CHAPTER FIVE
Rosie
Olly didn’t show up at the station.
A part of me wasn’t even surprised. I guess I had expected him to blow me off. But that hadn’t softened the blow when he dodged my call—again—and shot me a text that read: Can’t make it, big sis. Sorry.
Luckily, once I arrived in Philly, I discovered that Dad was fine, just a little sore from his fall. Not that he’d admit it. Oh no. At home, he’d refused to lie down, take painkillers, or let me prepare tea or food for him. Repeatedly. But that was Joe Graham for you. “I’m fine, Bean,” he’d said about a thousand times. Following that up with “I relied enough on you when your mother left all these years ago, Bean. You shouldn’t worry, Bean. Why did you take a day off work to come fuss over your old man, Bean? You are a team leader now, Bean. People depend on you. Have you heard from Olly, by the way? He’s okay, isn’t he, Bean?”
So, by the time I was taking the train back to Manhattan, my lie tally was the same, if not higher after covering for my little brother—again—and I was so emotionally drained from dealing with a stubborn Dad that I no longer had the energy to guilt-trip Olly.
And then there was Lucas.
Something took flight in my stomach, making me feel giddy and nervous and all kinds of flustered at the thought of him.
Here I was, a mostly reasonable and independent woman, feeling like a sixteen-year-old fussing over the idea of seeing her crush.
Only Lucas Martín wasn’t my crush. Nope. He was a man I didn’t really know, whose online presence on social media I had… appreciated a perfectly normal amount.
He was also a man I had spilled a good portion of my guts to only this morning. And it had felt good. Not just fine, but good.
And now here we were. Him, on the other side of Lina’s door, probably wondering if I was going to show up at all, given the time, and who knows, maybe considering throwing my ginormous, messy pile of belongings out the window if I didn’t. No, because he would never do that, a voice countered. And me, standing in the hallway, staring at that door for a wildly inappropriate amount of time wishing I had X-ray vision so I could… So I could what?
Shaking myself, I let myself in.
The moment I turned the knob, though, I second-guessed not knocking. Because what in the holy hell was I doing barging in like this? What if Lucas—
Whoa.
I stopped cold in my tracks with the door fully open, the most amazing, out-of-this-world-delicious scent hitting me like a wave.
“Rosie.” My name—off Lucas’s lips, with that roll of the R—made it through the haze. “You’re finally back.”
Blinking a couple of times, I zeroed in on him. He was standing in the kitchen of the studio, in front of the stove, with his back to me. He wore a fresh T-shirt, and his brown hair fell in a disheveled mess of wet locks. He must have showered recently, I assumed, as I could see tiny droplets of water on the back of his neck. A strong neck. And the visible skin was tanned and smooth-looking, and… and I was staring. Ogling, really.
I cleared my throat. “Hi,” I croaked. “I’m back, yes. And you’re here, like we agreed. Which is great and nothing I should be surprised about.” Cursing myself for not being able to turn off my awkwardness in front of this man who had done nothing to deserve it, I closed the door behind me and strode in. “It smells incredible in here, Lucas.”
Finally. Something normal to leave my lips.
“I’m glad you think so.” He chuckled. “I hope it tastes that way, too.”
Taking in everything already laid out on the surface of the narrow kitchen island that also served as breakfast bar, dinner table, and desk, it was hard to believe otherwise.
Like a bee drawn to a flower, my legs carried me closer, my gaze gobbling everything in awe. A plate of fragrant rice sautéed with colorful veggies sat in the middle. Something that looked like charred Feta cheese drizzled with what had to be honey was to its right. And to the left, a tray filled with slices of roasted bread spread with peppers and onions.
Another chuckle reached my ears, making me realize Lucas was no longer at the stove but on the other side of the island. Looking at me, his expression one of pure amusement. “Come on,” he said. “Have a seat before it gets cold.”
My eyes widened. “Have a… seat?”
“Where else would you eat?”
“You’re inviting me to have dinner?” I swallowed, a mix of surprise and more of that nervous giddiness making my tummy drop. “With you?”
He tilted his head to one side, studying me. “Only if you’re hungry.”
“I…” Didn’t know what to say. Which I realized happened way too often around Lucas.
Did I want to sit down and take this chance to spend more time—before we went our separate ways—with Lucas, or did I want to politely decline, pack my things, leave, and figure out a plan of action for tonight?
Before I could make up my mind, my stomach growled, providing Lucas with an answer.
