Chapter 20
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Sophie
T he power came on at 5:41 a.m. this morning. I only know because of the multicolored string lights lining the perimeter of Gabby’s room. The assault on my eyes felt like I’d been tossed into a giant bag of glow-in-the-dark party sticks. By the time I stumbled from her bed and stepped around several piles of clothes, shoes, makeup, and books to find the correct outlet, I gave up hope of going back to sleep.
Instead, I set my sights on something equally gratifying: breakfast.
I take a few minutes for a mini refresh in the bathroom across the hall, deciding to remain in the strawberry sleep pants I borrowed from Gabby. It’s too early for yesterday’s denim. As my fingers make quick work of braiding my hair, I replay the late-night conversations I had with August on the sofa while sharing the last of the chocolate I’d found.
Tiptoeing past August’s door and into the Tates’ adorable farm-style kit chen, I make myself at home, pulling out a cold carton of eggs from the fridge as well as an impressive selection of fresh veggies—spinach, onion, bell peppers, broccoli, asparagus. I’d never guess a bachelor and a teenager lived here.
I sigh with relief when I find a container of feta in the side drawer of the fridge. No decent egg scramble is complete without it.
The Tates’ pantry, like their cupboards and cabinets, is well stocked and organized. I can’t help but think it’s likely due to their mother’s touch. I wonder how many mornings she stood where I am now, cooking for the same family members I’ve come to care so much for over the past few months.
I’ve just begun sautéing the veggies when a throat clears to my right. I glance at the pass-through that separates the dining area from the kitchen to find August. Clad in a pair of navy jogging pants and a white tee, he props a shoulder against the wall and drags his sleepy gaze from my bare feet to my braided hair.
“Guess this answers my question,” August says in a gravelly voice I’ll encourage him to reproduce when he reads as Blake later. Audiobook fans everywhere will thank me.
Despite his disarming charm, I nod. “Oh yes, the power came back on early this morning.”
“No,” he says, pushing off the wall and stalking toward me. “My question was more along the lines of you still being here when I woke up.”
I blush as he slips his arms around me from behind and plants a soft kiss at my temple. “Good morning, Sophie.”
My entire body short-circuits at his nearness, forcing my eyelids to shutter closed only to remember the gas stove I’m cooking on a second later.
I nudge him back with my elbow. “You’re a fire hazard.”
“Mmm.” He nuzzles his stubbly chin into the crook of my neck, and I squirm and giggle and make a halfhearted attempt at escape. “I can handle that.”
And it’s somewhere between this playfulness and the real conversations we shared last night that I realize I’ve never known this. Ons tage crushes, sure. Short-term relationships with surface-level expectations and commitments? Also, yes. But this? Never. The magnitude of all that’s taken place over the last twenty-four hours registers high on the scale of unbelievable. And yet, the longer August holds me in his arms, the more comfortable and real the idea of us becomes.
“Whatever you have going on in that pan smells incredible.” His voice is a low rumble against my ear. “How can I help?”
It takes a moment for my brain to switch from conserve power mode to full functional use again.
“Coffee?” I suggest. “I’d planned on making some before you woke up, but that high-tech machine is not my speed.”
He chuckles. “It’s easier than it looks. Promise.”
“Says the guy with three advanced-level sound engineering textbooks on his desk.”
He side-eyes me as he opens a cupboard for the espresso beans. “Those are really fascinating reads.”
“O-k-a-y, sure,” I say, thinking of the fantasy reads I have on my nightstand at the pool house.
While August fiddles with his fancy machine, I toast two sourdough English muffins and finish up the scramble. I’ve just set our plates on the table, along with butter and raspberry jam, when I hear my phone alerting me to an incoming video call.
I quickly grab it off the counter, prepared to shoot Dana a text to say I’ll call her later this afternoon as I have a lot to fill her in on. Only it’s not Dana. It’s Gabby.
August hands me my cup of decaf just as I answer his sister’s call.
“Hey, Gabs,” I say to the screen. “Oh, and hello Tyler.”
The two teenagers press in together and wave. They’re outside somewhere—a yard? A driveway?
August pops his head over my shoulder, and I don’t miss the way Gabby’s smiling eyes ping-pong between us. “So, let me get this straight,” he says in a teasing tone. “I text to say good morning and ask when you want a ride home, and you respond by video calling Sophie? How does that work?”
