Page 62 of Feel It in the Air

“You look how I feel,” he tells me.

“I don’t quite know how to take that.”

Because he looks like he feels like…well, shit. And I have no idea if he’s really telling me I look like…well, shit. Presumably not.

At least, I hope he isn’t.

Gus shakes his head, the same embarrassed smile from when he admitted to smudging my number reappearing. Pocketing his phone, he steps into me, placing his hands on my hips and pulling me into him.

Instantly, all is right with the world.

“It sounded better in my head, promise.” The heat from his touch settles around me, easing some of the anxiousness coursing through me. The chaste press of his lips to my forehead helps too—a salve that only he can provide. “But man, are you a sight for sore eyes. One I had no idea how badly I needed. You being here is making everything better.”

I exhale, letting out every last bit of air in my lungs, relaxing into Gus. I wind my arms around his waist, holding him close, letting him continue to be what I need too.

“Same.”

Gus pulls back, carefully tucking a piece of hair behind my ear, his gaze meeting mine. He looks at me for a moment, as if he’s searching for some answer, trying to download from my brain why I’m also in a funk.

I wait for him to ask. To question what it is. Instead, he kisses me.

It’s slow, easy, practiced. As if we do this every day. Come home to one another and fall into each other’s arms to let the day melt away. Something that is easy to do while he’s holding me like this. Because nothing is wrong with the world if Gus Hayes is kissing me. All hell could break loose, and I’m pretty sure I would not notice if his lips were pressed to mine.

“None of that matters now though,” he whispers.

I scoff. “Pretty sure it all still matters.”

“Nope. All that matters is that you’re here. Just you, me, and our spicy night in.” He pokes my tummy, as if I were the Pillsbury Doughboy, and I can’t help but give him the exact reaction he’s looking for, poking him right back as I giggle. “So what are we making?”

“I might have gone a bit overboard…” I grit my teeth, more than a little embarrassed to own up to this portion of my afternoon. Gus sees it in my face but lets me continue, silently wrapping an arm around me and leading me into the kitchen. “It was a day, and I left a little early to go to the grocery store—don’t tell my boss.”

Despite the small foyer, the backside of the cottage is much roomier. The decent-sized kitchen opens up to an eating area, with a long farm-style table that seats twelve and a living room on the opposite end. Still very much decorated as a bachelor pad with a large leather sectional, massive TV, and minimal décor, there is something homey about it.

Gus holds his hands up, same as Jace did earlier on the porch. Much like him and Milo, there’s enough difference in their features that at times you don’t see it, but then they do something, and the resemblance and connection is undeniable.

“And I couldn’t decide between étouffée, catfish courtbouillion, maque choux, and dirty rice, so I got it all. I thought about boudin, but to do that properly, we really need more time. Either way, we have enough food to feed an army. Part of me thinks I should have told your brothers to stay for dinner.”

Pulling the items from the bags, I place everything out on the small island in the middle of the kitchen. It’s a tight space in spots due to the layout, but one that has been updated into something practical and useful, with a double oven built into the wall, a stovetop on the island, and plenty of storage and prep space.

“We could always call them and have them come back,” Gus quips, helping me unload.

“Abso-fucking-lutely not. I was not kidding when I told Jace that I don’t have any tolerance for little brothers tonight.”

Gus reels back at my answer, amusement in his eyes. “Please tell me you told him that.”

I nod. “He was a little too chipper when I got here. And after what happened at the grocery store, I…” I pause, trying not to let myself get worked up again. I’m not even sure what the right emotion is that is flowing through me right now, but it has my heart rate moving at a breakneck pace.

“What happened at Wright’s?”

I wave him off, not wanting to make a thing of it. Looking around, I think for a moment, wondering if I were a cutting board, where would I be? I open a couple of drawers, not finding what I’m looking for, so I turn back to the island and find Gus holding one.

“What happened at the store?” he repeats.

“I apologized to Jace. I didn’t mean to snap at him. I don’t want your brothers to think that I’m some⁠—”

“Margeaux.” Gus’s voice is deep and rough. The hand that grabs ahold of my wrist is firm, stopping my movements, yet still gentle, letting me know he’s not going to hurt me. Closing the gap between us, he lets go of my wrist, cupping my face in his hands. “I’m not worried about Jace. He deserved it, I’m sure. And he has Willa as a sister, so it’s nothing he’s not used to. I do, however, very much give a damn about whatever happened at Wright’s.”

Fine, he wants to go down this road, we will.