His eyes briefly slid down my body, but quickly turned away as he took in the street artists and view of the water. Still feeling flustered and annoyed, I tried not to think about his mesmerizing hazel gaze and the way he looked at me with such intensity.
Waiting for the cable car took time-time we probably could have spent doing other things, like visiting Ghirardelli Square or driving to the Golden Gate Bridge. But I wanted to try and mimic the original day as much as possible, and on that day … we rode the cable car.
"August! Look at that line … we'll never fit everything in! We still have a bunch of things left to do today," I whined.
"But this is what tourists do, Everly … they stand in lines!" He laughed, grinning so wide his eyes crinkled at the corners.
"Okay, but if I don't get chocolate by the end of the day because of this stupid cable car, I'm blaming you!" I shouted as he pulled my reluctant hand across the street toward the long line of eager tourists waiting their turn to ride a real San Francisco cable car.
We slowly made our way to the front of the line, listening to random conversations around us. Foreign languages, different accents-there were even locals like us making a day of it. People were out enjoying the city, and yet I couldn't find two words to string together to say to him.
So I just watched.
Observed as he walked away and clicked pictures of random buildings, people and scenery. This was something I'd grown used to years ago, when his photography hobby had really blossomed. He'd just wander off and I'd happily wait while he got stuck in the moment, finding ordinary things that seemed to captivate him in extraordinary ways: the way a finial on the gate curved at just the right angle, or how a woman carried her child down the street. He'd always seem to capture just the right moments.
But those were the photos he never printed. Those were the ones he never focused on.
The boxes and boxes he filled were of us.
Always just the two of us.
Eventually, the camera had been locked away and forgotten, like everything else, and life moved on.
Or it tried.
And yet, here we were, back in line on a warm spring day, waiting for a cable car as I watched him snap photos down the street. Life had a way of circling back around. What else in my life would I find repeating itself?
"Looks like we'll be next," he said, walking back to stand next to me.
"Yep," I answered quickly, having been so deep in thought I'd barely noticed he'd returned.
"This wasn't what we were supposed to do today, was it?" he asked suddenly as we quickly bought our tickets and stepped up on the car, choosing to stand rather than sit. I took hold of one of the bars above to brace myself before we started and he did the same.
"Why would you think that?"
He shrugged. "Seemed like a strange place to meet if we were going to head down here. Why didn't we just start down here? I just doesn't seem logical and-"
"No, okay," I answered finally. "This was not what I'd originally intended for the day. Okay? Are you happy?"
His eyes searched mine until I looked away. The cable car chose that moment to come to life. Children laughed and squealed with glee and it began moving along the track. The conductor said something over the loudspeaker but I couldn't make it out.
"What we're going to do?" August asked, taking a step closer. I knew it was to avoid yelling. We'd waited a long time and for some of these people, riding the cable car was a once-in – a-lifetime experience. My anger was not an excuse to ruin that.
I just shook my head.
"Please," he begged, his body nearly touching mine.
"That street," I said, finally giving in. "We lived there."
He froze as his gaze drank me in. "Why didn't you want to show it to me?"
I swallowed, my throat too dry-the cramped space suddenly too small.
"It's too much," I admitted. "There are too many memories there. I'm not ready."
"Okay," he acknowledged with sad somber eyes, taking a step back as I felt the air creep back into my lungs. The deafening sounds of the cable car returned as well, and I suddenly realized how focused on August I had been; the outside world had completely melted away.
He didn't press further as we rode the cable car down the loop, until it came to a stop about midway through its run, stopping to let passengers off and on. I chose this moment to flee.
August followed close behind.
"I think I've had enough sightseeing for the day," I commented as I looked around. Hopping off on a random street corner wasn't the best idea, but we were still in the tourist area of the city, so I mostly knew where we were-it just took me a minute to get my bearings.
"We need to turn down here," August said, pointing in the opposite direction to where I'd turned.
I looked around, realizing he was right, which only frustrated me further. I said nothing as I walked past him down the street toward where we'd parked earlier.
It was going to be a long walk.
A camera clicked behind me, and I turned to see August quickly pointing the lens across the street, taking a quick succession of shots of several row houses.
"Where do you think you'll be in ten years?" he asked as we crossed another street in our trek back to the car.
"What? Why?"
"Well, you said you're focused on the future-not the past, so surely you have some sort of plan … an idea of where your life is headed. I know you said it didn't matter anymore, but it obviously does, otherwise you wouldn't be engaged, or planning a life with someone."
He'd caught up to my quick gait and now we were walking side by side, our shoulders nearly touching. I took an obvious step to the right. With a gulp of air, I answered, "Well, I guess I see children. And a house full of laughter-simple things, I guess."
"And is that different from what you wanted before-" he asked.
"No, not entirely. Just-"
"Different," we both answered.
Silence followed as we crossed another street, and another.
Finally the roads began to slope, signaling we were returning back to sea level once again. As we crossed another street, August pointed to a corner sign. "Isn't that Ghirardelli?" he asked, as several people stepped out of the famous chocolate store.
"It's one of them, yes. The one that everyone always goes to is down a bit farther, or down the stairs, if you go inside there," I pointed, remembering how badly my feet had hurt the day we'd walked nearly every inch of the city in our quest to be the best damn tourists San Francisco had ever seen.
"You didn't forget!" I exclaimed as we turned a corner and the huge lit up Ghirardelli sign filled up my vision.
"Of course I didn't. When my woman demands chocolate-I deliver."
Jumping into his arms right there in the middle of the street, I wrapped my arms around him like a lovesick teenager and said, "My hero."
He'd always be my hero.
"So, do you want to stop in and get something?" he asked, pausing by the entrance.
I looked up at the sign, just barely visible at this angle and then back down at him. Closing my eyes briefly, I shook my head.
"No," I answered. "I think we've relived enough today."
And then I walked away.
He was my hero, no longer.
Chapter Eighteen
August
I'd watched her pull away from the street corner ages ago.
Our street-or at least it used to be. We hadn't said a word to each other since she'd walked away from me at Ghirardelli Square. I'd rushed after her, only to find her waiting silently by the hood of my SUV.
She was done, and I guess at that moment I had been, too.
I didn't know what I'd done-or not done, to cause her so much pain in that moment, but I was tired of hurting her. My presence alone angered and upset her and as much as I knew this involvement between us was supposed to be mutually beneficial, I couldn't help but feel like I was to blame for everything.
If I could just move on.
Let go.
I glanced up at the street-a place that should hold so many happy memories in my life. Instead, it looked like any other San Franciscan road-cramped, tight little houses all lined up in a row. Not an inch of grass, but plenty of concrete and a nice path to walk a dog or push a stroller. Driveways were a thing of dreams here, and the only parking was on the street. It was city living at its best and you paid top dollar to live it.
Owners dressed up the area with flower boxes on the windows and pretty plants by the doors. I wished I knew which door had been ours-which house had been our home.
Shaking my head, I started the engine, and noticed the bag of half eaten saltwater taffy on the passenger seat.
We hadn't finished it like she'd wanted. Just another failure to add to the day.
Pulling away from the curb, I drove around the neighborhood, taking it all in-the buildings I would have passed on a daily basis, the restaurants I would have most likely dropped by after work to pick up takeout.