Chapter 17 #2
Pushing my cart, we both watch the other.
As I’m reaching for the fettuccine noodles, I hear her shoes clacking, coming closer to me. Straightening up, I stare her dead in the eyes. “Can I help you?” I ask her, coming out sickly sweet.
I watch her top lip protrude as her tongue swipes over her teeth, before she evilly grins at me. “I’m not sure why you have construction going on at the cottage; once it sells, it’s going to get bulldozed down, anyway.” Her voice is condescending.
I rear back from her words, confused, but immediately push my cart toward her, making her jump.
Her laugh grates on my nerves. “Driftwood needs a spa, and August Cove is the perfect place.” The look on her face is pure malice.
Squinting my eyes at her, I let out a laugh.
“Well, I guess you all are going to be so upset,” I jut my bottom lip out, “because I’m not selling.
” Winking, I maneuver around her still figure, wanting to finish my shopping and get back to the cottage.
“I’m back for good,” I throw over my shoulder, hoping it stings.
Picking out my chicken breast, the emails Mrs. Williams has been sending make more sense, especially since the last one I got a few days ago. Her undertone was condescending, and now I know why. She’s been scheming in the background, and that just pisses me off.
Checking out, I hurry to my car, needing to send an email right now; it can’t wait. Making sure I send it to Bohdi, as well.
Mrs. Williams.
As of tonight, I’m no longer needing your assistance with the selling of my cottage, as it is no longer for sale. I apologize that you’ll have to find another piece of land for your future business, but August Cove won’t be it.
August Graft
Short and to the point. I’m mad that they were going to try to get one over on me. Showing how vile they all are.
On the drive back home, I start seething, thinking about how Bohdi was in on it the whole time. How could he willingly sit idle while he knew what the plans were for August Cove? And that right there shows me how much he isn’t the Bohdi I used to know.
Slamming my car door, I stomp my way to the front porch.
“August.”
A scream is ripped from me, turning and spotting Bohdi sitting in the rocking chair, covered by the darkness. “What the hell?” I breathe out, trying to combat the fear flowing through me, my hands squeezing the paper bags of groceries to my chest.
Walking toward me, “I’m sorry.” His words hold more meaning than what he’s apologizing for.
Bohdi stops in front of me, his body too close to mine, so that it buzzes with his proximity. Quit it. I mentally reprimand myself.
Needing to get away from him, I hurriedly unlock the door. “What for, Bohdi? For the way you treated me today, or for the fact that you knew what they had planned for August Cove.” And that one hurts more than anything. But how can I expect him to care about me or what this place holds?
Opening the door, I walk in, leaving it open and allowing him to follow inside.
Sitting my bags down on the counter, I busy myself emptying them.
I can feel him in my space, even though I don’t look to see him. His presence is loud; my body and soul know his too well, and they automatically recognize him.
Finally turning around, my eyes land on him. He hasn’t moved an inch from outside the front door. Just stands there looking in, watching me.
We both stand still, just watching each other. The light from inside highlights half of his body, the darkness obscuring the other half. But giving me just enough to see his sandy blond hair and chiseled jawline, which now has a slight dusting of facial hair, just a few days’ worth.
How many times has he stood at that entrance, waiting for me? So many.
Wake up, August. He’s nothing like he used to be; I remind myself.
Quickly turning back toward the kitchen.
“Either come in or shut my door.” My eyes close on their own.
Before I busy myself with the ingredients for dinner.
Hearing the door shut behind me, I take a deep breath, but immediately it becomes harder to breathe when the hair on my arm rises, my body telling me he didn’t leave.
I pan over my shoulder, and there he stands, the door shut behind him. Uncertainty carves his face, and his body stands rigid.
The floorboards creak with his weight, announcing him closing the gap between where we each stand.
My hands shake as I pull the cake ingredients out, deciding to mix the batter first before starting the chicken, knowing the chicken will take me longer to prep and cook.
His deep voice assaults my ears. “Great grandma’s chocolate cake.” It’s a statement, not a question.
Weakly smiling into the mixing bowl, “I needed something after today.”
Greasing the bundt pan, I pour the chocolate batter. My nerve endings feel like they're on fire with him watching me. I don’t have to turn around to know he is.
Placing the pan in the oven, I work on the chicken before throwing it into the hot skillet, then boiling the water.
Not able to take the quietness, I move to make myself a glass of wine. Pouring myself a glass, I finally brave it and look at him. “Do you want one?” I hold up the bottle of wine.
“Just a glass,” he replies, now moving into the kitchen.
I keep my distance, sliding his glass to the end of the counter before going back to the stove.
“If she knew you came here, there would be hell,” I tell him as I flip the chicken.
He lets out a laugh, nothing funny about it. “There is always hell, August.”
The way he says my name makes me close my eyes; it rolls off his tongue so right. Picking up my glass, I down half of it.
“What are you doing here, Bohdi?” I finally turn around to look at him. He’s using the side of the counter to prop himself up, wineglass in hand. Shaking my head, “Why?” because I really want to know. Is this part of their game plan? Because I don’t trust him or them.
“I got your email, and I needed you to know I knew nothing about them wanting to buy your land. I just found out about it myself. I didn’t know when we started the process of selling what they really wanted, August. And that I promise you.
” His hand goes to his forehead, scratching it.
I look at him, trying to see any underlying lie.
“It doesn't matter now because no one is getting it. I don’t care if I leave this place; I’m not selling it.
” I raise my eyebrows before taking another sip of my wine.
The strawberry flavor explodes in my mouth before I turn back around, placing the noodles in the now-boiling water.
“I’d let the cottage fall into the sea before I let them take it and turn it into something for them to profit from. ”
“I just needed you to know that I didn’t know.” His voice was pleading, but honestly, why does he care what I think?
“Thanks for that, Bohdi.” I snarl in reply.
I don’t turn around as I hear his footsteps getting farther away, knowing he’s leaving. Nor does he speak a word. Just the door closing behind him to end our conversation.
Once I hear it click. My body relaxes, my shoulders come down, and that’s when the tears follow.
How is this good for me?” I ask no one in particular, looking up at the ceiling.
Because if me coming back here was a part of healing, then what the hell is this?
Bohdi is a part of my brokenness, a piece that won’t heal.
And him being around isn’t a good idea…for me or him.
I work on autopilot, not thinking as I finish up dinner and let my cake cool before I drizzle it with icing.
Plating myself a big bowl of chicken Alfredo and topping my wineglass off, I make my way to the back deck to finally eat.
Silently, I eat, my mind racing. I can’t even taste the food because I’m so focused on everything else going through my mind.
Deciding tomorrow, I’m going to look around town and see what else is available to rent or buy.
I will not give up on the bakery dream that easily.
That is something my dad wanted me to do, and I want to do.
I’m not getting younger; in a few months I’ll be thirty-one, not old, but it’s time I put roots down.
I’m ready to be planted somewhere…for good.