9. Luke
9
Luke
“ H ey, big bro,” Sutton says, settling down next to me on a patio chair.
“Hey, sis. How goes it?”
We’re on the back porch at Mom’s house, preparing for our weekly family dinner. I suppose biweekly is more accurate. Shift work is a real pain in the ass sometimes.
“It’s been a crazy few weeks, actually,” Sutton says. I hand her a cold beer, and she takes a small pull. “I’ve closed on three houses this month.”
“Wow, congrats. Town sure is growing fast.” My sister is three years younger than me, but impresses me daily—she’s driven, successful, yet grounded and focused on our family.
“It really is. So, what’s new? I feel like I haven’t seen you since the bonfire.”
The setting sun casts a golden light across the backyard. Mom’s garden of summer flowers seems to glow like Christmas lights. Besides early morning, this is my favorite time of day. Everything begins to settle in for the night, and a quiet calm takes over my body. Tonight, however, Greer takes center stage in my mind.
“Nothing much. Just working and hanging out at home.”
Her face instantly lights up. “Yeah? And how’s Greer?”
A laugh rumbles from my chest. “Well, she ’bout busted my ass the other day.”
“Oh yeah? For what?” she asks coyly. It’s clear as day that she knows all about what happened between Greer and me.
“Trying to mow her lawn.”
“I heard.” She tries to stifle her giggle, but it tumbles out anyways, soft and brief, before she quickly takes a sip of her drink in an attempt to hide it.
I haven’t been able to get the situation with Greer out of my mind. Her spark of stubborn independence splayed me open. I didn’t mean to overstep. I thought for sure I fucked up when she vanished inside, but I felt her watching me. When she came back out, she was a woman on a mission—shoulders back, eyes focused. And then, as she often does around me, words spilled out of her.
The more I remember from the accident, the more I know there’s no way Greer walked away unscathed. For Christ’s sake, her husband had been killed. But hearing about her injuries? That gutted me. When she’d confessed wanting to learn things on her own? That sobered me. When she touched me? That scorched me.
“Did she tell you everything?” I bring the beer to my mouth.
Sutton side-eyes me. “You mean the groping?”
“Is that what she called it?”
“Well, yes, kinda.”
I can still feel Greer’s hand on my hand, my face. Her thumb brushing along my mouth, her eyes caressing my skin. I’d never in my life been touched or looked at like that by a woman. Every swipe of her thumb across my skin stole my breath. I’ve replayed the moment many times since then.
“Rest assured,”—I attempt to calm the heat rising on the back of my neck and will my body not to react—“it was not groping. I don’t know what it was, but it was something.”
“You know,” Sutton says, then hesitates. “She felt guilty.”
“Shit.” My stomach bottoms out. After game night, she told me she wasn’t ready for more, which is fine. I meant it when I said there was no timeline. But then, she was the one to initiate physical contact. So, yes, it took me by surprise, but she did nothing wrong. It’s not every day you find yourself lost in the eyes and hands of someone as captivating as her. I guess I have a lot more to learn about grief than I previously thought.
“I think it’s something you should talk to her about.”
Looking over at Sutton, I know she’s right. Greer and I might have just met, but there’s something between us. I felt it that first day she accused me of trying to murder her dog and that night drinking whiskey under the stars. Even the morning when I saw her standing in her yard in nothing but her nightgown, something stirred within me. But the night we played cards? And when she laid her hands on my face? Those moments ignited it.
“There’s something between us, Sutton. I don't know what it is, and it feels sudden, but I also know I can't ignore it. Every time I'm with her, it's like I'm just. . . pulled toward her.”
“I know.” She sets her beer down and stands from her chair.
“You do?”
“Mm-hmm.” She squeezes my shoulder before walking on bare feet toward the table. “It’s not going to be easy, Luke.”
“What won’t be easy?” Mom chimes in from the back door.
“Luke’s met a woman.” Sutton pulls out a chair and sits.
“Keeping secrets from your mom now, Luke Bradley?” Mom winks at me as she begins serving dinner. She’s always been our rock, and I’m thankful we’ve kept a close relationship even after losing Dad.
I shake my head. “Not keeping secrets, I promise.”
“Well, then,” Mom says, “why are you stalling? Tell me all about her.”
We dig in and Mom listens closely as I tell her about Greer. Mom only adds her two cents occasionally. Every now and then, her eyes cloud over, and I know she’s thinking about Dad, know she’s wishing she could take Greer’s pain away even though she’s never met her. That’s just how Mom is.
“Sutton’s right,” Mom says as she begins clearing dishes, but I stay her hands. She shakes her head and smiles but lets me take over cleaning up. “Losing someone you love is incredibly difficult. There are so many emotions attached to everything you do or think or say after you say goodbye. It won’t be easy, for either of you.”
“I know it won’t,” I say. “But I also can’t ignore whatever this is. Does that even make sense?”
“Makes complete sense, Son. And you shouldn’t ignore it. Life is short. Just be easy on yourselves as you begin this journey and communicate.”
“Just don’t give up on her,” Sutton says as she disappears into the house.
That’s not even a thought in my mind.
Rain pounds down on my metal roof, creating a rhythmic melody that pulls me from sleep. Glancing at the clock, it’s around 3:00 a.m. I’ve been working a lot this week and planned to sleep in today, but clearly nature has other plans.
Sitting up, I scratch at my chest and attempt to wipe the fog from my brain. As if she isn’t on my mind most of the day anyway, my new neighbor has now infiltrated my dreams.
Not that I’m complaining.
As my eyes adjust to the soft yellow glow from the kitchen light, I realize I forgot to close my shutters the night before. From my bed, I notice Greer’s window is illuminated next door.
