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Uncomfortable with the subject, August sipped his hot chocolate and bobbed his head without comment. He couldn’t argue withher observation, and like a good wine, Micah had only gotten better with age.
He’d recognized Micah the minute the guy had walked into the deli. He had a few more lines around his eyes than August remembered, and his face looked leaner, more angular, but those changes only made him more handsome.
Then Micah had hugged him, pressing every rigid muscle against August’s body and chipping away at his self-restraint. Just thinking about the hard physique lurking under Micah’s tight sweater made his heart pound and his dick ache. Not necessarily something to be proud of, but he couldn’t control his body’s reactions, either.
Micah wore his dark brown hair shorter now, but August thought it looked good on him. His eyes, though, hadn’t changed. They were still the same piercing blue, still too knowing, still able to look right into August’s soul and ferret out secrets he didn’t want discovered.
Secrets, like the fact August was still in love with Micah. He told himself not to be so stupid. Micah had clearly moved on, and he needed to do the same. They hadn’t talked about Ian much, but Micah clearly had feelings for the guy if they’d moved in together.
Some part of August argued he’d been there first. Micah had always been his, his true mate, and no one would come between them. The less selfish part of him, however, just wanted Micah tobe happy. If Ian could give him that, as much as it hurt, August wouldn’t stand in their way.
From what he knew of Ian so far, though, that was a big fuckingif.
“Here we are,” Miss Lula announced as she pushed open the swinging kitchen doors. “One caramel apple pie.” She placed the pink striped box on the counter and plucked at the twine bow. “I’ve put heating instructions inside the box. Be sure you follow them to the letter, and, honey, do keep Micah away from the oven, all right?”
August laughed in spite of himself. Micah had always been a terrible cook, but he’d forgotten how many people knew it. Alpha or not, the man had a reputation in the kitchen he wouldn’t soon live down.
“I’ll take care of it.” Standing, he reached into his back pocket for his wallet, but Miss Lula stopped him with a hand on his forearm.
“We’ll call this one a birthday gift.” Then she patted his cheek and shooed him toward the exit. “You come back and see me, August Tucker.” Folding her arms over her amble bosom, she nodded. “Go on now, and you tell Micah he better come see me, too.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Sometimes, he forgot how much he missed being home. “I’ll make sure he knows, Miss Lula.” Then he waved at Macy and exited the diner.
It only took ten minutes for him to arrive at Micah’s single-story, ranch-style house. The wooden fence that surrounded the property had fallen in several places, and the white paint had chipped and faded over the years. The east pasture needed to be brush hogged, and the roof on the barn needed patching.
The once beautiful farm had deteriorated into something unrecognizable. “Oh, Micah…”
Parking behind Micah’s pickup, August grabbed the pie from the passenger seat and then navigated the cracked and crumbling walkway to the wraparound porch. The warped planks groaned beneath his weight, and even the welcome mat had faded until it now simply read, “COME.”
Shaking his head, August rang the doorbell, jerking his hand back when it sent a shock through his finger and up his arm. “Goddamn it,” he cursed. “Micah!” He pounded on the door with his fist. “Let me in before your house kills me.”
Movement on the other side of the door cooled some of his ire, and his nerves returned to sucker punch him in the gut.Dear Ancestors, please don’t let me vomit on his shoes. Your friend, August.
The door swung open, revealing the most mouthwatering display of the male physique, and August’s breath caught in his throat. Dressed in nothing more than a pair of low-slung jeans, Micah rubbed a towel over his damp hair as he motioned August inside.
“Sorry about that. I keep meaning to fix that damn doorbell, but something else always comes up.” He led August to the kitchen where he draped the damp, burgundy towel over the back of one of the chairs. “Are you okay? Let me see.”
Realizing Micah intended to take his hand, August hurried to retreat, smiling and shaking his head as he went. “I’m fine. Really, no big deal.” He held the pie up. “I brought your favorite.”
Before Micah could respond, a mountain of a man entered the kitchen. Water dripped from the ends of his long blond hair, and August blushed when he realized what he must have interrupted.
“Oh, man, is that from Miss Lula? I fuckin’ love her pies.” He winked at August as he stepped forward to take the box from his hands. “Hey, August, long time and all that.”
“Yeah, and all that,” August muttered. “How are you, Ian?”
“Can’t complain, ya know? I’ve got food in my belly, a roof over my head, and a pack to watch my ass in case I get in trouble. What more do I need?”
August found it strange Ian didn’t include Micah in the things he had to be thankful for, but he shrugged it off. Maybe the beta didn’t want to call attention to their relationship because of Micah and August’s past. That would make sense.
“You need to go start those damn steaks.” Micah popped Ian in the back of the head and pushed the pie across the island counter, out of his reach.
“Yeah, fine.” Though he didn’t look happy about it, Ian slunk out of the kitchen through the patio door.
“Sorry about that. Food should have been ready when you got here, but Ian fell asleep while watching one of his stupid reality shows.”
Micah’s voice hypnotized him, so rich and smooth, like aged whiskey that warmed him down to his toes. “It’s really not a problem. I don’t mind waiting.” He couldn’t continue to stand there and eye-fuck Micah from across the room, though. “How can I help? Just tell me what to do.”
A low rumble vibrated through Micah’s chest, the sound possessive, masculine, and full of heat. “Come here, Ant. Let me see your hand.”