I winced in horror.
“Ah.” Lucas pointed out with humor. “How the tables have turned. I think your stomach is trying to communicate with me this time around, Rosalyn Graham. And I’m taking it as a compliment.”
His smile was big and easy as he grabbed two plates from the counter and set them on the table. Then, he walked right where I was standing, stretched an arm, and pulled out the stool closer to me. He met my gaze and patted the plush surface. “You’re hungry, so it’s settled. Sit. Tell me how your dad is.”
My mouth opened, then closed.
His offer, his words, were sweet. Considerate. And in a not-so-shocking turn of events—given my long online lurking history—this was something I had fantasized about a couple dozen times. Having dinner with Lucas Martín. Dinner he had cooked. Dinner we would eat together.
But I hesitated. Standing there, not moving, except for my eyeballs, which were busy tracking Lucas’s movements as he set everything up.
“Rosie, a seat?” he repeated. “I can’t promise I won’t bite, but I will try not to.”
And my next breath got stuck in my throat for a second there.
My cheeks flushed hot while I told myself to react. To laugh it off. The man was flirty, fun, easy to be around. He was just being nice.
I opened my mouth and a boisterous, loud cackle came out.
Lucas’s eyebrows shot to the roof of his forehead.
Too much, Rosie. “That was funny.” I patted my chest, my screech still echoing in my ears. “A funny, funny joke, of course. Because you’re not going to bite me. Obviously.”
Lucas shook his head. “I’m starting to believe I’ve lost my touch,” he murmured. But when I finally let myself fall onto the stool, the frown disappeared from his face. His expression eased and turned somewhat serious. “Thank you, Rosie.”
“Why are you thanking me?” I answered, my voice thankfully getting back to normal.
He shrugged. “It’s been a while since I’ve shared a meal with someone. Traveling alone has its perks but it can also get a little lonely. I think I was beginning to feel that way. Until this morning.” He met my gaze. “And now.”
I stared into that pair of brown eyes for a few seconds, feeling something inside of me softening, melting: my hesitation, my awkwardness, and most likely, something else, too. “Thank you for inviting me to have dinner with you, Lucas. It’s really my pleasure.” And you wouldn’t believe how much, I wanted to add.
He smiled, and once more it was big and happy and… trouble. So much trouble, I seemed to realize as I stared at those lips of his. I was in sticky, up-to-my-knees trouble if he really planned to flash that smile like it was nothing.
“So, how’s your dad?” he asked again, offering the platter of sautéed rice.
Taking it from him, I served myself a big spoonful. “He’s okay. He has a bad hip. He tripped on one of the creepy yard gnomes he loves so much.” I let out a soft snort. “But luckily, he’s fine. Just a little sore. It could have been so much worse. The gnome was the only casualty.”
“I’m happy to hear that, Rosie.”
I was, too. And for some reason, I doubted Lucas had said it just to be polite.
“Thank you, Lucas.” Looking to occupy myself with something that wasn’t his face, I reached for a slice of bread and brought it straight to my mouth. “Oh my gosh.” I pretty much moaned the moment I tasted the first bite. “What did you do to these peppers? They taste—Whoa. They’re amazing.”
“I caramelized them with red onions and a few spices I found in Lina’s cupboard.” He winked, biting into his slice, too. “The rest of the groceries I bought with my change and some of what you gave me.” His expression turned hesitant. “Rosie, I feel like I owe you—”
“Don’t worry about it, okay?” I told him before he could even try to explain himself. “I’m more than okay lending you a few bucks until you get your replacement. You don’t know anyone in the city and it’s really the least I can do. Plus, you’ve invited me to eat.” I gestured at the absolutely moan-worthy feast he had served. “So, I hardly see how this isn’t a good deal for me.” I spooned some of that gooey and shiny Feta cheese onto my plate. “I’d do outrageous things for cheese like this.”
“I’ll make sure to remember that. For next time.”
Next time. Did that mean—
No. It was just something people said.
He continued, “Cooking—followed by eating what I cook—is one of the very few pleasures capable of taking my mind off things when I’m having an off day.”
I readjusted the napkin on my lap and returned all my focus to my food. “I can really see why, Lucas,” I told him, keeping myself from asking about the off day and assuming he was talking about last night’s mess.
“So, Rosie,” Lucas said after a couple of minutes. “I’ve heard all about how you and Lina met and I’m going to be honest, I’ve been dying to hear your version of the events.”
