I regretted the air-kiss.

The Surprise Delights' aroma – random notes like strawberry, vanilla, cinnamon, and lavender tickled my nose. Perhaps, it was the sugar – it gave my confidence. Wait, no. His reaction. Yes. It was his reaction. Those squinty eyes challenged me. His elbows grazed the countertops edge, his back arched into the material. He stared at me.

Yes.

There was also judgment.

His hands twitched. His lips curled and released a chuckle, taunting my statement about air-kisses compared to an ordinary kiss. As if his experience wiped out my own knowledge and opinion.

I had proof.

The dilated pupils.

His warm breath. A small flush grew on his cheeks as his eyes glided over to my hand. The hand that gave the air-kiss. Shoulders rotated backwards to fix his hunched posture.

The past two weeks, I dreamed of his clear blue eyes . . . with dilated pupils. His wrinkles around his eyes, the purple and blue tint underneath his bottom eyelids revealed his lack of sleep. The mole close to his left ear, I could've touched it. His brunette hair almost covered it, however when he turned to his right side, I could see the penny sized, caramel mole.

I imagined sliding my hand up to his left ear. The short, light blonde hairs would stand up straight. All at full attention. Then gradually, my finger pads would move up to his hair –

I won't admit it.

When the dream occurred, after the air-kiss incident, I'd wake up. Made myself wake up. My warm body and small tingles in my thumbs caused me to let out a scream. I'd sit up in my bed, curse August's name for disrupting my mind and sleep. I'd toss the three quilted blankets to the side and head towards the dining room. Anywhere but the kitchen. I resisted the images when they tried to resurface.

A cup of tea usually calmed me down. I moved my easy maker into the dining room during the first night after Valentine's Day. My lips trembled. Goosebumps appeared on my forearms. I would self-diagnose, taking deep breaths and leaned over the crème porcelain tea cup. Peppermint, lavender, or citrus scents, I breathed in the steam.

The memories. Images.

Too vivid. His reaction.

I groaned and then took a big gulp. Hot liquid burnt my tongue.

Crap!

I waited for the tea to cool. I drank it. I started to calm down, slippers scoffed on the carpet as I'd head back to sleep, before the alarm clock sang, "It's a good morning!"

"I'd like two peppermint brownies," a young man stated. His voice brought me back to the present.

An entire rectangular table was full of goodies located outside the Recreational Center. The day was warm for being winter, spring was in two more weeks. The sunshine streamed down, handful of clouds floated in the light blue sky. All the homemade treats ranged from buckeyes, Rice Krispie treats covered in chocolate, puppy chow, brownies, chocolate chip cookies, upside down pineapple cakes, and many more.

A dirt-stained five-dollar bill gripped in between the man's fingers. He handed the money to me. The gray-brown money box was closer to me on the table. Throwing the stained money on top of the other five-dollar bills, I closed and locked the box.

I leaned to the left, using the white plastic tongs to pick up the uneven cut brownies. I placed the two brownies on the tiny Styrofoam plate, stacking them on top of each other as crumbles fell on the material.

We were running low on plates.

Lydia made a grocery run to restock on utilities.

"Thank you for your support," I grinned at the man.

The young man hummed, before picking up both brownies from the plate. He took a big bite as he walked away from the booth.

A lamented poster hung behind me. Cartoon cupcakes, brownies, cookies, and other sweets were drawn all over the poster, bubble-gum style – here and there. In cursive and black sharpie, stated our product and underneath the title, a subtitle Cincinnati's Wellness for Baseball explained its financial goal.

Lydia signed me and her up to help with the organization. Monica persuaded her mother that she wanted to join. "Daddy waaahves baseball! If I play, he might come over. Right mommy?"

Lydia shared that with me.

Of course, Lydia did what any mother would do. She signed Monica up, even though her age was too young for some teams. However, Cincinnati's Wellness for Baseball was a community that had over ten separate teams. The teams varied from five years old (need a parent/guardian to attend all practices and games) up to seventy plus years old. The older contestants had experience. They enjoyed showing the new activists to throw the ball, how to put a glove on, how to stand at the home plate, and how to hold their bat (a hollow wooden bat for Monica's age).

The Wellness was a non-profit organization that thrived on sponsors, fundraisers, and other activities to help afford equipment including gloves, helmets, balls, and bats and home away games. For the month of March, the board came up with a bake sale.

"I'm back!" Lydia held four reusable grocery bags.

The handles dug into her wrist and forearm, she placed them down on the ground. The whole bag was sapphire with gardenias and lilies in the middle. printed near the waterproof fabric handles.

"Good, we only have ten plates left," I declared.

Lydia handed off the hundred prepackaged paper plates to me. The heavy weight almost made me drop them, I began to rip off the plastic covering.

"Do you have the receipt? I'll give you cash back and we'll keep the receipt in the box so then Alison knows it was a payout."

"No worries. I'm good."

I stopped reorganizing the plates, placing the new ones on the bottom.

"Lydia, you're getting reimbursement. Let me see how much-"

"I got it covered," Lydia ignored my gaze, kicking the empty bags underneath the table, "It wasn't much."

I gave me a sideways glance.

