Page 197 of One Wild Wish

“That doesn’t change how scary that suitcase is.” How terrifying being close to August was.

He cast a searching glance at my face, as though reading the double-entendre in my words. “This is uncharted territory. We always fear what we don’t know.”

I couldn’t be sure if he was talking about me or the suitcase-bomb dropped on my life, but I met his probing gaze, taking in his full physique. He really had filled out the past nine years, the sleeves of his soccer jersey cutting into his biceps. Strong veins mapped his tanned forearms and big hands. He had a bold Roman nose, thick eyelashes. Darker circles cradled his hazel eyes, but they upped his hot factor, broodiness always a turn-on for me. The hint of stubble dusting the severe cut of his jaw didn’t hurt either.

It also didn’t hide the scar on his chin.

I’d sat with him after he’d sliced it on the Wheelers’ broken window, the two of us having snuck into that abandoned home like we’d been FBI. Always messing around. We’d sat facing each other afterward, on my bedroom floor, our knees touching, my hand on his face as I held a wet towel to the gash. We were fifteen then, and I’d wanted to kiss him.

I was one day from twenty-eight now, and I wanted to devour him.

There was no way this big, gorgeous man returned the sentiment, but his hands were on my hips, the slightest tremble to his grip. What could he see before him but a betrayer?

Disoriented, I eased away from him and knelt in front of the case. “You know what this means, right?”

He cleared his throat. “You might learn your mother was an eighties club kid?”

Not even close. I still couldn’t believe this was happening, that August was with me for this wild turn of events. Who got lost luggage returned after seventeen years?

I wanted to unpack the man behind me as much as I wanted to dissect this new treasure. Find out every country and town he’d toured, what cool foods he’d eaten in Japan, if writing music felt as cathartic as it seemed, if being on the road was lonely or exhilarating. We weren’t there yet. Not close. Not friends, even. We might never get there.

Better to stick with safer topics, like why this suitcase fascinated me.

Hands on the hard plastic, I glanced at him over my shoulder. I was about to tell him there could be clues about my father in here, but the hope taunted me, the hours I’d spent ransacking my mother’s room proof I was grasping at straws, wishing for the impossible.

With August here, though, the impossible no longer seemed unattainable. Still, I latched on to his humor instead. “You nailed it, but if Mary Hamilton loved the rave scene, I’m an arachnid scientist with a penchant for mayonnaise.”

I got off on bungee jumping and would kill to surf a fifty-foot swell, but drop an eight-legged critter near me or force mayonnaise down my throat, and I’d scream bloody murder.

August’s good humor returned. “I ruined you, didn’t I?”

“You were an evil mastermind.” Who’d hidden a trove of plastic spiders in my room and had snuck gross mayonnaise on my turkey sandwiches. He’d also ruined me for men, unbeknownst to him, my history littered with nothing but assholes until my dating hiatus this year. No one had ever compared to August.

I kept my focus on the suitcase, grounding my wobbly hands on the cool metal, still aware of my former best friend behind me. His sneakers scuffed the floor. To leave? Walk out of my life again? I’d taken care of my mother’s funeral arrangements on my own, had dealt with her will, was packing her life into boxes.

But this…

I didn’t want to unearth more of her past alone. I didn’t know how to ask for August’s support. I kept talking instead. “As far as I know, my mother never left San Francisco. Never took so much as a weekend getaway. And I was eleven when this supposedly went missing. I’d remember her traveling, wouldn’t I?” It also seemed weird it turned up today. With August. The day before my birthday. “Why am I nervous to open it? This is worse than skydiving.”

“Since when do you skydive?”

His question proved how far we’d fallen away from each other. He didn’t know me now, the woman I’d become. When I didn’t reply, he said, “It’s just stuff, Gwen. Nothing in there can hurt you.”

He was wrong about that. “Says the guy who grew up with a great family.”

“It wasn’t as peachy as it seemed. Nowhere near what you went through, but we have our issues.”

I almost turned at his bitter tone, but I didn’t want to acknowledge the part I’d played in their family discord. I also couldn’t look away from the suitcase. “Will you stay while I open it?”

I had no right to ask August for anything. He probably came by to clear the air between us, find the closure we both clearly needed, or to reinstate his anger—fodder for his songwriting. (He could name his next gem “Girl Who Can’t Forget the Past.”) Some nerve I had, asking him for support now.

“Of course,” came his quiet reply.

I stayed focused on the case, couldn’t look at his expression as I faced my mother’s history. But he was here. Of course. He would let me lean on him. Of course. He’d forever be the only person who could calm me. Of course.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

I heard him move, felt the heat of his palm on my back. Magnetically, I curved forward, rounding my spine into his tender touch. I closed my eyes.