Frowning, I sneaked a quick glance at him. That big, distracting smile was there again. Dammit. I returned my gaze to my plate. “My version of the events? We met during Intro Week at InTech.”
“Oh, that’s so not what Lina has been telling around.” He chuckled, and it was low and deep and… knowing. “You’re kind of a legend back home.”
“A legend?”
“Yeah, it’s not every day that a kind soul pulls my cousin out of the way of an escaped horse and saves her life.”
“A what?”
And just like that, the events he was referring to flashed through my mind and the only logical response to them was triggered.
A genuine deep belly laugh burst out of me.
“That’s what Lina told everyone?” I asked, and Lucas nodded. “Unbelievable. Well, actually, I should have expected that from Lina.”
“You’re telling me my very low-key, absolutely not-dramatic cousin embellished a little?” He laughed. “You know, she even describes in terrifying detail how her life flashed before her eyes.” He tilted his head. “All of it before opening them and finding her green-eyed guardian angel standing before her.”
I scoffed. “I guess that explains why your grandmother cried when we met.”
Without taking his gaze off me, Lucas pushed the cheese platter in my direction. “Are you really telling me, then, that there was no horse dramatically rearing?” When I didn’t serve myself, he reached out and spooned a piece onto my plate. “No you swooping in and saving her life?”
“Well,” I said, watching him retrieve his hands with a satisfied look. “Are you familiar with the horse carriages in Central Park?”
Lucas nodded, reaching for one of the last slices of roasted bread.
“They are mostly for tourists, or the occasional grand gesture date, which is a little… unoriginal, if you ask me. I have nothing against gestures, of course. But romance—big, grand gestures—should be about something personal. Well thought out, like—”
Our gazes met again, bringing my words to a stop when I spotted the amusement in his eyes.
“Anyway.” I shrugged a shoulder. “Don’t ask me how, but one of the horses was loose and marching across Central Park at the slowest pace known to… well, horses. Enter Lina, headphones on, clearly lost, looking at Google Maps app on her phone.” Only later, I had learned my best friend had no sense of direction. “That same morning, I had seen her spill a pot of coffee on someone’s pants, so I knew her basic reflexes weren’t exactly super sharp.”
Lucas snickered. “Oh, definitely not her forte.”
“Right?” I chuckled. “Anyway, I yelled for her to watch out, and when she didn’t move, I just went and pulled her out of the way.”
Lucas tsked. “That’s definitely not the version I’ve been hearing about every single Christmas since she met you.”
Every single Christmas?
Lucas had been hearing about it—about me—every single Christmas?
“Sorry to disappoint you.” I picked my fork back up, loading it with rice. “I’m no guardian angel. Or heroine. Just your run-of-the-mill engineer turned romance writer.” I tilted my head. “Oh. That’s the first time I said that out loud.”
His smile turned warmer. “And how did it feel?”
I thought about my answer. “Good. It was good to say it. To hear it.”
I just wished I felt confident in these new shoes I had slipped on. But I didn’t, not right now. Mostly because… could someone who had written one single book be considered a writer? How could someone who had hardly made it past the first chapter of her second one feel like a writer?
My stomach dropped at the thought.
I didn’t know if Lucas missed that or not, but he said, “Can I ask you something else? It’s a little personal.”
“Of course,” I answered with a sigh, remnants of self-doubt still stirring in my gut.
“You never told me how you felt about giving up your engineering job. You told me how those around you might feel about you writing, and how you expected your dad to feel about you quitting. But you never said how you felt.”
And that was… a question I hadn’t expected him to ask. A question no one—from the people who knew—had thought to ask.
How did I feel, though? I knew why I had resigned. But had that been the right thing to do? Did a part of me regret it? Was the fact that I hadn’t been able to write a single freaking word since then a sign of how big a mistake I had made?
“It’s none of my business, I know,” he said after a long silence on my part. His smile was lopsided, almost self-conscious. “It’s okay.”
“I…” I trailed off.
He watched me for a few seconds, and when I still gave him nothing, he resumed eating, acting like it wasn’t a big deal. Probably because he really thought it wasn’t.