Tyl er chuckles at this, and I wonder if he’s reading the live transcript on the screen or lipreading. It’s hard to tell.
Gabby swivels the phone to herself, and I can’t quite tell if she’s wearing her aids or not. “Sophie answers every time I call her.” Gabby smirks. “And she’s way prettier on camera.”
“Can’t argue with that.” Without warning, he leans in and plants a kiss on my cheek.
And when he does, Gabby comes undone.
“ Wait , are you serious right now ? ” She squeals and jumps. “Are you guys together? Like together , together?”
I eye August like, Did you really just do that ? And also like, You have no clue what you’re in for now .
“Well, at the moment we’re together trying to enjoy a peaceful breakfast—”
“It was the mistletoe I put in the booth, wasn’t it?” She jumps again, and it’s all I can do to keep my lips from turning up. She’ll be picking out bridesmaid dresses in no time.
Is that where this is going?
“No,” August says pointedly. “It was not the mistletoe.”
But Gabby is too busy holding a side conversation offscreen to pay attention to her brother.
“Gabby,” August says. When she doesn’t answer, he tries again. “ Gabby .”
With her profile still turned to the camera, it’s clear she’s concentrating on something—or someone . It’s also clear she’s not wearing her aids. She nods and gives a thumbs-up.
She turns her lively expression back to us. “Are you cool if I stay a bit and help Tyler clear some of the branches from his neighbor’s driveway? The roads are still a mess here—there’s even a house across the street that had a tree crush their back fence.” Gabby flings the camera to show Tyler walking to the house next door wearing work gloves with a leaf blower strapped to his back.
One thing’s for sure, there is no way August can deny the kindness Gabby’s boyfriend possesses. They are well matched.
But when I glance up at August, I don’t find the same easy demeanor as before. “Where are your aids, Gabs?”
Gabby looks momentarily stricken. “Inside.”
“Inside where?” he presses.
“My ... backpack. I can’t wear them around all this clean-up noise. And I haven’t missed anything you’ve said, right? This new transcript app works great.”
I don’t miss the disappointment in his voice when he answers with “I’ll pick you up around noon.”
She nods, but her smile is half-mast. “Will you still be there, Sophie?”
“Yes,” I say. “We have a full day of recording to finish in the studio. I’ll come with August.”
“Okay, see ya. Bye!”
As we end the call and move to sit at the table, August is subdued. And even though he compliments my scramble and tells me his plan to clear his neighbor’s driveway before we start our recording session today, his mind is somewhere else entirely.
I set down my fork and watch him. “You’re upset.”
“Her aids aren’t in her backpack,” he says without preamble.
It takes me a second to catch on. “Then where are they?”
“Probably in the same place she’s been hiding them every time she plans to be away from home—from me, specifically. In the bottom drawer of her bathroom vanity.” He blows out a long breath. “That was the first time I’ve asked her about it directly.”
“Why do you think she’d lie to you?”
“Why does anybody lie?” he asks, staring off momentarily. “Because they’re more afraid to face the truth than the consequences of being caught.”
I’m about to comment on this when my phone vibrates between us on the table.
Natalie.
I silence it, not wanting to cut this conversation short with August when I’m certain she’s only calling to confirm she got my message last night and fed Phantom this morning.
Whe n she immediately calls back, August stands and clears our plates. “Go ahead and take that. I’m gonna head next door. Feel free to come by afterward. Norma loves company.”
“Sure,” I say. “I’ll see you in a minute.”
The instant he leaves through the garage door, I answer Natalie’s call.
“Good morning, Nat—”
“Did you take the utility van to Petaluma last night?”
“What?” I’m startled by her abrupt tone.
“The white utility van Jasper keeps locked in the single car garage.”
“Um, yes. The Escalades were both out on tour drop-offs when I needed to leave for the studio, so I—”
“He’s on his way there.”
“Where?” I ask as icy fingers walk my spine.
“To wherever you parked the van. He went to use it this morning, and when it wasn’t there, he tracked it. Where did you even find the keys?”
On rubbery legs, I move across the living room to the front door. “They were inside the van—tucked into the visor.” I spent a good thirty minutes searching the garage and the house before recalling a random memory of Jasper before he left for college in a shiny new Corvette. He’d popped his visor and managed to shoot his keyring directly onto his pointer finger.
