We Have Till Monday by Cara Dee (moboreader .TXT) 📕

it done. I can walk you guys out. I gotta pick up the rest of the demos at the merch place anyway.” With a bit of luck, the ones we’d sold would hopefully cover dinner or a tank of gas.

“If you haven’t sold out.” August’s forehead creased. “Camden and I snuck away halfway into the show when we noticed the crowd had tripled in size. I worried we’d be too late, but there were a few left. Not many, though. Maybe a dozen or so. Then we hurried back.”

That was surreal, if true.

“A million people saw you!” Camden beamed up at me.

I grinned at his cute exaggeration. “You’re so adorable that I could fucking eat you.” I cupped his cheeks and started nibbling on his nose.

He laughed and pushed at me. “Stop it! I’m struggling not to sink into my Little mode as it is.”

A struggle that was easy to see. I held him to me, and my heart clenched. He’d had to do a lot of mental gymnastics lately, and I hoped he got a chance soon to go back to the little boy he wanted to be. But if I remembered correctly, he had a new work project starting soon, so maybe it would have to wait.

“Let’s get you home, baby boy.” August grabbed Camden’s hand and faced me. “I won’t tell you to hurry, but…”

I kissed his cheek. “I’ll hurry.”

Sunday.

The water in the pool was perfectly calm. Green hills met a bright blue sky without a single cloud in sight. I spotted half a dozen horses too. The sun hadn’t reached over the ranch entirely yet, so the patio was still in the shade, but it wasn’t chilly.

I added an egg and a slice of cheddar on top of the sausage patty and closed the English muffin.

August sat across from me and looked out over the hills as he sipped from his coffee.

Camden sat next to him and picked at his food.

I had to break the silence. I couldn’t take it. More than that, I didn’t want my last day to be wasted on…whatever this was.

“We’re gonna see each other again,” I said. “Soon, hopefully.”

August glanced at me with a faint smile. “Of course we are. Camden and I talked about it a little yesterday. We’d like to come see you in New York.”

They could come when-fucking-ever. I was ready to hand over my keys. “I’ll take that as a promise,” I replied. “What else did you do yesterday?”

“Daddy turned into Mommy,” Camden stated.

August chuckled, and I looked at the two in question.

It was Camden who clarified. “We went to a few stores so he could buy, like, twenty food containers for you. And other stuff.”

I lifted my brows, still confused.

“I have plans for us today.” August took over. “I’ve heard and seen enough—both from you and your brother—and I’m not sendin’ you home without everythin’ you need in order to feed yourself properly for the next few weeks.” Was he serious? “I won’t be able to sleep at night knowin’ you’re orderin’ pizza all the time.”

“That’s crazy, baby,” I laughed. “Sweet as hell, but crazy. I take care of myself just fine, and you already do too much.” I shook my head and took a bite of my sandwich. “If anything—I’mma step up my game until you come see me. It’ll be my turn to take care of you.”

Camden snickered. “It’s funny that you think he’s giving you a choice.”

August nodded at him. “Funny, indeed. I wasn’t askin’, Anthony. It’s what we’ll be doing today. You’ll get a few containers with leftovers, and the rest will be kits we’ll put together. I promise you clear-cut instructions, and you’ll only have to buy the main ingredients. I’ve bought the seasonings and prepared measurements and dry goods. End of discussion.”

Damn. He got all dominant with me.

I wouldn’t go down so easily, though. As soon as I got home, I was calling Nonna. She could teach me enough so that I could make myself more useful when August and Camden visited.

Nicky could teach me some things too. I knew he was spending the day sight-seeing and shopping with Gideon and the others, and maybe they could pick up August’s cookbooks for me in town.

True to his word, August put us to work in the kitchen all day. The island quickly filled up with a neat grid of containers and notes with instructions. Right now, I was tasked with dividing boxes of fancy pasta into servings. One cup in each plastic bag, and there was everything from tagliatelle and rigatoni to linguine and macaroni.

I kept telling him it was too much. I felt a little embarrassed too. Forty-three years old, and I couldn’t cook worth a damn.

“I don’t wanna hear it, boy,” August told me. “You’ve spent years building an institution that helps people. You think I don’t know? You may not enjoy speakin’ about yourself, but your brother doesn’t have that problem. He told me quite a bit at the barbecue.”

For chrissakes. “He was undoubtedly tryna be my wingman.”

“I don’t think so,” Camden said, wiping his hands on a towel. “I talked to him too. And Maria—and Luiz. You’re the freaking glue in your community—the one who fixes all the problems. You must’ve forgotten to tell us that part.”

I didn’t wanna hear it. They were exaggerating. I did my part at home, like everyone else, and it was no excuse for not taking the time to learn how to cook fucking pasta.

“They love you, darlin’, and it’s easy to see why.” August passed me with a smooch to my cheek before he went to pull something out of the fridge. “Now—cheese. I bought some fantastic Parmesan and Pecorino Romano for you—that you’ll be cutting into pieces when you’re done with the pasta—but you’ll have to drag your rear to the store and buy burrata and ricotta. That okay?”

I did my best to shake the discomfort and their kind words, and I slid onto one of