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“What?” I slide a look his way.
August’s brows arch. “You don’t have to apologize for the life you’ve lived. Those mistakes brought you here, didn’t they?”
Here, with him.
It hits me what he’s saying.
In his life, no matter how messy and confusing that may be.
When I look at the water again, my lips curl and don’t stop.
“Yeah. I guess they did.”
“There you are,” he says appreciatively. “Now you’re smiling.”
And blushing. And failing horribly at keeping my heart intact.
I laugh quietly. “You’re kind of sweet sometimes, Auggie.”
Desired effect: achieved.
Now he’s scowling, and I’ve got the upper hand.
“Never say that shit again,” he growls.
I grin. “Sweet. Sweet. Mr. Adorable Gruffykins.”
August throws me a flat, disgusted stare completely undercut by the breeze playfully tossing that one loose lock against his brow. “Are you having a heat stroke? Those are not English words.”
“Very funny, Gruffykins.”
“Stop,” he snarls.
“Why, Gruffyki—oop!”
That noise?
That was me jerking back as the sandwich on the blanket bonks me in the nose.
He threw it back at me!
I narrow my eyes, smirking, and dive for the basket.
I come right up with the pot of chocolate fondue.
“You wanna have a food fight?” I challenge, pulling the lid off. “’Cause I can throw down.”
August blanches. “Do you have any idea how much this suit cost?”
“Do I care?” I dip my finger in the fondue pot, coating it in sticky chocolate.
I stretch my dripping finger toward him. His eyes widen in sheer horror, and he tumbles back on his hands.
“Elle, what are you—Elle. No. No. Bad kitten. Bunny. Whatever you are, don’t you fucking dare! I have meetings today and no time to change!”
“Aw, that’s just begging me to do it,” I tease, darting toward him.
He throws his hands up. “Oh God—”
