words were barely whispered.
“Your eyes,” she answered. “I’d know them anywhere.”
“Misha, I . . .” He swore under his breath and grabbed her up into a hug that was a long time coming. “I’ve missed you.” Once he set her down, he spoke quietly. “I should have found you sooner. I knew you were still in Fire Lake. I heard Ford and Ben talking about it.”
She frowned at that. “You’ve been in contact with your brother? I just saw them, and he never said a word.”
“He doesn’t . . . none of them know.” He attempted a smile. “I guess they don’t pay as much attention to eyes as you do.”
“I see,” she murmured, gripping his hand tightly. “Have you talked to Porter?”
He nodded.
“Then you know.”
Again, he nodded. What was there to say? The man was dying.
“What are you doing here, August? I’m assuming you’ve made a big life for yourself out there in the world beyond Fire Lake. You always were the one I knew would leave.”
“I’m working on the cottages at the estate. Getting them back to what they used to be.”
“You’re working for your father?” She didn’t bother to hide her surprise.
“I know, it sounds idiotic even to me.”
Something flickered in her eyes, and she squeezed his hand gently. “We should have a proper talk. There are some things you need to know.”
“Things?”
Misha muttered something under her breath, then glanced away. “About your parents and your . . .”
“My?” he prompted.
Misha looked as if she were struggling with what she wanted to say. But then she sighed, a soft sort of resigned sound and gave a small shrug. “Your uncle.”
To say he was shocked would be an understatement. Hell, up until recently he hadn’t known he’d had an uncle.
“I still live at the end of Crooked Lane. Come for dinner tomorrow night.”
“Little yellow house?”
“With white shutters.” She gave him one last hug. “I’m so happy to see you and I can’t wait to hear about the life you’ve been living.”
“When is good?”
“Any time after four. We’ll have roast chicken and I’ll make hot chocolate and cherry cake.”
He grinned. “My favorite.”
“I know, my boy.”
She gave him one last hug, and they parted ways. Gus walked back to the diner and picked up lunch, his mind a whirl of thoughts. By the time he got back to the lake, it was after one o’clock.
“You okay?” Walker asked, grabbing a burger from the box.
“Don’t know.”
His buddy gave him some serious side-eye. “That sounds ominous.”
His appetite all but gone, Gus stared at his friend. “Do you think this whole thing is batshit crazy?”
Walker took his time chewing and then swallowed. He grabbed a soda and, after a good long drink, turned to Gus.
“I think you needed to be here, so you came. I think your mission isn’t finished yet.
I think you’ve been in a holding pattern since I got here and nothing’s changed.
” Walker looked as serious as he’d ever looked.
“You’re a SEAL. Holding patterns don’t mix with how our brains work.
You’ve got to figure out what your end game is and then finish it.
I’m fine staying for as long as you need me, but we both have lives to get back to. ” Walker shrugged. “Maybe it’s time.”
Gus watched his buddy walk back to the rest of the crew, pissed at himself for feeling so fucking confused. Walker was right. He’d avoided confronting father for weeks. Maybe it was time to come clean. To move on. Go back to the life he’d built and forget about Fire Lake.
The notion should have been an easy one, and yet . . .
What about Faith?