When August Ends
“You should figure out how to change that. He’s hot!”
“I know. He’s really amazing looking, isn’t he? But you know, Marlene, it’s not just that. There’s so much to him. He’s a talented photographer, like really creative. And he’s handy as all hell. He’s been painting the boathouse to help us. No one asked him to. He’s doing it because he knows we need the help. Not to mention, he also tried to save my life.”
“Tried to save your life?”
“Long story. But things have definitely been more exciting since he moved in. The admiration is one-sided, though.”
“Well, heck, anything to spice up your life. I think you need a change of pace with all the shit you have to go through with your mother. You deserve a little excitement.”
If only I could contain this giddiness. I had a feeling it was going to be a very long summer in that regard. I already felt myself spiraling out of control.
CHAPTER FOUR
* * *
NOAH
I don’t know why I agreed to dinner at Heather’s. Something told me I was going to regret it.
I guess I was curious as to what the deal was with her mother. I hadn’t seen the woman once since moving in. She never came out of the damn house. It was fucked-up.
Yeah. That’s the reason you agreed to dinner.
Evidently, I was pretty good at bullshitting myself if I believed meeting Heather’s mother was the reason I’d said yes.
Heather had batted her lashes at me at the restaurant, and I forgot my age for a minute when I stupidly agreed. It was hard to not feel like a goddamn horny college student around her. And that was dangerous. She was dangerous—particularly because she made no secret of her attraction to me.
From the moment I saw her standing in my bedroom, I’d noticed the way she gawked at me. She had no business looking at me like that, and I didn’t like it one bit.
Or maybe I didn’t like that I liked it.
As I strolled through the market, I stopped abruptly and looked down at what I was holding in my hand.
You dumbass.
I’d selected a bottle of red wine to take to dinner tonight, completely forgetting that my gracious hostess was under the drinking age.
I walked back over and returned the bottle to the shelf.
What the hell else could I bring?
The smell of fresh bread lured me to the bakery. With little time left, I grabbed a loaf of warm garlic bread before heading to the cash register.
That would have to do. Hopefully she wasn’t gluten-free or some shit.
***
I took my time walking over to the main house. Still unsure whether I’d made the right decision in agreeing to this dinner, I told myself I could always change my mind and cancel. Yet despite having the freedom to do that, I found myself in front of her door, knocking with that gigantic loaf of bread in my other hand.
Someone I didn’t expect opened the door. It wasn’t Heather or her mother, but rather a guy who looked around Heather’s age.
“Who are you?” I asked, looking him up and down.
“Eric. Who are you?”
Before I had a chance to answer, Heather’s dog came running toward me and rubbed his gigantic head all over my legs. He had the biggest freaking head I’d ever seen on a dog.
The guy repeated his question. “So, who are you?”
I finally gave in and scratched the dog’s head. “I’m renting the boathouse. Where’s Heather?”
“What do you need from Heather?” he asked, seeming defensive.
Who the hell is this guy?
I ignored his question. “Where is she?”
“Her mom isn’t feeling well. She’s in the bedroom with her.”
I should probably just get the fuck out of here.
“Tell her I stopped b—”
“Wait!” Heather suddenly appeared. “Noah, don’t go.”
The dog barked as if to echo her request.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
Heather seemed flustered. “My mother doesn’t want to come out of her room. This is typical of her.” She looked over at the guy. “I see you’ve met Eric. He was just leaving.”
He stared at her for a few seconds. “Think about what I said, okay?”
“Yeah, sure.” She answered dismissively, without even looking at him.
“I mean it, Heather,” he insisted.
“Goodbye, Eric.”
After he slammed the door, there was a bit of awkward silence. The dog walked over to the corner and planted himself on the floor now that the drama was over.
Looking down at my shoes, I noticed they were pretty dirty. It had rained earlier, and I’d stepped in some mud. I couldn’t walk through the house like that.
“You mind if I kick these off?” I asked. “They’re all muddy. I don’t want to dirty your floor.”
“Go for it.” Heather said. She watched me remove my shoes. “Your feet are huge.”
“Thanks for the notification.”
“In case you didn’t know.” She laughed.
I changed the subject. “So, who was that guy?” I asked, taking a few steps into the living room, still overly conscious of my damn feet.
“It’s a long story.”
“Well, we don’t have anything else to talk about at the moment.”
She let out a deep breath. “He’s my ex. I wasn’t expecting him to show up tonight. I didn’t even know he was in town for the summer.”
“He doesn’t live here?”
“No. He moved to Boston. We broke up shortly after he left for Boston University a couple of years ago. We were supposed to go to BU together, actually. And then things got really bad with my mother, so I never went. He went without me. We thought we could make it work long-distance, but he decided he didn’t want to be tied down.”
Shit.
“You were supposed to go away to school?”
“Yeah. I was enrolled in their nursing program.”
I shook my head. This girl had given up the most important time in her life to be a full-time caretaker at twenty years old. I thought about where I’d been at her age: away at college with all of the freedom in the world. I’d taken it all for granted.
“I’m sorry to hear that—that you couldn’t go.”
“It’s okay. I’ve gotten used to the idea. Anyway, I really wasn’t prepared for him to show up here tonight.”
“Listen, I know you’re too polite to suggest this, but we can do this another time if your mom isn’t feeling well. I can jus—”
“No! I invited you over. This is my night off. I don’t want to waste it. Besides…” She looked down at my hands. “You brought…bread.”
I’d practically forgotten. “Yeah. Ugh…I didn’t have much time to decide what to bring. I had a bottle of wine but then remembered you can’t drink.”
“Well, legally I can’t, but I can certainly drink if I—”
“No, you can’t. Not with me giving you the alcohol.”
She looked up at the ceiling. “Okay, then.” Waving her hand, she said, “Please, come into my kitchen, grumpy.” She took the bread. “Can I get you something to drink?”
I stuck my thumbs in the loops of my jeans, feeling uneasy about this so-called dinner for two. “Sure. Anything is fine.”
“Seltzer okay?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
She popped open a can of cranberry-lime sparkling water from the fridge and handed it to me.
She stood across from me and watched me take my first sip. “Thank you for the bread.” Her face looked flushed. “God, you make me nervous, Noah,” she added. “And the fact that this night has turned into a clusterfuck is really not helping. On top of that, you won’t even let me have a drink to calm down.”
No one could ever accuse this girl of not saying what was on her mind. She was honest to a fault.
“I didn’t say you couldn’t have a drink. I said I wasn’t going to be the one to give it to you.”
“Okay.” She smiled. “I was half-joking anyway. But I could use one right about now.”
Ironic that she claimed I made her nervous, because she made me downright uncomfortable. She stood across from me in a tight black shirt with her tits squeezed together. Her long, blond hair, which she typically wore up, was loose and cascading down her back, and her legs were on full display in a tiny denim skirt. I most definitely wasn’t supposed to be noticing those things—thus, the discomfort.
“Why do I make you nervous?” I asked. “You shouldn’t let anyone have power over you like that. There’s no reason I should be making you nervous. I’m just standing here.”
“It’s not what you’re doing. It’s who you are. From the moment we met, you’ve intimidated me. This dinner was supposed to be an attempt to get over that, but so far no luck.”
I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t like that I made her nervous, but maybe it was better this way. The alternative—me being overly nice to her and leading her on—wouldn’t be good, either.
“You know….” I said. “You shouldn’t let people see you sweat. It doesn’t matter what I think about you. My opinion is meaningless in the scope of your life.”