Chapter 50 Love And The City Of Angels #2
We just wrapped one of those corny Hollywood bus tours that swear a hedge is where Brad Pitt once trimmed his toenails.
Exhausting. Ridiculous. And weirdly comforting to just let Wynter drag me around like I didn’t have a choice.
LA’s a chaotic mix of too much and not enough, and for once, I’m just… going with it.
Now we’re parked at a trendy little café, basking in November sun that feels like July.
Typical SoCal—seasons are just gossip here.
I’m trying to soak it in, but that cloud I’ve been under keeps hanging low.
If I wasn’t so stuck in my own head, maybe I’d flirt back with one of the fine men walking by. Maybe.
Wynter’s been checking her phone every few minutes, which is normal for her—publicist, manager, producers, the whole machine—but today she’s jumpy.
Quiet about who’s blowing her up. Glancing at the time like she’s counting down to something.
And Wynter’s got the worst poker face; she’s not fooling me.
I sip my soda, the cold metal straw tapping against my lip. “What’s up with you?”
She blinks like I interrupted her solving world hunger. “What?”
I nod toward her phone. “You’re the one who said no work today, and you’ve been checking that thing every five minutes. You gonna spill or should we head back before traffic eats us alive?”
Wynter waves me off, sighing like a deflating balloon. “It’s nothing. Just waiting on this guy to text me back.”
That stops me. “You? Waiting on a man?” Wynter has never, in her 27 years, waited on a man for anything.
She flips her phone over like it insulted her. “He promised me a track I really want. We were supposed to meet tonight, but now he’s on that bullshit. He wants one thing, I want the track—we both wanna be happy, but…” She waves it off.
I lean back, smirking. “So preschool negotiations are too advanced for y’all?”
“Obviously, he’s stubborn.”
“Well, damn, that’s not new. You’ve always had a thing for hard-headed men. Remember that sophomore year beatboxer?”
Before she can answer, her phone buzzes again, rattling the table. She stands, already wearing her I’m about to handle business face.
“I’ll be right back. Gotta take this.”
“You sure you don’t wanna do it here? I could use the entertainment.”
She grins, wicked and determined. “Nah. I need to cuss him out without witnesses. PG-13 for the public, you know?”
I laugh. “Go handle it, Queen. I’ll be over here choking on chickpeas and eavesdropping on the world’s most awkward first date.”
“Don’t act like you don’t live for my drama. It’s the most action you’ve had in months.”
She slips through the maze of tables toward the street. My eyes are already on her fries—yes, her fries—and I snag two parmesan-covered beauties like a thief, shimmying in my seat as I chew.
The foot traffic outside is peak LA: dogs with shinier hair than most people, sun-kissed skin, and iced Starbucks cups treated like accessories instead of beverages.
I tap my fingers to the beat drifting from inside, the sun warming my skin in a way I haven’t let myself feel in months.
For a minute, I almost feel like me again.
And then—
Something shifts.
It’s subtle. No sound. No movement I can name.
Just… a presence.
My body goes still before my brain catches up, like something in me recognizes a frequency I haven’t heard in months. My stomach dips. My skin prickles.
No.
My fingers tighten around my necklace.
Then—tap tap. A hand on my shoulder snaps me out of it.
“Excuse me, miss? Is this seat taken?”
I turn, squinting against the glare. A tall figure shifts, blocking the sun, and my heart lurches.
August.
For a beat, I think my brain’s playing tricks on me. It’s been five months since I’ve seen him—five months since I’ve even let myself imagine him—and now Augustus James is standing here, casual as anything.
My fingers find my H necklace, twirling the diamond-studded letter like it might keep the world from spinning off its axis. This can’t be real. Has to be some heatstroke hallucination.
“I’m sorry—what?” My voice sounds foreign to my own ears.
He smiles, those damn dimples hitting me like a body shot. “Can I sit here?” His voice is low, easy, like we’ve done this a hundred times.
I nod—because apparently that’s all I’m capable of—and he slides into the seat across from me. Elbows on the table. Eyes locked.
“Are you gonna say something?” His tone is light but charged. “Or are we playing the world’s longest game of charades?”
I blink, finally kicking my brain into gear. “August, what are you doing here?”
He chuckles, smooth and warm. “Funny you should ask, princesa. I was about to ask you the same thing.”
“Funny’s one word for it.” My thumb keeps circling the necklace as my eyes memorize every detail—the fresh line of his beard, the burnt orange beanie hiding his curls. “Pretty sure I’ve lost it. Gone full Girl, Interrupted in the middle of this bougie café.”