“I wasn’t unhappy,” I finally managed to say, and he glanced up at me very slowly, as if a sudden movement would somehow scare me away. “I think I would still be happy working for InTech if I hadn’t found something that I… finally loved. Something that made me understand what really loving what you do is. Something that completed me in a way engineering never did, even if I didn’t yet know and was never unhappy.” I released all the air in my lungs, feeling like a pricked balloon, deflating. “That’s probably why it’s so hard for me to talk about it. Because this new thing, this new dream, seems so fragile. Like, I’m holding it in my hands, but the feel of it is so… new, so unfamiliar, that I’m terrified I might drop and shatter it, so I just… stand there and look at it in silence.”
And because every day that I inched closer to that deadline—now eight weeks away—every day that passed without me writing a single word or being able to access whatever had been inside of me not so long ago, I felt like it was falling. Like I was failing.
“Hey.” Lucas’s voice registered, making me realize I had been staring into empty space. “You’re ballsy, Rosie.” The right side of his mouth tipped up. “That’s something you should never forget. And something you should be proud of.”
Ballsy. I’d never been called that. Not even once. Cautious, responsible, driven, but never ballsy.
“Thank you,” I said, so quietly I wasn’t even sure he’d heard it. “But enough about me.” I straightened on my stool. “What, aside from food, makes you feel better when you’re feeling off?”
Lucas thought about my question for just an instant. Then, he leaned on his elbows. Slowly. His voice dropped down, as if he was letting me into a secret and I felt myself lean forward, too. “It’s something almost as fun as eating, but it involves far less clothing.”
My breath stuck in my throat, not caring that I had been in the process of swallowing. Consequently, a runaway rice grain went down the wrong pipe, making me break into a fit of coughing.
“Por Dios,” I heard him say between my shallow puffs of air. “Rosie, are you okay?”
Nope. I wasn’t. Clearly. Because the mental image of Lucas—in far less clothing than he was now, doing fun things—had sent my most basic body function into shock.
When I didn’t answer and only kept coughing, a curse in what must have been Spanish left him. He stood up and shot in my direction.
Before he’d think of wrapping his arms around me and Heimliching me, I took matters into my own hands and reached across the table for a glass of water.
“Hold on, Rosie,” Lucas warned just as I tipped the glass up. “Not so fast! That’s—Oh. Okay.”
I downed the contents of it and placed it back on the table. “Wine,” I said a little breathlessly. “That was white wine.” Which I hadn’t even noticed on the table. Because, well. Because I’d been busy noticing Lucas.
“Yeah,” he admitted, and I could hear the amusement dancing in his words. “Well, it did the trick.”
“Yep.” I cleared my throat and straightened in my stool, refusing to look up at him. God, this really needs to stop. “Can I… Can I get a refill, please?”
His answer didn’t come for a long moment. “You sure? You just downed a full glass of it.”
Feeling Lucas’s eyes on the side of my head, I finally dared to meet his gaze. He was studying me. “I rarely ever drink.” I sighed. “But today might be a two glasses of wine kind of day. Or week, maybe. Plus, we’re mostly done with the food, so I might need something new to take my mind off things.” He looked a little surprised by my admission and I felt the need to add, “Something that doesn’t involve less clothing.”
Slowly, and almost reluctantly, Lucas poured more of the golden liquid. “Your brother,” he pointed out simply. “You mentioned he’d been dodging your calls. Is that why it’s a two glasses kind of day?”
“You have good memory,” I murmured.
“I’m a good listener.” He returned to his seat across the island, making sure to meet my gaze. “He wasn’t there today, was he? At your dad’s.”
I narrowed my eyes to thin slits. “Who are you? Dr. Phil?”
“Doctor… who?”
“He’s a psychologist and talk show host.” I reached for my glass. “People go on his show, Dr. Phil has a little look inside their souls and boom, uproots and fixes all their deepest concerns.”
Lucas smirked. “Is he handsome? Is that why I remind you of him?”
A laugh climbed up my throat, leaving me before I could stop it. “Oh God, no.”
Lucas’s lopsided smile fell off. “Oh.”
“I mean, you’re handsome,” I felt the need to clarify. Then, immediately regretted it. “Objectively. To the people out there. Not subjectively, as in, to me. You’re objectively handsome, I… guess.”
“You… guess?” Lucas’s lips pursed. “I feel like there’s a compliment somewhere, but I’m having a hard time finding it.”
If you only knew, I thought. But instead, I said, “It’s the fact that I seem to be using you as my therapeutic crutch a lot. We’ve known each other for a total of what? A day? And you know more about me than most people that have been in my life for years.” I shrugged a shoulder. “That’s why I was comparing you to him.”
