47. Valentine
Whether it irks me or not, speaking to Ella did the trick—August is out of bed and acting not only like himself but kinda like the August from before Des passed. He’s going to an art store tomorrow, and not just any art store: the special one he used to go to with Des on his birthday. I swing my legs in small circles above the water at the edge of the dock, the hem of my flowered dress fluttering on my thighs in the salty breeze. August leans back, his hands on the sun-warmed wood, squinting toward the horizon in the bright afternoon sun.
“Interesting,” he says after I fully brief him on the conversation I had at the party with Leah about Amber and Justin’s flirting.
“I had a lot of time to think while we weren’t talking,” I say. “And well, I came up with a plan B, one I thought might work even with our case in ruins.”
August rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry ’bout that, Tiny. I really never meant to put our case in jeopardy. It’s actually the last thing I’d want to do.”
I swish the water with one of my feet, sending glimmering droplets into the air like daytime fireflies. “Oh, I know, Holden McLover. I’m not saying it to make you feel guilty. I’m saying it because I’m a phoenix who rises from the ashes and saves us even when it looks like all hope is lost.”
August chuckles. “If the world had your confidence, Tiny, it’d be a better place.”
I grin at him and flick my hair over my shoulder dramatically. “Wouldn’t it, though?”
“So what’s this earth-shattering plan B? Does it have something to do with outing Amber and Justin?”
“Abso-friggin-lutely,” I reply, energized by his belief in me. “Look, we know Ella’s having doubts about her relationship. We get this right and we have a shot at a fast breakup, which we desperately need at this point. We’re running out of time.”
“What do you need me to do?” he says before he’s even heard the plan.
I put my notebook down in my lap and look at him. “Actually, it’s what I need to do. I thought about sending you in as lead, but if it doesn’t land for some reason, it’ll be right on the heels of your altercation with Justin.”
“True,” he says. “Tell me the plan.”
So I do, and we spend the next few hours tweaking the strategy, arguing over details, and then eating way too much Indian food at my house. My parents are a little short with each other during dinner, almost like they’re in a fight and trying hard not to give it away. I nudge August under the table to see if he’s noticing that they’re being weird, but he doesn’t seem to understand. Maybe it’s just stress over Dad’s company party? They have been working extra hard lately.
When August returns to his house, I text Bentley.
Me
Up for coming over?
He replies immediately, saying, Always, which is one of the things I really enjoy about Bentley. He doesn’t try to be cool by making me wait; he’s enthusiastic.
My parents are already in their room having movie night in bed, and so I send them a quick text telling them Bentley’s on his way. Then I grab my favorite pair of cutoff jean shorts and my comfy white sweatshirt and change out of my swimming clothes. And even though I’m fast, Bentley taps on my bedroom door as I pull my sweatshirt down over my stomach.
“Hey there,” he says, and the hello kiss he gives me zings all the way to my toes.
I move toward my open bedroom door. That’s another thing I really like about Bentley. When I asked him why he never closes it, he laughed and said he always wants that to be my choice, that he never wants me to feel pressured.
“How were the twins today?” I ask as the door shuts with a satisfying click. It’s the first day this week I haven’t played with them. In a weird way they remind me of August and me; they’re annoyingly in sync most of the time but also fight like it’s an Olympic sport.
“Same. Hilarious. Beast-like. You know,” he says and sits down on the end of my bed. “How was August?”
“Actually surprisingly good,” I say, standing in front of his knees. “But then again, he got a text from a girl he likes, so.”
Bentley reaches out and interlaces his fingers with mine, pulling me a couple of inches closer. He raises an eyebrow. “August likes someone? How’d that happen? I don’t think I’ve even seen him talk to anyone besides you in years.”
“So... how are you with secrets?” I start, figuring now is as good a time as any.
“Excellent,” he says, eyeing me curiously. “Whatcha got?”
I brush back his silky hair from his forehead, enjoying the way it slides through my fingers. “Wellll, you know how everyone thinks August and I work for my dad?”
Bentley leans into my touch. “Seriously? You don’t?”
I shake my head. “It’s kinda tangled. See, while everyone at school thinks we work for my dad, my parents actually think we’re caterers? And I need them to keep thinking that. I’d be in serious shit if they found out I’ve been lying.”
“Okay, now I need to know what’s so crazy secretive that you made up not one but two fake professions.” He eyes me. “You’re not drug dealers, are you?”
I can’t help but laugh. “We would literally be the worst drug dealers of all time.”
“So then?”
It’s weird talking about Summer Love. It’s been just mine and August’s for so long. “We have a company...” I pause. “Where we break people up.”
He takes a second, like maybe he didn’t hear me correctly. “Hang on... You do what now?”
“We break people up—”
“For money?”