“If you’re hallucinating, then I must be too,” he says, grinning. “Because there’s no way LA could’ve made you even more beautiful.”
Before I can respond, a server appears. August orders an espresso without breaking eye contact. His cologne—cinnamon bark and something only him—wraps around me, dizzying.
“You were about to tell me what you’re doing here,” I say, my voice shaky. He’s here. After all this time. After all that silence.
And suddenly, I’m back in Lori’s backyard. My going-away party.
He’d stood across from me, eyes locked on mine like he was memorizing every detail.
“I don’t want to do this,” he’d whispered, his hand finding mine. “I don’t want to say goodbye.”
“You don’t have to,” I’d said, forcing myself to pull away. “But your life is here. I can’t take you away from that.”
His brow had furrowed. “So that’s it? We’re just… done?”
“It’s not fair to either of us. Long distance will kill us. I want us happy—but not wondering if we’re holding each other back.”
Silence. Then: “Alright. Then we only have the night.”
When he pulled me in, it felt like he was trying to etch himself into my skin. Joke’s on me—he already was.
“I’ll never stop loving you,” he’d murmured into my hair. “And if the universe ever gives me another chance, mi amor, I will never let you walk away again.”
I’d sobbed into his chest, snot and all.
“I love you, baby.”
“I love you too.”
As I clung to him that night, I’d held onto the smallest thread of hope—that maybe, someday, the universe would give us another shot. But for now, all we had was that night, the taste of goodbye lingering between us.
Now, sitting across from August in this café, that promise hums in my chest like a bass line I can’t shake. My fingers twist the H pendant he gave me for my birthday, the one that’s felt less like jewelry and more like a lifeline. A thread between us that distance couldn’t cut.
It feels like the universe is playing dirty, dropping him here just when I’d finally adjusted to the silence. He looks the same, and somehow different—hair a little longer, eyes carrying weight I’ve never seen—but it’s him. My him.
“What are you doing here, August?” My voice comes out softer than I want. It’s not that I don’t want him here—God, I’ve wanted this for months—it’s just… surreal. He doesn’t belong in this version of my life, the one I’ve been pretending is whole.
His eyes soften. “I missed you, Harlee. My life hasn’t been the same since you left.”
My stomach flips, but I force a wry smile. “From your Instagram, it looks like you’ve been fine. Guess my move didn’t wreck you too much.”
He smirks, dimples flashing. “So you’ve been stalking me?”
“I don’t stalk. I glance. Occasionally. Hard not to when my ex is posting yacht thirst traps in Miami.”
He leans back, still smiling, but his voice dips lower. “I was only doing what you told me to do—try to be happy. But I haven’t been. Not without you.”
Something in my chest tightens, but before I can speak, he keeps going.
“I’ve missed you every day. I’ve thrown myself into work, into everything, trying to fill the hole you left, but nothing worked.
Every morning I think about you. Every night I wish you were there.
I told myself I’d be fine, that the distance would get easier, but it never did.
I should’ve fought harder to keep you here.
I wasn’t ready to let you go, and I’m still not. ”
The sincerity in his voice pins me in place. I can’t breathe, can’t look away.
“I didn’t want to tie you down,” he says. “I understood why you left. But letting you walk away like it was fine? It wasn’t. You’re my person, Harlee. I don’t want to do life without you.”
I swallow hard. “I thought you were better off without me. I thought I couldn’t ask you to give up everything you’ve built just to be with me.”
He reaches across the table, brushing my hand. “I don’t care about any of that. I care about you. Even if we start from scratch.”
We sit there, breathing in the weight of everything unsaid. Something in me shifts.
“Wynter,” I whisper. “You two lied to me, didn’t you?”
He doesn’t even flinch. “Yeah. We did.”
A shaky laugh slips out. “She knew. From the start. And never said a word.”
He shrugs, almost sheepish. “Wynter has a way of… convincing people. I didn’t mean for you to feel manipulated. I wanted to surprise you. To show you I’ve been here—really here—and that I’d do anything to prove it.”
My hand sweeps over my face. It’s not anger twisting in my chest—it’s something closer to bittersweet clarity. They’d both believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself.
“God,” I breathe, laughing through the tears threatening to fall. “You really did plan the whole thing, didn’t you?”
August’s hand moves across the table, slow and deliberate, like he’s afraid I’ll bolt. His fingers hover, then settle over mine—warm, grounding.
“I never stopped caring, Harlee. The question was whether you still wanted me in your life. But I couldn’t let you think I’d forgotten you.”