“I don’t understand why he’s coming,” I say. “I can drive it back as soon as the roads clear up. Most of them aren’t even passable yet. The storm was brutal last night.”
I step out onto the front porch, shielding my eyes from the sun as I spot the van in question across the street. I’d parked under a tree, not wanting to take up August’s entire driveway. But the closer I get to it, the more my dread solidifies. Especially when I see the fallen branches. I blink at them in disbelief.
“He won’t give up,” Natalie says a bit breathlessly. “Here’s what you’re going to do. When he gets there, just hand him the keys and tell him you didn’t know the van was off-limits. Tell him you thought it was a part of the fleet, and it won’t happen again. Do not argue with him , just—”
“Um ... Natalie?” I clutch the phone to my ear and stare incredulously at the giant dent in the van’s roof and the way the side wall looks as if it’s been beaten by the world’s largest baseball bat. On repeat. At eighty miles an hour. “The van is ... it’s damaged. Dented from the storm.”
My sister-in-law goes quiet. “How bad is it?”
As I walk around to the back, any optimism I hold for its repair plummets. The back doors are warped to the point they won’t fully open or latch closed. “Bad. Possibly even totaled.”
I hear her take a deep breath. “Tell Jasper you called me and that I’m already working on an insurance claim. Don’t ask questions, and don’t—”
But her words are drowned out by the distorted sound of a loud engine coming up behind me on the side of the road. The sun’s glare on the front windshield of the shiny silver Mercedes SUV is too intense to see the driver, but the man who thrusts open the passenger door is, without a doubt, my brother.
“He’s here,” I whisper into the phone receiver before I end the call.
When he stalks toward me, there’s a gleam in his eye that pulls at every childhood insecurity. Of all things for me to be wearing, these strawberry-patterned pajama pants are certainly not adding to my confidence. I throw a glance in the direction of Norma’s driveway, but I don’t see August anywhere. A part of me is relieved he won’t be a witness to this, while another part—the fearful part—wants to scream his name. Especially when Jasper circles the van with the stealth of a predator.
“I just saw the damage a few minutes ago. I’m so sorry this happened.” I try to remember what Natalie told me to say, but the words are frozen in an unreachable capsule. “If I’d known the storm was going to be this bad, I’d have—”
“You would have what?” he prompts. “You wouldn’t have stolen the van parked in my locked garage?” His gaze chills me through as he pulls out his phone and holds it in one hand. “You realize that with a single phone call to the police I could have you arrested for grand theft auto on the spot. Due to its value, that would be a felony and a minimum five years in jail.”
“A felony ?” I all but choke . “I’m not a criminal, Jasper. I’m your sister.”
He steps in close, his expensive cologne churning my stomach as his voice dips low. “I knew it was a mistake to listen to Mom’s bleeding heart and let you come back when you’ve never been anything but a drain on this family.” He points to the dented van. “How exactly are you planning to fix this?”
Though his words slice deep, I refuse to give him the cowardly reaction he desires from me. “I just hung up with Natalie. She’s confident she can sort this all out with insurance.”
“No.” His eyes darken as he takes my measure. “Insurance won’t be paying a dime toward the repairs for this vehicle. You will be.”
Confused, I look from the van back to him, calculating the possible deductible. It couldn’t be more than a thousand dollars, right? “But if it’s totaled—”
“Then it will come out of your trust payout.” He studies the van. “Between the customizations and inflation markups, you should plan on roughly six figures.”
My jaw slacks at the idea of handing over the majority of the payout to my wealthy brother. “But I can’t afford that.”
His patronizing expression twists into a dare. “Would you rather I send you packing and deny you a payout altogether? Because that can be arranged. It’s your choice.”
I’ve tiptoed around my brother’s entitlement for years, scared to speak my mind, scared of what he’d tell my parents, scared of the grudges he’d hold or the repercussions he’d set in motion. But staying scared has never gotten me anywhere.
I ball my fists at my side.
“Why do you hate me so much?” The question rips from my throat with such force my vision blurs.
He stares at me without any trace of emotion until I see him peer beyond me. In a matter of two seconds, his countenance morphs int o the Jasper I’ve only observed from a distance. And in one more second, I understand why.
“Sophie?”
I feel August’s comforting hand on my shoulder before he angles his body between me and my brother.
“Is there a problem here?” August asks in a tone I’ve never heard him use.