His smile returned. “Being used by beautiful women is something I don’t mind in the slightest.”
Beautiful women.
My heart did the silliest, stupidest cartwheel.
I returned the glass to my lips just to buy some time, trying to focus on women, plural, and not woman, as in me, Rosie. Although what did it matter, really? This was Lucas Martín, and after tonight, there was nothing tying us together. Not when Lina wasn’t in New York to supply an excuse for us to meet again, and definitely not when in about a month and a half he’d be jumping on a plane and leaving the country. The continent. So it didn’t matter if he was referring to me or not.
“So, my brother,” I said, taking the conversation back onto a safer ground, “didn’t even show up. He blew me off. Again.”
Lucas nodded. “Did he say why?”
“He didn’t. He never tells me anything anymore.” I reached for my napkin, just to occupy my hands with something. “And that’s the whole problem. I just… don’t know what’s up with him. It’s as if I no longer know him, like he doesn’t want me in his life anymore.” I shook my head, squeezing the cloth between my fingers. “And that makes me incredibly sad.”
I looked up at Lucas, finding his attentive gaze on me as he chewed on the last of his food. “And your dad?”
“He’s probably blaming himself. He probably feels like he could have done something if he’d stayed in the city.” I dropped the napkin next to my plate and reached for the wine again. “That’s why I always cover for him. Tell Dad that he’s busy. That he has a new job. That he’s living his life. That he’s an adult and we need to give him some room to grow on his own. But I’m not sure I believe that myself anymore.” I downed the contents of my glass. “I think there’s something he’s not telling us. Something he’s keeping from me.”
Lucas nodded, momentarily averting his gaze. “What do you think that could be?”
Closing my eyes, I shook my head. “I don’t know, Lucas.” I zeroed back on him and forced a smile. “See? A two glasses kind of night.”
Lucas remained silent for a few seconds, seemingly lost in thought. Then he said, “Sometimes we keep things from those we love for reasons we don’t even understand ourselves.”
And for some reason I couldn’t really explain, his words felt like a confession.
He continued, “Give him some time. He’ll realize on his own how isolating secrets can be.”
A little lost in the shadows crossing his expression, it took me some time to answer. “I hope you’re right, Dr. Phil.”
Shifting in my seat I remembered that I wasn’t the only one in the room that had had a strange day. “I should probably go. You must be exhausted after the weirdest twenty-four hours of your life.”
He chuckled, returning to his lighthearted self. “I wouldn’t say weird,” he admitted.
I wouldn’t, either, I thought. But I didn’t say anything and rose to my feet instead, the couple glasses of wine I’d ingested in the span of a few minutes racing straight to my head and making me wobble for the tiniest second.
Lucas’s brows wrinkled.
“Whoops, I stood up too fast.” I played it down with a light laugh. “Well, dinner was great, Lucas. Seriously. The best I’ve had in a while. Thanks again for inviting me.”
His mouth twitched, making me hope for one last sunny grin before leaving but it never really happened. Instead, he stood up and walked to the living room area of the studio. Leaving me there, staring at the way his wide and lean back shifted with every step. He plopped himself down on the large couch I knew my best friend had splurged on about a year ago.
He reached for the remote and turned the TV on. He tapped on the smart TV options, displaying the subscription apps. “She really has every single streaming service I can think of.”
“Uhm,” I muttered, wondering if I was getting a goodbye from him. “Yeah. We spend a lot of nights in.” More like all of them. “Or used to, before Aaron and the wedding.”
And it hit me right then, that maybe Lucas wasn’t the only one that had been feeling a little lonely lately. Maybe I was, too.
He turned, looking at me over his shoulder. “Are you coming?”
I blinked.
Lucas’s smirk returned. “Don’t look at me like that. I’ll let you pick.”
I hesitated. “I… I should probably start gathering my things. I have a lot of stuff and I unpacked more than necessary. I also didn’t get around to booking something for the night and I should do that.” And that was evidence of how scattered my thoughts had been today. Because I was “Always Ready Rosie,” and any other day that would have been at the top of my list. Done and ready.
“Or,” Lucas pointed out, “you can relax while we watch something, and then I’ll help you get your stuff.” He looked down at his watch. “It’s only 8:30 p.m. And I don’t give remote rights to just anybody.”
“I guess…” I took one small step forward, feeling my head sway. This is why I don’t usually drink. “I guess relaxing for a bit won’t hurt.” Another step. “I guess… I could stay.”
