And I get it.
It’s fun when friends date their boyfriend’s friends.
And Dillon is cute—but he’s no August.
“You have any brothers or sisters?” Dillon asks. I cringe on the inside.
“Only child.” I flip open my menu. “You?”
“Five sisters,” he answers with a wide grin.
“Sorry, man. Sounds awful.” Bryan elbows him, teasing. “And I thought having one sister was bad enough.”
“You’re from Meredith Hills, right?” Dillon asks.
It’s almost as if he googled me and stalked my social media on the way here …
“I am. Ever heard of it?” I flip the menu over and flick my attention to him, trying to appear interested out of sheer politeness.
This is brutal.
“My grandparents used to live in Springdale,” he says, referring to the little antique town August and I spent a single, beautiful day together once. “I’m familiar with the area.”
Our server interrupts this painful conversation with immaculate timing, and I use the break in conversation to excuse myself to the ladies’ room.
“I’ll go with you,” Stacia says. She trots after me, and once we’re behind a closed door she tugs my arm. “So? What do you think so far?”
I take the last stall on the left. “I feel like he’s interviewing me for a position as his girlfriend.”
“I think he likes you,” she says, ignoring me. “I can tell. The way he looks at you … he hasn’t taken his eyes off you once. Did you notice, he ordered the same thing as you?”
“I don’t think that means anything … everyone likes California rolls …” I finish up and meet her by the sink. “
“But do you like him so far? Like, do you think there’s potential?” Her mascara-coated lashes flutter with hope. “You guys would look so cute together.”
I lather my hands and meet her gaze in the reflection. “He’s nice.”
But he’s a little too … uncomplicated. August had depth and layers. He was a thousand-piece jig saw of a man. Dillon is dead behind the eyes—nice to look at but there’s nothing else there.
“You don’t seem excited about him …” Stacia bites her lower lip and tucks her dark hair behind her ears. “I’m sorry.”
“No, no.” I give her a hug. “It’s fine. You meant well. He’s just … not for me.”
“Are you still hung up on that one guy?” she asks.
I’ve told her and the girls about August briefly, giving them an extremely abbreviated version of events. We had a fling. We ended it before leaving for college. Haven’t spoken since. But she doesn’t know the half of what went down. It never seemed like a relevant topic of conversation, and the idea of revisiting the past events of the summer felt akin to poking a raw nerve with a scalpel.
“What was his name again?” Her brows meet. “Atticus? Atlas?”
“August,” I say his name out loud for the first time in months … and it hurts. It physically throbs—as if someone took a dull knife to my soul and serrated it straight down the center. Changing the subject before it leads me down an emotional path, I say, “We should get back out there …”
The last thing I want is for Dillon to think I’m in here talking about him, analyzing everything, getting my hopes up. Wouldn’t want to give him the wrong impression.
He’s a perfectly nice guy—so far.
But he’s no August.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
August
* * *
For the first time in years, I come home for Thanksgiving break. But I’m not here to partake in family traditions, seeing as we have none. And Dad and Cassandra are off somewhere tropical—Tahiti or Fiji or something.
The house is dark and empty, the way it was the day I left.
I toss my duffel on the bed, in the same place Sheridan surrendered herself to me months ago. Then I grab my keys and head back to my car. Fifteen minutes later, I’m on Sheridan’s street.
When in Rome …
Her little blue Nissan is glaringly absent from the street or the driveway.
From there, I head for the cell store, on the off chance she’s home for the week and decided to pick up a shift. Parking out front, I kill my engine and head inside because regardless, I need a spare charger as I left mine back at Bexler.
“Oh, hey, stranger.” Adriana approaches me the instant I set foot in the doorway. I’m sure she saw me coming. “It’s been a while.”
I scan the store in search of the charger section. “Need a charger.”
“Sure thing.” She points me toward the far wall. “I’ll meet you at the checkout when you’re ready.”
A minute later, I pull my wallet from my pocket at the register.
“It’s quiet here today,” I say as she rings me up.
“Yeah. Things are kind of dead until Black Friday. Everyone waits until the big sale. Good thing you came in today and not after Thanksgiving. We’ll have a line out the door.” She raps her long nails on the counter. “Twenty-five fifty-six is your total.”