"You sure-"

Lydia's jeans slide down a bit from her running around and bending. Her fingers went through the jean loops to pull them up.

"Yes. I'm sure. – We have a customer!"

Way to change the subject.

"Welcome! What would you like?" Lydia held her arms out open and then added, "Hey! We know you. How are you doing?"

I looked up to meet clear sky blue eyes.

The same ones in my dreams.

No. Not my dreams. My brain had been fixating on him because, well, because, - ah yes! Because the documentary and he was one of the recent people to come over – other than Papa and Lydia. Normal memories. The neurons connected to each other to create a possibility for the future –

My throat tightened.

I needed water. Wait, actually, I needed to be somewhere else. My hands gripped the edge of the table.

"Someone told me they were hoodwinked into doing a bake sale," August said, his hands went deep in his jacket's pockets.

He cut me off. Why did he say that? After all, he kept texting me ... wouldn't take any vague or sarcastic messages. I had no clue he'd show up.

"Hoodwinked!?" Lydia turned to face me, "I told you two days ago."

"He's lying." I rolled my eyes.

August laughed.

Of course, he'll laugh. He wanted to see a reaction. Good luck there!

My eyes averted to my surroundings. The half-emptied water bottle was on the ground.

There it is!

I undid the cap and guzzled the rest. A few droplets escaped my mouth, running down my neck. Individuals left in and out the Recreational Center. Others left and arrived in their vans, cars, or SUVs.

August continued his gaze.

Gosh, I need to go – go somewhere- the bathroom. Perfect place to hide. Anywhere that doesn't involve his stare!

"Excuse me, I need to..." My voice faded.

Squinting my eyes, I focused on something else instead. More like someone.

There was a person running up behind August. He brought his arm to August's shoulders, he leaned forward taking deep breaths. His right hand came up to his chest. I grinned at the guy. His personality was the complete opposite of August.

Sometimes, I wondered what their story was. Full story. I had an idea after my internet research.

"You took off without me," Min-ho said.

"I thought you were behind me."

"Yeah, way," Min-ho dragged out the word, "behind you."

He glanced up at me and smiled. His soft features welcomed me.

"How's it going, Sugar?" Min-ho asked, "The bake sale going well?"

"I believe so. We're the middle shift. Two other volunteers will be showing up for the last portion."

Min-ho nodded.

Then his brown eyes shifted over towards Lydia. His mouth gaped open.

"Restaurant gi-"

"Lydia," she cut him off. "That's my name. You are?"

I watched Lydia as she had her arms come up to cross over her chest. Her smile disappeared. Her jaw seemed to clinch.

Why is she acting this way?

I turned towards Min-ho, who stood up. Eyebrows scrunched up. Wait, no. He wiped away his frown. His arm was no longer on August's shoulders, instead he straightened up his shirt. A lopsided grin appeared instead.

"Min-ho." He reached out to shake Lydia's hand. "Pleasure to meet you, Lydia. I'm August's best friend. You are?"

There was a teasing tone as he repeated the same question to her.

Lydia scoffed. Licking her lips, she replied, "Sugar's best friend."

Knees locked up, arms tightened around her waist, and Lydia's brown eyes stared back at Min-ho. Clear and open to outlookers ... and stating a claim. To who though?

What's going on?

I blinked. My gaze floated between Lydia and then to Min-ho.

His relaxed shoulders seemed to display his posture better. The emerald silk shirt clung to his torso, the fabric tucked in, black dress pants were pressed and a seam line went down the middle of the legs.

"Which dessert did you create Sugar?"

I turned towards August.

Crap!

I closed my eyes.

Just ignore. Yes, ignore those darn eyes. And how he runs his thumb over his jawline and the fact he leans closer into my space.

"The buckeyes?"

"Question or statement?" he whispered.

I kept my eyes closed.

If I pretend he isn't there. He'll go away, right? Yeah! Totally. He has other important things to do than being at a baseball bake sale.

"Peanut butter and chocolate," August continued, "Good choice."

"It was one of the first recipes I learned," I commented. My eyes opened to check on Lydia and Min-ho. Their staring contest continued, Min-ho copied Lydia's crossing arms, but there was a small glint in his eyes. The silly grin revealed his teeth whereas Lydia's unfazed expression, thin line and pressed lips. "Quite easy. The trick is to place a Reese in the middle. Peanut already in it. Add another layer of chocolate. Then it's complete."

Talking like this. This was stress-free.

The warmth controlled.

"Isn't that cheating?"

I glanced up, staring into his eyes.

A cheeky smile on his lips.

"It's using your resources," I clarified. I bit my lip repeating his tone.

The warmth was back, but this time was different. The saying was programmed in the back of my mind. Over twenty years, I heard the saying in multiple ways: high pitch, soft spoken, the sarcastic flip on the end, and short, precise words.

"Mama would say that," I added.

"She's an intelligent woman."

"She was."

Past tense. The tense will endure, an everyday struggle.

"The more you bring her up," August said, "The more I wish I had met her."

