No. 14 Own a claw-foot bath #2
He chuckles, his shoulders slumping a little in relief. “I wouldn’t advise diving. Towels are right there.” He points to the towel rail. “I’ll come and get you when dinner’s ready.”
“Wait,” I say, not understanding the sudden swell of unease at the thought of him leaving. “Would you sit with me?”
I hate the feeling of being an imposition and I’m just about to take it back when his brows rise, and he smiles. “Yeah?”
“Please.”
“Sure, sunshine.” He leans in, kissing my temple. “I’ll just go turn the stove off.”
While he’s gone, I strip and lower myself into the hot water.
The bubbles cover me, not that August hasn’t already seen me naked, but this isn’t meant to be a seduction.
I just like the idea of being with him. When he returns, he goes to the toilet and frowns down at Pedro who I placed there, resting on the closed seat.
He turns to arch a brow at me, and I grin. Without a word, he picks Pedro up and sits down on the toilet seat, my emotional support peen perched on his lap. He’s lost Heathcliff, who I’m guessing is snuggled up with Darcy somewhere downstairs.
“Velma couldn’t make it?” he asks, looking down at Pedro.
“She doesn’t have a face, I haven’t bonded with her as much,” I answer, like that’s a completely normal thing to say about a vulva cushion.
“Ah, of course.” He nods slowly. “You don’t want to read?” he asks, pointing to my kindle I’ve left with my clothes on the floor.
I lift a shoulder. “I get nervous bringing my kindle in the bath in case I drop it.”
“What are you reading?” he asks, and I get a pleasant bubble of excitement as I do whenever someone genuinely asks me about my books.
“It’s a YA fantasy about a pirate captain and a siren witch.” Water splashes over the side of the tub where I gesture with my hands.
“What’s a why ay?”
I giggle. “No ‘why ay’ like a Geordie, Y-A for young adult”
“You’re reading a kid’s book?” He looks uncertain but not necessarily judgemental.
“No, a young adult book. It would be suitable for an older teenager, but that doesn’t mean adults can’t enjoy it.”
“Okay.” He nods. “Are you enjoying it?”
“I am,” I say enthusiastically. “The world building is amazing, and I love the siren; she’s a proper complex female character and the friendship between her and Captain Marcus is really beautiful.”
“Are they the things you find important in books?” August leans back against the cistern, stretching his long legs out in front of him and crossing them at the ankles, arms folded at his middle with Pedro safely tucked behind them.
He looks like he’s settling in to listen to me babble about books until my heart’s content and I don’t know if he’s doing it out of genuine curiosity or to keep my mind on happy things while I recover from my anxiety attack hangover.
Either way, I’m grateful and his thoughtfulness has a string tugging in my chest, the other end attached to his words, his happily relaxed stares spiced with only a hint of heat, and his caring gestures.
“Yeah,” I say, having to look away from him for a minute because my emotional state isn’t prepared for the feelings rising too fast for me to try and catch and bury back down. “I guess. Strong female characters and great relationships are a great start for any story to me.”
He nods again, tilting his head and looking up to the ceiling like he’s deep in thought. “So, build me your perfect book.”
I bring my knees up until they’re out of the water, and rest my cheek on them, looking at August as he waits for me to answer, my skin damp and flushed from the hot water and the absolutely adoring way he stares back at me.
Oh my god, I think I’m falling for him. “Well, it would be a romance. I love all genres really, but romance has me all swoony.” He nods once, a small smile playing on his lips.
“I love a good enemies to lovers. There has to be some found family and emotional connection. I love books set in a far-off land or alternative realms and for one of the main characters to be hard and serious but goes soft for the one they fall for.”
“Found family?”
“Yeah, one of my favourite tropes.”
“Tropes?”
I laugh and explain what tropes are, giving several examples, August listens intently and seems to feed off my excitement, his smile and affection growing each time I open my mouth.
“So, what’s your least favourite trope?”
“Miscommunication,” I say easily.
“Explain,” he commands.
“When the whole conflict of a story could be resolved with one simple conversation. It’s annoying to get through five hundred pages of story that could have been done in fifteen.”
“Hmm,” he agrees. “That seems fair.”
“Tell me about your game,” I say, wanting to hear his deep voice now.
He huffs out an almost self-deprecating laugh. “I’m quite shit at it and I’m not sure I totally understand it.”
“Oh.” I laugh.
“But Con’s really into them and I enjoy playing with him, even if he is a little shit about it.”
I bite down on my smile. “You two are cute.”
He scoffs. “I don’t know about that. He needs a kick up the arse most of the time, but he’s a good kid. He’s my kid.” August shrugs a shoulder, almost like he’s brushing off the obvious sentiment.
I skim the surface of the water with my palm, most of the bubbles have fizzled away now and the bath is cooling but I don’t want to leave this happy little place we’ve found ourselves. “Can I ask about his dad?”
“You can ask.” August laughs. “Joanie doesn’t know his name or where he’s from.”
“Oh.” I laugh with him.
“Yeah, she was kind of a wild one when she was a kid, guess she still is, just toned down a little. She had this big idea of moving to London as soon as she hit eighteen, wanted to leave village life behind and become a highly successful interior designer. But she came back less than a year later with her tail between her legs and a baby in her belly.” I nod hoping he might continue.
“I was so fucking happy to have her back.”
I smile at him as his eyes stay on his own feet, lost in a memory that clearly warms him from the colour rising in his cheeks.