“None at all.” My brother’s ability to switch moods is impressive, I’ll give him that. He sticks out his hand to my boyfriend, and after a beat of hesitation, August accepts it. “I’m Jasper. Sophie’s brother. And you must be the award-winning August Tate I’ve read so much about.”
Acid rises in my throat. He’s read about him—how? I’ve never used his full name, much less the address of the studio. Tracked , I think. Natalie had used the word tracked when she called.
“I’ve looked you up,” Jasper says, hands in his pockets, smile on his face. “You’ve worked with some impressive artists.”
August’s stony expression is immovable. “What brings you out today?” But with a single twist of his head, he answers his own question. I feel him tense the moment he sees the extensive damage.
“Nothing to concern yourself with. Just a misunderstanding,” my brother says with an easy smile. “I’ll take those keys and leave you to your day, Sophie.”
The level of crazy I feel—from one to ten—is an eleven. I’ve never been able to understand how he can keep up the front of being a likable, decent human being when I know him as anything but.
I pull the keys from my pocket and hand them over.
Jasper tips his head and moves to the driver’s side door. The metal-on-metal screech it makes sends an involuntary shiver through my torso. “Come by the winery anytime, August. I’ll make sure you get the VIP treatment.”
August nods as my brother closes the door and starts up the engine. His hold on me tightens incrementally.
It’s not until Jasper pulls away from the curb, followed closely by the large Mercedes, that the face of the driver comes into focus.
Cli nton . The pretentious stockbroker from the tasting room.
He has the audacity to wink at me before driving away.
The instant they are out of sight, August wraps his arms around me in a hug that seems to embrace every horrible truth. He kisses the top of my head, my temple. “Are you okay?”
I nod into his chest. “I am now.”
“Norma baked me cookies as a thank you for blowing off her driveway. I didn’t see the Mercedes SUV until I came back out.”
I want to tell him it’s okay. But it’s not. There is nothing okay about my brother.
“Don’t let him in your head,” August says firmly, pulling back enough to look me in the eyes.
“What do you mean?”
“I know his type of manipulation.”
Curiosity burdens my brow. “How?”
“I knew someone just like him. My ex-boss and girlfriend of nearly two years in LA.” His lips pull into something like a grimace. “Vanessa. She was a real piece of work. At first, I didn’t see it. Or maybe I just didn’t want to see it, but eventually, her narcissism became too obvious to ignore. I regret not walking away sooner.” He pulls me close again, and it feels as if he needs me as much as I need him in this moment. “I regret a lot of things about that time.”
We stay that way for several minutes, hugging in a contented, comforting silence. There will be plenty of time for me to ask more about Vanessa, just like there will be plenty of time for him to ask more about my brother. But for now, I have more pressing issues to address.
“After this, my transportation privileges will be over,” I say with certainty. “Which means I’ll need to find another way to get here.” I ponder the little savings I’ve been able to put away after paying Dana back what I owed her for past rent and incidentals. And then I try not to think about what I will owe my brother if the van is totaled. If the majority of my trust payout is wiped, then my dependence on my audio contract has drastically increased.
“You can use my car.”
“Wh at? No.” Immediately, I break our embrace. “That’s not happening.”
“Yes, it is. I have my dad’s Bronco in the garage. It just had a tune-up. Your weekly commute is ten times what mine is.”
“What about when Gabby drives? I know she loves that Bronco. She’s mentioned it to me several times. Isn’t she going to be learning soon?” I’d wondered this before, as Gabby is technically six months past the legal driving age in the state of California.
But August gives a single shake of his head. “It’s not an option.”
I want to ask him why not, but this is neither the time nor place for this conversation. Despite the start of a new relationship, the aftermath of a storm, a little sister who is hiding her hearing aids, and a bully brother who just threatened my entire financial future, we still have an audiobook to finish the raw recording of by the end of the week. From there, August will still have all the sound effects and original intros and outros to add and polish.
I take his hand and point us in the direction of the studio. I need to get my head in the game. I also need to put this conversation about my future transportation to rest. “I’ll figure out a plan later.”
He tugs me to a stop outside his studio door. “Sophie, I want you to take my car for however long you need it. Last night you agreed to adjust your future plans for my sake, so please, allow me this.”
I glance up at him, remembering the first day we met on this little stoop outside his studio, never knowing all that would come. How can I deny him anything when he’s looking at me like that? So I don’t deny him; I simply rise up on my toes and accept his generosity.