August
It had been stupid, going to such a public place as the outside food stand turned out to be, especially at such a busy time in the day, and they rushed into Anton’s office building, laughing. As they passed the surprised security guard, Doren leaned in and whispered in his ear, “Pick one.”
August pointed at the youngest in a handful of screaming girls. She was maybe ten, with long honey hair and a pair of unfortunate glasses. She’d be a beauty when her parents finally let her learn the wonders of contact lenses. Doren reached past the hustling officer and took her pen and book, scrawling his name elaborately on a flowered page, before lifting his hand to his mouth, kissing his index and middle finger, and touching them to her cheek. Undeniable adoration lit her face and they left
