“Now kiss me,” he ordered.
I kissed him.
Hard.
I knew he felt it when we broke away because his arms were tight around me and he was watching me intently again.
He proved he got it when he murmured, “It’s just a warehouse, Pepper.”
“No one has stood beside me. No one has protected me. And as such, it’s safe to say, no one has ever believed in me, Auggie. So I looked at some pictures. And you said what you said. But the bottom line is, you believe in me. It might not happen, but I know one thing for sure. It’ll never be just a warehouse to me, honey.”
That was when Auggie kissed me.
Hard.
But we had plans for him to come over Wednesday night to have dinner, go to the school and watch Thanksgiving play and make pumpkin and pecan pie with me and Juno.
So I had less than two days to wait until I would see him again.
* * *
We’d made the pies.
And Aug didn’t hide how touched he was that Juno and I had not only gone out to buy the ingredients for our T-Day dinner, we’d also bought another stool so we could eat it all together at the island.
We’d attended the play, and Juno had seemed relieved (and I just was), that Corbin didn’t show.
On the other hand, this was sad. Because she had a cute part playing an armchair quarterback in a short play about where food came from, gratitude and what’s important during a family holiday.
The sets, it must be said, were stellar.
And since Aug had Thursday off too, and since Corbin was an ass, Aug came early on Thanksgiving so he was the one who answered the door when Corbin came to get Juno at nine for her time with him that day.
This did not go over well.
I saw it myself.
Auggie might want to be my shield, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t going to show up for the fight.
I stood at the end of the hall with my shoulder against the wall, watching them silently stand off.
Juno broke this up, but even in the presence of his daughter, Corbin did not douse the heat ray he sent with his eyes down the hall in an attempt to incinerate me.
Our daughter tugged him out of the house.
Aug and me both hung out in the office to watch them drive off.
And Auggie waited around seven-point-two-five seconds after we lost sight of them to carry me upstairs so we could engage in activities to peremptorily burn off some of dinner.
One could just say, I was pretty certain I earned an extra piece of pie.
But Aug earned two.
* * *
After that, we got to work on some cooking.
Once dinner was sorted (ish), Auggie showed me the warehouse (I was trying not to get excited, but just to say, it might not be perfect, but I could so work it).
And then we went to pick up Juno.
Which led to now.
Forty-five minutes past pickup time.
We had a bird in the oven it had been safe to leave in the oven but wouldn’t be safe to leave there for too long.
Corbin and his family were scheduled to eat at 1:00.
We’d planned for Juno’s second Thanksgiving to commence at 6:00, and to have time for the turkey to rest, and for us to use the oven for other things, the turkey needed to be out a bit before. Not to mention, I liked leftovers, Juno did too, and Auggie had never really had them so I wanted to introduce him to them.
In other words, we had a huge-ass bird.
I had my guy.
I should have my girl.
I might have a warehouse to build a dream (as supplied by my guy).
All was on point for dinner at the house.
Dinner that was, not unimportantly, maybe the first of many important holidays we’d share all together.
But it just plain was (I was determined, damn it) going to be one of the only really good ones Auggie had ever had.
Auggie’s hush puppies were set to be our starter and they were singing to me like a siren song.
I was at one with the universe and the universe was at one with me.
I did not need my ex messing with my mojo.
But we were supposed to pick Juno up from his house, even if Thanksgiving was at his parents’ house.
At 3:00.
And I’d knocked on the door.
No one answered.
I’d texted.
No reply.
At the fifteen-minute late mark, Auggie had done what he called “recon” (but what looked to me like he just walked around the house, looking into windows). When he rejoined me in his Telluride, he said Corbin’s car wasn’t there and no one was home.
I was on text six, of
Where are you?
With no reply.
And this was when Corbin’s car pulled up his drive.
He was forty-five minutes late without giving me a heads-up he’d be even ten minutes late.