Chapter 50 Love And The City Of Angels #3
I drink him in, this man I’ve tried to erase out of my heart. “I don’t know what to say,” I admit, my voice scraped raw.
“You don’t have to,” he says, steady but soft. “I just want to be here. With you. Whatever that means.”
The weight of it all presses down, but in the crush there’s relief. My tears come fast, hot, and for the first time in months, they’re not born of sadness.
“I missed you too,” I whisper, and mean it.
The walls I’ve built crack wide open. “I’ve been so lost without you, August. I thought I could make it on my own, but nothing feels right—not the city, not the job, not even the people. I thought moving here would fix me, but it didn’t. Not without you.
“I’m so tired of pretending I don’t miss us,” I breathe, the words tumbling out before I can stop them.
He strokes my hand, his thumb brushing slow circles. “I never stopped thinking about you. Letting you go was never the right thing. I’ve been lost too. Everything’s been missing something—and that something is you.”
It hits me like a wave, washing away every excuse. I’ve been holding onto him all along.
“So what now?” My voice is a shaky whisper. “What do we do with us? How long do we have?”
His smile tilts, more serious than playful. “Well… for now? Just the weekend.”
I blink. “What do you mean, ‘for now?’”
He leans back, teasing. “Turns out I snagged the keys to our new boutique office in West Hollywood. Crane Industries wants me here hands-on. Ethan asked for me personally.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Wait—you’re moving here? For how long?”
“Could be months, could be years,” he says with a shrug. “For the project. And for us. If you’ll have me.”
A smile breaks across my face before I can stop it. “August James, moving to LA? I thought you were too good for our avocado toast obsession.”
He laughs, low and warm. “They’re the ones mashing avocado on bread and calling it breakfast. And no, I’m not in love with LA yet. But you? You I am in love with. So I’ll make it work.”
I laugh too, lightheaded with something that feels dangerously like joy. “Look at you, taking one for the team.”
His eyes heat. “Just don’t ghost me again when I fly out to pack up my condo. No te atrevas a desaparecer otra vez.”
The Spanish curls through the air like a promise. Then, lower, darker—
“O te voy a esposar a mi cama y follarte tan mal que no vas a poder pensar en irte.”
The meaning hits a second later—hot, possessive, impossible to ignore. My breath catches. 'Or I’ll cuff you to my bed and ruin you so thoroughly you won’t even think about leaving.'
The way he says it steals my breath, heat pooling low as my pulse kicks hard against my ribs. There’s no mistaking the fire in his eyes.
I grin, eyebrow arched. “Oh, I’ll ghost you again. It’s my superpower.”
August’s smirk deepens, eyes darkening. “Careful, princesa. Keep playing with fire, and you’ll get burned.” His voice drops, slow and deliberate, curling around me like smoke.
“Threat or promise?” I lean in. The air between us practically hums.
“Why don’t you come here and find out?”
Before I can think, he’s on his feet. Two strides and I’m up and in his arms, his mouth claiming mine. The kiss is deep, hot, unapologetic—espresso and promises and months of everything unsaid. His beard scratches my skin, his hands anchor me at my waist, and the world falls away.
When he finally pulls back, I’m breathless. “If that’s your ‘welcome back’ kiss, I might have to leave more often.”
His chuckle is low, rich. “Don’t even think about it, mi amor. I’m not letting you out of my sight again.”
The street noise filters back in, but his gaze keeps me tethered. “Speaking of not letting you out of my sight—we should talk living arrangements.”
I blink. “Living arrangements?”
He grins. “Obviously, you’re not staying in that shoebox you call a studio. We’ll find a place. Together.”
I gape. “How do you even know where I live?”
“Because,” he says, leaning back like he’s about to confess something dangerous, “I paid for half of it. Hired the designer. The driver. Covered your first three months. EchoHouse only did the basics.”
My jaw drops. “You did what?”
“I didn’t want you starting this new chapter surrounded by unpacked boxes and chaos. I wanted you to feel… home.”
I shake my head slowly, equal parts floored and failing miserably at fighting the smile pulling at my lips.
“Home is where my heart is,” I say softly. “And I might have an address there—but that place never really felt like home.”
His eyes hold mine for a long, unhurried moment. Like he already knew. Like he’s been sitting with that truth just as long as I have.
“I was homesick without you, too.” His voice drops—low and deliberate, like a confession he’s been carrying in his chest for too long. “I missed you with every part of me. Not just the missing-someone kind of missing—”
He stops. Swallows.
“Ached, baby.” A quiet exhale. “I ached.”
His hand finds mine on the table, thumb brushing slow and absentminded.
“Eres el amor de mi vida.” His gaze doesn’t waver. You are the love of my life.
“Mi mejor amiga.” My best friend.
“The other half of every thought I have.”
His fingers tighten slightly around mine.
“No quiero pasar otra noche sin ti a mi lado—ni una más.” His voice softens, but it doesn’t lose its weight. I don’t want to spend another night without you beside me—not one more.
A beat.
“Nunca más.”
The whole world goes soft at the edges.
I open my mouth—though God only knows what I was going to say—
And then Wynter drops into the seat beside me like a small, beautiful storm, sliding her plate across the table with the energy of someone who has waited long enough.
“Hate to break up the rom-com finale—” she announces to no one in particular, already reaching across August for his drink without so much as a glance, “—but I cannot keep fake window shopping while my burger goes cold. That’s where I draw the line.”
She takes a long, unbothered sip.
“You two sort your feelings. I’m eating.”
I laugh, swiping at the last trace of tears. “Seriously, Wynn?”
She shrugs, mouth full. “Woman of action, not words. Now pass the fries.”
August and I dissolve into laughter, the last of the heaviness dissolving into the easy warmth I’ve been craving for months.
And in that moment—sun on my face, Wynter happily demolishing her burger, August’s gaze steady and unshakable—I realize I’m not just back. I’m home.
Because this time, I’m not waiting for the universe to decide for me.
This time, I’m choosing him.
And I’m not letting go.