“Then, what are you waiting for, Rosie?”
Yep. I didn’t just guess. I wanted to stay badly enough to close the rest of the distance, snag the remote out of his grip, and join him on the couch. Or at least the wine did.
A couple of episodes of my favorite show later, I had not only relaxed but succumbed to the mental exhaustion of the last hours—and days and weeks.
Shifting my lax body on the couch, I turned and let my head fall on the pillow. My drowsy eyes took in Lucas’s profile.
Defined nose, strong jaw, high cheekbones, full lips… and that hair. Those locks that were on the longer side and that still managed to make my stomach dip with surprise and something else. Something… warmer that I didn’t want to think too much about. Not when I could just look at him.
Yeah. This new look suited him. Far more than the buzz cut one he sported on Instagram.
Before I knew what I was doing, I heard myself whisper, “Lucas?”
I saw the corner of his lips turn up before he whispered back, “Rosie?”
I chuckled. “I might still be a little tipsy. And I’m so tired, too. I might doze off if I don’t stand up right now.”
It was his turn to laugh. “You might,” he said, but then, his mouth fell and his neck somehow tensed. He rolled his head toward me and made sure to meet my gaze. “Does that worry you?”
I frowned, a little slow to follow.
His brows bunched up. “It shouldn’t. You know you’re safe with me, right?”
Oh.
Something in my stomach took a deep dive at the seriousness in his tone. “I know,” I told him. And I meant it. I did know I was safe with him.
His expression and shoulders relaxed, causing me a deep sense of satisfaction I didn’t understand.
“You know why I know?” I asked.
He waited for my answer.
“Because I know you noticed I was tipsy, and that’s why you insisted I stayed. You were making sure I was okay before I left.”
Nodding his head, he seemed to think about something. To my surprise, he turned back to the screen, and only when he was facing away, he lowered his voice and said, “Now quiet. I’m trying to watch my show.”
Which brought the stupidest smile to my face. Because it wasn’t his show. It was mine. My supernatural teen show filled with vampires and werewolves and magic rings and enchanted lockets and mystic cures and more than a fair share of over-the-top drama.
“Lucas?” I repeated after a few moments.
The corner of his mouth twitched again. “Yeah, Rosie?”
“Thank you.” For listening. And for tonight. And for making me feel… less alone. A little less burdened, even if only for a little while. “I think I really needed to talk to someone, and I want to make sure you know.”
He looked over at me again, and he must have seen the gravity of my words in my face because he asked, “What’s wrong?”
The wine had probably obliterated the last of my filters, and his expression was so kind, so gentle, that it was impossible not to answer.
“Remember my new dream?” I asked with a big, long sigh, bringing my hands between my cheek and the pillow underneath. “I have a deadline, for my second book, and I’m running out of time.” I lowered my voice to barely a whisper. “This is my chance to prove to myself that I didn’t make a mistake, Lucas. And I might not make it.”
A part of me realized I wasn’t telling him much. In fact, I was really telling him nothing about the real problem: me, feeling like someone was cutting off the oxygen supply every time I opened that manuscript; me, drowning in pressure, in paralyzing fear; me blocked. Stuck.
But Lucas just rolled his body, angling himself in my direction, and rested the side of his head on the cushion behind him, mirroring my posture.
His lips pressed in a stern line. “You’ll figure it out, Rosie.” His gaze burned with a confidence that I hadn’t yet earned. “You’ve gotten this far. I don’t need to know much about you to know that you’ll keep pushing. That’s what ballsy people do.”
Ballsy. I liked how it felt to be called ballsy. By him.
But I still wanted to tell him that he couldn’t know for sure. That I could be a fraud or a failure. I could have made a mistake rushing into this. But it was hard for me to be negative around Lucas when he managed to shine a bright light. “I hope you’re right.”
His voice lowered, turning solemn. “Want to bet on it?”
I chuckled. “I’d rather not.”
“Good, because it would be my easiest win.”
He smiled, and I think I did, too.
Time ticked by as we stared at each other, the show playing in the background. And at some point, seconds or minutes later, I felt my eyelids grow heavy and consciousness slowly slip away from me as an unexpected and vague thought took shape in my head.
What would have happened if Lucas had attended Lina and Aaron’s wedding? If we’d met that day? Would it have been this… easy, this effortless, to talk to him?
But before I could conjure an answer, sleep won the battle, taking me over with it.