I imagined Mama's stocky built grabbing a hold of August's biceps, bringing him down closer to Mama's height for an enormous, well-grip hug. She'd coo and inflate his ego, "My, my! Your dashing grin is swell! Oh my, your eyes. Let me get a good look at them – whoa! Looks like a weeping well with water on the bottom – I'm kidding! I mean to say is, your eyes shine like a water droplet in the sky. Did I get that right, Sugar? Where did you find this young man? – You don't say. The internet? In my day, it was called dialup. How did you meet? – What?! Ha-ha-ha. That's my girl. I would apologize August but my girl didn't do anything wrong."

"She'd like you."

"You're just saying that."

"Why would I lie? I'll be honest, she'd definitely tease you because that's Mama. She'd tease everyone. She'd add a twist to a saying or description that wouldn't make sense ... and yet, once you thought about it, it became clear," my hand gripped the table's edge.

"Teasing?" he smirked, "It all makes sense now."

"Guess you found out the mystery, what's going on in my head."

"I'll never know what's inside your head. You could be planning your next strategy – the hot chocolate, man. I'll never forget that."

Five months ago, it seemed fairly recent. However, once I counted the months on my fingers, I blinked. The burnt hot chocolate. His hurtful comment, I wanted to see if your boobs were real or fake. The words held little sting now, the comment actually gave me a small tickle on my belly. If anything, I laughed at our immaturity. Yes, I should not have poured a hundred- and twenty-degree hot chocolate on August's crotch. He should not have said that comment. But now, I knew his real name, his motivation - well that one was in question - and his occupation. Internet was a barrier to transform into a persona. My short responses gave the "best version" – Paramedic with a non-realist dream to be a Baker. Cute little anecdotes. I was just as guilty as August.

"Are you going to throw buckeyes in my face? Wipe cake frosting on my nose? Are you going to taunt me with your lips?"

I was laughing at the second question, but the last one.

That one got to me.

He glanced down at the dessert. The table stood in between them.

"What do you mean?" My voice almost came out breathy like a gasp. My chest became warm. Her fingers fidgeted with her long sleeves and my feet moved side to side.

"Any more calls from her?"

Why would he want to know?

I hadn't reached out to Papa. Every time I'd picked up my phone, dial his number, the words stayed in my throat. How did someone state that their runaway, distasteful, and immature mother called her? Around three o'clock and then again in the evening. All the notifications read "missed." The voicemail box was empty. How could someone inform their grandpa that his daughter, who left them, returned all the snail mail envelopes decorated with wonky hand drawn daisies back to them, and left no phone number for them to contact her about Mama's death? As if Cassidy was a ghost. How did someone tell the person, they came back?

"A few." I replied.

August nodded.

"Does anyone else know?"

"No."

His lip quivered. Almost like his internal self was fighting against something.

"I'm here, Sugar," his eyes never wavered, "For anything."

Anything?

"Need someone to listen, chat, yell at, hug, pinch. You know – anything. Just nothing on my nose. That is already messed up, I don't need another dent."

I laughed. Sounded more like a choke, I breathed in the air quickly and released the giggles.

"Will do, bud. I won't put another dent in your nose."

August grinned. "Good."

I glanced over at Lydia, who seemed to be fighting a silent battle. Min-ho covered up his smile, behind his right hand, gazing at Lydia.

"Any desserts you're interested in boys?" I asked. Sliding over towards Lydia, I wrapped my left arm around Lydia's right arm. My eyes down casted on the goodies table.

August laughed.

"You might want to reword that sentence, Sugar."

I blushed.

"Their minds are always thinking about one thing," Lydia defeated.

"Yes, please do share," Min-ho declared, "Lydia."

Lydia ignored his statement. She grabbed the small plate and placed a vanilla cupcake with rainbow sprinkles in the emerald icing.

"Since you couldn't decide, here's a cupcake. Strawberry filling on the inside."

Min-ho ran his hand over his belly. "Thank you. I'll pass. I don't like anything too sweet."

He stared at Lydia.

Lydia raised her right eyebrow.

"Uh-huh."

I walked away from Min-ho, stepping towards August.

August full on laughed, bending his knees and hitting his thighs.

Min-ho ... ? That felt wrong.

I shuddered.

Min-ho raised his shoulders up as if to say, Oh well.

What does he want from Lydia? What's his goal?

I turned back to August. A few hair strands swayed in the teasing spring wind. His hands were in his jacket pockets. He accepted Lydia's plate with three buckeyes.

Why did he come? He said he's here. Anytime. With anything.

There were no cameras. Documentary was on hold until further notice.

He looked up and saw me staring at him.

He wrinkled his nose. Then with a wink, I knew.

His voice spoke in my head: "Why don't we get out of here and go somewhere private?"

He wants something more. I can't give it to him.

Before August began his next sentence, I excused myself. I ran. The public restroom with the upside-down triangle stick figure, supposedly wearing a dress. The sign somehow protected me - the strong, citrus bleach overwhelmed my senses. I pushed open the middle stall, the lock clicked shut. I slammed the toilet seat down and sat on it.

Leaning forward, I held my head in my hands.

What am I doing?

I took deep breaths in.

Out.

In and out.

I'll leave once the pounding in my head decreased. When the warmth disappeared.