Sommer Marsden - Once Bitten Twice Shy

He smiled at her, his warm brown eyes studying her intently. Before she realised she was going to do it she blurted, ‘And yes!’

‘Yes?’ He cocked his head. It was a boyish affectation and only made whatever mad emotion was beating in her chest that much stronger.

‘I’d love to go see your friend’s work. I keep to myself mostly but –’ She shrugged.

‘I can tell,’ he said. ‘Some might say a bit on the hermitish side. But I’ve only known you two days.’

Two days. That was all. Felt like longer, she realised.

‘Well, you’re pretty accurate. I’m self-sufficient and I’m OK with that.’

He smacked the paper against his palm and smiled once more. ‘Well, that’s great. We’ll go. I’ll get the details from her tomorrow and tell you when I bring the tree by.’

‘As friends,’ she said softly. ‘Right? As friends?’

His smile never wavered. ‘Sure thing, August. I’ll take what I can get. As friends it is.’ He winked at her before heading out of the door.

She dialled Carley’s number with shaking fingers. When her best friend answered, August promptly burst into tears. Carley managed to extract just enough information to understand the situation.

She sighed heavily into the phone and said, ‘Oh, August. Honey, when are you ever going to stop doing penance for something that wasn’t your sin?’

The talk with Carley had helped. She’d offered to pop in with bags of Chinese food and a box of wine, but August had begged off, claiming she had a lot of painting to do – which was true. But it really wasn’t the reason. She wandered into her walk-in closet and pulled down the box . That was how it always was in her mind. In italics, in neon, a box of brightly blazing reminders of what her life could have been once upon a time.

What it could have been, given time.

She popped the top off, sat on the bed and pulled out old love letters from high school, a promise ring, sticky notes with funny faces and ‘I Love You’s inscribed on them. She removed a packet of pictures from that fateful vacation to the Virgin Islands and almost couldn’t bring herself to open it. But she finally did. There he was, in all his eighteen-year-old glory, ready to take on the world. Aaron. Her Aaron. The pictures she’d taken on their pre-honeymoon were slick between her fingers as she shuffled through. Her in a bright turquoise bikini in front of equally stunning water. Him on his belly in the sand, arms splayed like a starfish, laughing at the camera. Them together, taken by another tourist, outside a charming restaurant. The final one was him on the wave runner.

Her throat closed with emotion, knowing that photo had been snapped mere minutes before he’d climbed onto that death trap and burst out of her life in a tower of flames and a deafening sound.

A sob ripped out of her and she put her head down. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. She still told him she was sorry, even twelve years after the fact. Not as often as she once had – in the beginning she’d muttered it into thin air at least ten times a day. The thing was, no matter what Carley said, no matter what anyone said, she never ever thought she’d stop saying she was sorry.

Never thought she’d stop being sorry.

She curled up on the bed and, when she felt sleep creeping up on her, she thought maybe she should get up and put on pyjamas or at least toss a blanket over herself, but neither of those happened. August’s last thought was that she’d never eaten dinner and it was way too early to go to bed. It didn’t seem to matter, though, and she willingly surrendered to the Sandman.

This time the dreams were darker. Not of Aaron – loving, laughing, kind Aaron. This time the dreams were of Kendall. His bite, his ire, his venom. She woke drenched in sweat again but shivering this time because no blankets covered her. August was shocked to see it was nearly 6 a.m. and that she’d slept that way all night. Kendall’s words still echoing in her ears, she stumbled to the bathroom and turned the shower on.

Even the hot spray couldn’t dissipate how cold his words made her feel.

‘You don’t want a man like me? Sweetheart, all men are like me. If you dig down deep enough. Eventually, you always get there. Into the darkness of a man.’

August was curled up in the window seat watching the day turn light when Jack’s truck pulled up. She was too exhausted to feel any anticipation. Too dumbstruck by the dream to feel any guilt at missing the jolt of electricity she’d felt the last two days upon seeing him.

She watched, studying him clinically, as he unloaded a squat but elegant tree from the truck. Next he hefted bags of top soil, tossing them one upon the other. The day wasn’t as cold so he wore just a Henley and a flannel shirt and his head was bare.

She let herself enjoy the flex and dance of his body as he moved. Just a painter studying a possible subject, she reminded herself.

Once everything was unloaded, he headed towards the door. She watched him until he disappeared from view, which meant he was standing on the porch. When the bell rang she went to answer it – slowly, as if sore from exertion rather than from haunting dreams.

‘Hey there, August,’ he said. He leaned against the door. ‘Got your tree. Did you want to give it a once-over before I put it in? Make sure it’s OK?’

She shook her head. ‘I saw it. It’s fine.’

He cocked his head, staring at her, his gaze as intent as hers when she was watching him through the window. ‘You OK?’

‘Rough night,’ she said, attempting a smile. ‘Bad dreams. Crappy sleep. You know, just a fun night.’

‘Sorry about that. Did you want me to come back tomorrow?’

‘No, no. It’s fine. I’ll make you a cup of coffee, Jack.’

‘Don’t trouble yourself.’ He was studying her again and she tried to remember the last time a man had studied her face that thoroughly.

‘No trouble. Did you eat? Do you want a bagel to go with it?’ The least she could do was feed the man if he was hungry.

August pressed her lips together. She refused to believe the words Kendall had spoken to her so long ago. Her subconscious might want to push it back up to the surface, but that didn’t mean she had to believe it.

‘Sure. That’d be great. I had a doughnut about an hour ago. Didn’t stick.’ He smiled and she found herself smiling back.

‘I’ll bring it out,’ she said. ‘Or call you in.’

‘Just bring it out,’ he said. ‘Don’t want to mess up your schedule. Thanks.’ He turned and walked off. She opened her mouth to say something else, but had no idea what, so she shut it again.

In the kitchen she busied herself making his coffee and toasting an everything bagel. She hadn’t thought to ask if he was a cream cheese or a butter guy so she smeared it liberally with the former, taking a chance. Then she draped a wrap around herself, pushed her feet into her slippers and took it out. The morning was chilly but held the promise of a warmer day than the previous.

‘Ah, thanks. Food! Awesome.’ He dropped the shovel he was holding and took the coffee. When he reached for the bagel he stopped, staring at his own hand.

She laughed, it felt good, too. ‘You might want to wash those hands.’

‘Yeah, maybe. I don’t mind working in dirt but I have to admit I hate eating it.’

She headed inside, calling over her shoulder, ‘Might as well just come in and eat it. It’ll be cleaner and warmer.’

He followed willingly enough, the sound of his booted feet heavy on her slate steps. Inside he went to the kitchen and washed his hands twice. Drying them on a towel, he said, ‘I gave my sister your stationery. She’s a fan. She wants to know what your website is.’