“Yeah.”
His expression shifts from disbelief to confusion and back again. “No way.”
“I swear. Parents and friends hire us to break up their loved ones’ bad relationships. We create whole other personas and make complicated strategies, and then August does most of the maneuvering.”
He eyes me like I’m pranking him. “You’re telling me that August has a secret life where he actually socializes?”
“Way more than that. He ousts jerk-off boyfriends, and some of the cases even wind up falling for him in the process... not that that is ever a goal,” I say. “He’s basically a modern-day Romeo.”
For a second Bentley’s silent, like he’s trying to process what I’m saying.
I examine his face. “I know you guys aren’t exactly the biggest fans of each other. But I need you to promise me that you’ll try to get along with him at my dad’s party. He’s really a wonderful guy. Like, the best. And also, my parents would kill me if I created a scene there.”
“Not a problem,” Bentley says, and I want to believe him that we can all hang out without it being uncomfortable.
I spot my opportunity, a way to make August more relatable and for Bentley to understand the awesome August I know. So I tell him a little bit about Des, about why we started the company in the first place, and why this case in particular is so important.
But when I’m done, all he says is, “Okay.”
“That’s it?” I say, looking down at him. “After all that, you say one word?”
“What do you want me to say?” he replies, but he looks a little glum.
It takes me a beat to sort out why. “Hang on... You’re not jealous of August, are you?”
“It’s just nice,” he says, “the way you talk about him. He’s a lucky dude.”
And I realize that maybe there is a little jealousy, but not the kind I imagined. Maybe Bentley doesn’t actually have anyone in his life who praises him. I know that besides me, August doesn’t. Maybe they have more in common than they know.
Bentley looks away, recognizing that I see more than he wants me to.
I give him a mischievous smile, pushing my fingers back through his hair, the thrill never ceasing that it’s mine to touch. “So basically what you’re saying is that you want me to admire you?” I inch forward until there’s no space between us, and he wraps his arms around my back. “I feel like maybe I could do that.”
That’s all the encouragement he needs to lift me up and roll me onto the bed.
I squeal as my back hits the comforter. “Wow, Bentley Caven-Hunk. Look at those muscles,” I say in an overly affected voice. “You must lift weights shirtless in your backyard... like, a lot.”
He leans over me, propped up on one elbow. “I do it for the view,” he says with a grin. “Turns out I’ve got this really beautiful neighbor, whose attention I’ve been trying to get for a long time.”
I laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’ve been lifting weights outside forever.”
“Exactly,” he says, so close now that his warm breath tickles my face.
My heart thuds at the word. “Line,” I say with a grin.
He runs his thumb over my bottom lip. “Truth,” he counters, his eyes so intent that my breath catches.
He closes the distance between us, his weight pressing pleasantly into me and his mouth teasing my neck with kisses. I wrap my legs around his back, and his hand finds my knee, pulling it tighter and running a warm palm up the outside of my thigh.
He trails kisses from my neck to my cheeks. He even kisses my eyelids. But when his mouth finds mine, loud voices spill into the hallway. Bentley and I jump apart, my heart pounding against my breastbone.
“That’s not what happened and you know it,” my mom says in an angry tone.
A door slams, and just as quickly the loud voices stop.
I sit up, taken aback. My parents never fight in front of me. Ever. “What did that sound like to you?” I ask, my tone indicating this question matters.
Bentley sits up, too. “Argument?”
“Exactly. Finally,” I say forcefully and slide off my bed.
Bentley looks confused. “Finally?”
“I’ve been telling August that something’s up with my parents, and he kept saying he didn’t see it. But you heard that, right? That was a fight.” I point at my closed door.
“Yeah,” he agrees, searching my face. Then after a beat, “You wanna talk about it?”
The offer takes me by surprise. Despite all the new things I’ve learned about Bentley, pausing a make-out to talk about my family problems still isn’t what I’d expect. I nod, this time not shying away from a personal conversation with him.
“Here’s the thing. My parents rarely fight, and if they do, they’re careful not to do it in front of me. Then all of a sudden, I catch my mom crying over old pictures, snippy comments between them followed by overly affectionate cuddling. And this.” I wave my hand toward the hallway. “Now they’re openly and loudly having a fight and slamming doors when they knowyou’rehere?”
“Maybe they’re trying to fix something?” he offers.
“Like what?”
He scratches the back of his head. “Not sure if it’s the same, but I have a friend whose dad had an affair, and her parents are in couples therapy. She says they go hot and cold a lot. Fighting and then making up.”
“Huh,” I say, not sure what to do with that information. My first thought is, There’s no way my parents are in couples therapy, and there is definitely no way one of them had an affair. And my second thought is, Oh crap, but what if they are?