To him-it was just a street.
Nothing special.
And for some reason, that hurt … just a little.
"So, what are we doing today?" he asked, curiosity peaking as he turned to me. I immediately looked away, crossing my arms in front of myself as I tried to think of a new plan.
With the memories of our first house still haunting me, I needed someplace safe and easy-a neutral zone where I could let these lingering feelings fade.
"We're going to be tourists," I quickly answered, remembering a day when we did the same years back.
"Here?" he asked.
"Well, not exactly here, but in the city-yes. Come on, let's go. I'll drive."
I didn't bother waiting for him. I knew he'd follow. Sheer curiosity had him hooked. As I hopped in the car, he followed my lead and jumped into the passenger side.
My car suddenly felt too small. Like a clown car with forty men stuffed in the back. He was everywhere-his scent, his demanding presence, and I couldn't find enough oxygen to breathe.
"On second thought-how about you drive?" I managed to squeak out before pushing open the door and inhaling a large gulp of air into my lungs.
His gentle voice called out behind me. "Everly? Are you okay?" He didn't touch me, but I could feel the heat from his body radiating against me.
I took a step forward and turned.
"Fine," I answered. "I just don't feel like driving-that's all." I made a beeline to his car and waited for him to unlock it. He watched me, his hazel eyes full of intensity, as if he was trying to decide whether to call me on my bullshit or move on.
Thankfully, he chose to move on and unlocked the doors, giving me a way to escape his heavy gaze.
As he settled into the seat next to me, he placed the camera on the console between us.
"So, where are we going?" he asked, starting up the engine.
"Fisherman's wharf," I answered, wondering if he'd need directions, but he just pulled away from the curb and headed in the right direction.
"I've been studying maps," he explained. "That day I got lost and found myself at your coffee shop-I felt so helpless and alone. It wasn't a feeling I wanted to repeat, so I've been trying to relearn the city, bit by bit."
I nodded silently and then winced. "Well, I hate to tell you this, but you just missed your turnoff."
"What?" he exclaimed, looking up at his rearview mirror. "Shit!"
I held back my laughter, covering my mouth.
"You know," he said, "if you want this to work, you're eventually going to have to start opening up."
"I don't need to like you for this to work," I responded harshly. "You want to know about our past-that's what I'm doing. The sooner we do this, the sooner you can move on. That's my closure."
"Seems like you've got it all figured out then," he replied, his voice trailing with each word.
We didn't speak the rest of the way down to the wharf. The truth was, when I was with August I wanted to hate him-and part of me did. The scared, crying, younger version of me that would always remain locked behind that bedroom door would always hate the man who had promised me forever and decided I wasn't enough.
But the woman I'd become … she had a hard time resenting a man who brought a camera with him everywhere and studied maps. Those qualities reminded me of the man who'd begged me to never leave … to warm his bed and stay there forever.
I had him park as close to the water as he could, which ended up being on a hill. I watched as he squeezed into a space meant more for a two-seater than the giant gas guzzler he had, but he seemed to know what he was doing. He even turned his wheels in the right way-a San Francisco must when parking on nearly vertical streets.
"We both grew up in this area," I said as we stepped out of the car and met on the sidewalk. I kept a sensible distance between us as we made our way down to the water's edge. "And one day, as we were strolling along the wharf, eating ice cream or something like that, we realized that neither of us had actually done anything ‘San Franciscan.'"
"Like what?" he asked.
"When you travel, what is the first thing you do?" I asked.
He stopped and looked at me blankly.
"Okay, if you were to travel, what would be the first thing you would do?" I rephrased the question. I crossed my arms over the edge of the wooden rail that lined the dock. Several boats were docked in front of us advertising fishing and whale watching cruises for hire.
"Go online and Google things to do?" he guessed.
"Exactly. But this was about ten years ago, and I was less technically savvy back then, so I probably would have picked up a travel guide-but it's the same idea. We realized we'd never done the ‘to-do' list for our own city."
"So you did?"
"Yep," I answered, remembering my excitement for the idea. "In one day."
"How did you manage that?" he asked. "Don't people plan weeklong vacations here?"
"We were very speedy," I explained. "Which is why we need to hurry!"
I took off on a run, toward the wharf, knowing he'd follow. There would be no holding his hand through this adventure. We were reliving a memory, but that didn't mean I needed to rekindle the emotions that went with it.
Our first stop was bread. Sourdough bread, to be exact.
No, it wasn't exactly one of the top things to do on a Google search, but the second you stepped into Fisherman's Wharf, you knew exactly why Boudin Bakery had been feeding tourists pounds of sourdough for decades. The bakery took up an entire block, and as soon as we stepped on to it, that savory pungent smell that is unique to sourdough flooded my nostrils and I was in bread heaven.
Bread Heaven-it was a real place.
And I wanted to live there. Forever.
Boudin's had a restaurant, so you could sit down and enjoy a meal with friends and loved ones. For us, though, takeout seemed the most logical. Spending an hour making small talk with my ex didn't exactly sound like a ragging good time, plus we had other stops to make on this grand tour.
As he followed me through the store and we waited in line, I watched him curiously as he looked around, taking in the giant loaves of bread shaped like animals and sports emblems, and the many knickknacks scattered about.
"Is this what we did-originally?" he asked as we stepped up closer to the register.
"Uh-no, we actually ate-up there," I said, pointing through the glass toward the restaurant. "But I figured we wouldn't have time."
He just nodded.
We ordered a loaf of bread and coffee and made our way out of the store. I didn't waste any time breaking into the loaf with my bare hands. Good bread didn't need butter or condiments. It could be eaten plain and still be amazing.
I reluctantly handed over the bag to him to share and we made our way toward some of the other shops. I had one more thing to get before we moved on.
Saltwater taffy.
No self-respecting tourist would be caught dead without a bag of saltwater taffy, and I needed to make sure August got his before we left. So, after a quick trip through another store, I selected several different flavors and colors for him, even ones that made his face distort with displeasure, and handed over the bag as we exited.
"One perfectly mixed bag of saltwater taffy. Start eating," I instructed.
"Now?" His eyes widened.
"Yep. We are only tourists for the day, so it has to be gone by the end of the day."
"I'm going to die."
"Giant baby." I rolled my eyes. "Didn't you know tourists gain like ten pounds during vacation? It's a rule or something." I grabbed a few out of the bag. "I'll help. Okay, let's go."
He stuffed a few pieces of taffy in his mouth as we walked back up toward the car, and I watched him cringe as the orange and root beer mixed together. I should have warned him not to mix flavors. That was a rookie move.
"So where to now?" he asked, his eyes full of curiosity and excitement. He'd stopped beside his ruby red behemoth of a vehicle but I just kept walking.
"Follow me," I called out over my shoulder, digging my legs into the pavement as I climbed the steep hill. My breath quickened and my lungs burned as we made our way up several blocks. I took a moment to turn and appreciate the new view. The wharf stood below us, the water sparkling under the sunny glow of the midday heat. It was a beautiful spring day-much like the day we'd spent together here so long ago.
And yet today was so different.
So vastly different.
I crossed the street, seeing his shadow out of the corner of my eye. "We're going to ride the cable car," I explained, as we followed the tracks that led to a long line of people waiting to do the same thing.
"Along with the rest the city?" he chided, as we took our place in the back of the line.
"Would you rather I just tell you what happened that day, or do it this way?" I snapped, folding my arms across my chest in frustration.