Page 76 of The Voice We Find

“I know neither of us can predict the future. I know that better than most,” I admit. “But I think we owe it to whatever this is between us to give it a real chance, to giveusa real chance.” I bring her hand to my mouth, kiss the back of it. “Maybe it’s time we created some good memories for you in California ... if you’re willing to try?”

Her smile wobbles as she says, “I’m willing as long as you’re in them.”

I cup my hand to the back of her neck, bridge the gap across the table, and kiss her. Again and again and again.

One new memory at a time.

20

Sophie

The power came on at 5:41 a.m. this morning. I only know because of the multicolored string lights lining the perimeter of Gabby’s room. The assault on my eyes felt like I’d been tossed into a giant bag of glow-in-the-dark party sticks. By the time I stumbled from her bed and stepped around several piles of clothes, shoes, makeup, and books to find the correct outlet, I gave up hope of going back to sleep.

Instead, I set my sights on something equally gratifying: breakfast.

I take a few minutes for a mini refresh in the bathroom across the hall, deciding to remain in the strawberry sleep pants I borrowed from Gabby. It’s too early for yesterday’s denim. As my fingers make quick work of braiding my hair, I replay the late-night conversations I had with August on the sofa while sharing the last of the chocolate I’d found.

Tiptoeing past August’s door and into the Tates’ adorable farm-stylekitchen, I make myself at home, pulling out a cold carton of eggs from the fridge as well as an impressive selection of fresh veggies—spinach, onion, bell peppers, broccoli, asparagus. I’d never guess a bachelor and a teenager lived here.

I sigh with relief when I find a container of feta in the side drawer of the fridge. No decent egg scramble is complete without it.

The Tates’ pantry, like their cupboards and cabinets, is well stocked and organized. I can’t help but think it’s likely due to their mother’s touch. I wonder how many mornings she stood where I am now, cooking for the same family members I’ve come to care so much for over the past few months.

I’ve just begun sautéing the veggies when a throat clears to my right. I glance at the pass-through that separates the dining area from the kitchen to find August. Clad in a pair of navy jogging pants and a white tee, he props a shoulder against the wall and drags his sleepy gaze from my bare feet to my braided hair.

“Guess this answers my question,” August says in a gravelly voice I’ll encourage him to reproduce when he reads asBlakelater. Audiobook fans everywhere will thank me.

Despite his disarming charm, I nod. “Oh yes, the power came back on early this morning.”

“No,” he says, pushing off the wall and stalking toward me. “My question was more along the lines of you still being here when I woke up.”

I blush as he slips his arms around me from behind and plants a soft kiss at my temple. “Good morning, Sophie.”

My entire body short-circuits at his nearness, forcing my eyelids to shutter closed only to remember the gas stove I’m cooking on a second later.

I nudge him back with my elbow. “You’re a fire hazard.”

“Mmm.” He nuzzles his stubbly chin into the crook of my neck, and I squirm and giggle and make a halfhearted attempt at escape. “I can handle that.”

And it’s somewhere between this playfulness and the real conversations we shared last night that I realize I’ve never known this.Onstage crushes, sure. Short-term relationships with surface-level expectations and commitments? Also, yes. But this? Never. The magnitude of all that’s taken place over the last twenty-four hours registers high on the scale of unbelievable. And yet, the longer August holds me in his arms, the more comfortable and real the idea of us becomes.

“Whatever you have going on in that pan smells incredible.” His voice is a low rumble against my ear. “How can I help?”

It takes a moment for my brain to switch from conserve power mode to full functional use again.

“Coffee?” I suggest. “I’d planned on making some before you woke up, but that high-tech machine is not my speed.”

He chuckles. “It’s easier than it looks. Promise.”

“Says the guy with three advanced-level sound engineering textbooks on his desk.”

He side-eyes me as he opens a cupboard for the espresso beans. “Those are really fascinating reads.”

“O-k-a-y, sure,” I say, thinking of the fantasy reads I have on my nightstand at the pool house.

While August fiddles with his fancy machine, I toast two sourdough English muffins and finish up the scramble. I’ve just set our plates on the table, along with butter and raspberry jam, when I hear my phone alerting me to an incoming video call.

I quickly grab it off the counter, prepared to shoot Dana a text to say I’ll call her later this afternoon as I have a lot to fill her in on. Only it’s not Dana. It’s Gabby.

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