Chapter 35 Riley
THIRTY-FIVE
RILEY
Seeing August made me realize how much more I’ve missed him. Ellie pushed us together again, having him sit next to me, and her excuse made me laugh.
I’m surprised he didn’t bring up his leaving my apartment after the night we had together. Maybe he changed his mind after all this time. I don’t think I came off too strongly before everything happened. Or did I?
He would have stopped me, though, right? If he didn’t want it to get that far. I’ve been too much of a chicken shit to sit down and talk with him. I’ve been avoiding him, giving him space. Giving myself space to think about what I’ve done.
“You can put that over there,” I say to the movers.
In the ten days I've been away from August, minus the dinner, I’ve poured all my focus into Honey Cakes. And in two days, the bakery opens.
Over the course of a month, I’ve been searching for furniture I’ve been dreaming of for this place. Any time I had a moment to myself; I’d browse websites or antique shops. There were times when I got so excited that I had the urge to send August whatever it was that caught my eye.
But I didn’t.
Two men place a classic faux-leather, powdered-blue love seat against the wall. Five of them sit in a row next to each other. Wooden, honey maple tables are placed in front of each one, a matching chair with a tufted cushion to sit on.
The sea foam and white mosaic tiles spread across the floor like a wave covering the sand. Similar wooden tables and chairs are placed within the shop, big enough to accommodate a large crowd for a bakery.
This interesting idea came to mind: a strip of fake greenery running down the ceiling.
Pastel colored hydrangeas will disperse along the green foliage while three French vintage white-and-gold chandeliers hang in the middle of the ceiling.
Three in a row. White and gold opal pendants create a glow, scattered along the ceiling.
Straight ahead is the long, marbled counter where customers will order drinks and baked goods. A beautiful display case with gold trim is the showstopper. Once the goods are filled in there, it will really make the bakery shine.
We converted one of the windowsills into a high table so people can enjoy the sun and view while they sit and eat. The other windowsill will display freshly made baked goods: cakes, pies, and tarts. I made sure to buy cake stands that go with the decor.
"This looks so good. I'm going to cry." Ellie fans her face with her hands, as if she’s trying not to cry.
I pull her into a hug because I know this is her dream, and it's coming true.
"I can't believe we're done.” She squeezes me. “This is it."
My chin sits on top of her head while we look around. I feel like I've been transported to France.
"You think we could steal Addie to be our marketing girl?" Ellie says.
We laugh. “At this point, I’m sure Rowan would give you his entire staff. That’s how much he loves you.”
"I want to say I'm surprised you got everything done so quickly, but that'd be a lie." Ellie looks around and sits at a table.
"That's why you put me in charge of this,” I say. “It also helps that we got that loan."
"How are things going with your parents?" she asks.
"Last I heard, Dad was going to give her anything and everything she wanted. I think he's completely over this battle with her and just wants to walk away. At least, that's what Hailey told me."
"Oof, how's your mom taking that?"
"Honestly, he could give her everything from the divorce, and she still won't be happy. The woman is never happy."
I glance at all the frames that hang along the walls. Beatrice, the owner of Art Fusion, helped pick out pieces for our space. We requested to focus on small artists who are trying to make a name for themselves.
"How about you? How's your dad?"
Her hands run through her long brown hair. She pulls it into a low ponytail, twisting it around in her hand and over her shoulder. Ellie picks up a strand and messes with the ends of them.
"Dad is dad. You know how he is. Always has a smile on his face despite what he's going through.” She puts her hair down and looks at me with sad eyes.
"He's not even looking like my dad anymore.
His hair has thinned so much. His movements are slow.
He and Mom aren't even sleeping upstairs.
They're sleeping in the guest bedroom on the first floor because Dad gets too tired walking up the stairs. "
"I'm so sorry, El." I push down my emotions: the lump in my throat, the glossy eyes. "Is there anything I can do?"
"No, it's fine. Rowan is doing everything he can, and I know he feels helpless. August though..." She pauses and presses her lips together. "He seems off, and I’m worried that the shop is getting to him. He told you about the launch, right? Have you talked to him lately?”
“I haven’t seen him in a while.”
What I really want to say is, I’ve been avoiding your brother because we slept together, and I screwed up.
Ellie chews on her bottom lip. "I guess I'm going to have to let him go through whatever it is he's dealing with.
I can only do so much." She gets up and stretches her arms out to her sides and yawns.
"What a day. I can't believe we've been here for ten hours.
I'm gonna head out and go to the brewery to see Rowan. Have a rewarding drink. Wanna come?"
I look up at her. "No, that's okay. I'll close when I leave. I'm just going to go over a couple of things and go home."
"Alright, thanks. I'll see you later. Let me know if you need anything." Ellie gives me a hug and leaves.
After leaving the bakery, I decided to face the music and see August. My mind replays what Ellie said.
He seems off.
The path I was taking was clear, but now it's disappeared, and I don't know which way to go. It makes me think of that dog from Alice in Wonderland who's brushing away the path, causing Alice to get lost.
The lights to his place are on, so I know he's home. I knock on the door and shove my hands in my sweater pockets. I knock again. No answer.
"August, I know you're in there," I say with another knock.
Again, he ignores me.
"Dammit, August," I mutter. I walk to the right side of the long porch, leaning the upper half of my body over the white, wooden railing, and look in the window. A row of large bushes sits in a row below it.
And there he is, sitting on the couch, reading a book.
I stand back and exhale. Fine, if this is what I need to do to get his attention, then fine. I put one foot on the wooden rail and pick myself up, fully standing on it. My left hand holds onto the siding of the house, allowing myself to lean over farther, almost my entire body in view.
I knock on the window and finally, finally, he looks at me and mouths, what the fuck are you doing?
"What does it look like?" I shout.
His voice is faint when he says, "Get down. Now."
I roll my eyes. When I turn, my foot slips. I reach for the brick of the house, but I completely lose my balance. I'm a damn yoga instructor; balance is my forte.
I fall backward into the bushes. Luckily, it’s a soft blow. The sticks poke me, covering me in a million scratches. There are twigs tangled in my hair, poking my scalp.
The front door opens.
"Riley," he says in a rush. He peers over the railing, his hands bracing on it. "What were you thinking! You could have seriously injured yourself."
He extends a hand, and I grab it.
"You wouldn't answer your damn door.”
He doesn't say anything; all his focus is on pulling me out of these neatly trimmed bushes. My silly little mind should be paying attention to getting up slowly and carefully, but instead, I'm looking at the bulge of his biceps in his T-Shirt.
August pulls me up, and I practically go flying, shrieking and gripping the banister. I cling to August’s hand. The force he pulled me up in almost caused us to head-butt each other.
For a moment, everything around us is quiet. The grasshoppers disappear, and the cars stop driving. We take in this moment of us together again. I search his eyes, trying to read his thoughts and wondering what I did to make him leave.
Sticks and leaves are stuck on my clothes, but I ignore that when I watch him raise his hand, his thumb brushing my cheekbone. The small touch pulls a sharp gasp from my lips. I want to drown in his touch.
"August, I—"
"You have a cut on your cheek." He drops his hand. "I have things to clean that up." He turns around and walks back inside the house.
I touch the cut and notice a tiny smear of blood on the tips of my fingers.
The conversation we had at the restaurant seemed cordial. Normal. But right now, he’s coming off cold. I think about everything I’ve done wrong between the two of us. Pushing myself away from him years ago is a good start.
And I think I’ve pushed him away all over again.