Telling myself I just want to make sure she’s okay, I approach the window and open the shutters fully. Greer’s main light is on. A shadow moves behind her sheer curtains. What is she doing awake this early? Suddenly, her curtains part, revealing Greer. One of her sheer nightgowns covers her body, her figure illuminated by the light behind her. This woman has curves for days. Her mouth moves as if she’s talking to someone else, but I suspect she’s talking to herself, a habit I’ve noticed before, or to Duke who’s bound to be nearby.
I should close the shutters, but I can’t look away. Greer’s hands sweep up her body as she gathers her hair, twisting it into a knot at the top of her head. My gaze wanders and I try hard not to notice the shadow between her thighs or the fact that I’m getting hard just looking at her.
As if she senses being watched, she looks up directly at me and jumps back, her hands grasping the center of her chest. I’m certain if I were closer, her face and chest would be flushed that beautiful rosy color. Her hands drop to her sides, and she gives me her standard awkward wave. I wave back as her eyes rake over my body. I’m standing here in nothing but a pair of old station shorts. I lean in, placing both hands on the windowpane, content to let her take her fill.
She fidgets with the fabric of her nightgown, and when her gaze returns to mine, I can’t help it, I wink. A stunning expression graces her face as she lets out a full belly laugh—a sound I wish I was close enough to hear.
That tempting lip of hers slips between her teeth as she slides her curtains closed. Surprisingly, she doesn’t walk away. Instead, the shadow of her slips her nightgown up and over her head. She turns to the side, giving me a perfect view of her silhouette. It’s only a few seconds before she disappears out of sight.
“Fuck me,” I mutter, shaking my head. “Two can play that game, sweetheart .” Without bothering to close the shutters, I drop my shorts, possibly count to thirty, and head to take a shower. A very cold shower.
On any given day you’d find me outside, but a rainy like this is a perfect opportunity to stay inside all day and do nothing. Something I don’t do very often. After throwing together some breakfast, I try to make some headway in my newest book. I’m only five chapters in when a sudden burst of hollering from next door shatters the silence.
“What the hell?” Tossing the book on the coffee table, I follow the noise. As I open the sliding door, Duke darts across my yard and disappears from view. More hollering ensues, but I can’t quite make out what Greer’s saying. I open my door just enough to step onto the patio.
“Duke! You come back here right now!”
Wet sloshing alerts me to Duke running at full speed back across my yard. I step to the edge in time to see her reprimand him with a pointed finger. He sits immediately.
“What the hell?” she says. “You goofy dog, you can’t come inside like that!”
I chuckle, thoroughly amused watching her give this fool dog the what-for. He looks like he’s been through a mud wrestling match, covered in mud from paws to ears.
“You okay over there?” I call out.
“Do I look okay to you?”
“You look more than okay, but your dog, on the other hand, looks like he’s rolled in the creek.”
Without bothering to put on shoes, I stroll over to her patio. Rain pelts down, spattering my shirt and jeans.
“You’re not wearing shoes,” she says as I duck under the safety of her awning.
“No, I’m not.” She can’t seem to look away from my bare feet. “Uh, G, my eyes are up here.”
She quickly shakes her head and huffs a breath. “I know where your eyes are.”
“Mm-hmm.” I grin, enjoying watching her squirm.
“Oh, please! As if you weren’t looking at me,” she says, a playful glint in her eyes. Greer crosses her arms which pushes her breasts closer together in the low-cut tank she’s wearing.
“I was definitely looking, and I’m pretty sure you liked it.”
She opens her mouth to reply, narrowing her eyes on me. “You sure are something, Luke Bradley.”
“So are you, Greer Ashbury.”
Duke’s tail swishes back and forth over the concrete as he looks from her to me. I file away her sweet smile for later.
“I really wasn’t planning on trying to wash a dog today,” she says, “but I guess I have no choice.”
“Let me go get the hose, and I’ll help.”
Before I can take a single step, Greer stops me.
“I can do it, Luke.”
“Shit . . . I did it again, didn’t I?” She nods. “Okay then, what should I do?”
“Want to keep me company?”
“Absolutely.”
She raises her shoulders slightly and wiggles her hips. “Great! Um, I’ll be right back.”
Greer disappears inside, leaving Duke and me on the patio. Glancing around, I notice she’s added a new rug and table. My curiosity is piqued by the book discarded on the table, but before I can investigate further, she’s back with a bottle of shampoo, a brush, and several towels. Duke, looking chastened, hasn’t moved an inch.
“You like to read?” I gesture to the book as I sit down.
I’m not sure she’s heard me because she looks around like she’s lost something.
“Um,” she says, “do you think I could borrow your hose?”
Without answering, I duck back into the rain and jog to my house. My clothes are completely soaked when I return with a garden hose and nozzle. She takes them from my hands and steps under the stream of rain dripping off her roof to hook it into the spigot.
After successfully getting the hose working, she smiles her cute little smile. Leading Duke over to the edge of the concrete, she hoses him down. I try not to notice the splashes of water covering her toned legs or how her rosy nipples are clearly visible under the thin fabric of her tank top.
“I do like to read,” she finally answers, her hands busy massaging shampoo into Duke’s coat. Poor dog looks like he’s been caught in a bubble factory.
“That’s a lot of soap.”
She braces her soapy hands on her hips. “Yeah, I think maybe I used too much.”
“Fuck.” I groan. It’s torture sitting here doing nothing, trying to be a gentleman as her clothes get wetter by the minute. “You sure you don’t want some help?”
“Nope. So, what were you doing up so early today?”
“Rain woke me up.” Great, now all I can picture is her in a wet nightgown. “You?”
“Bad dream.”
“Want to talk about it?”
With the nozzle in one hand, she uses the other to scoop off some bubbles covering Duke’s fur, flinging them onto the grass.
“I dream about the accident sometimes.” She looks at me then, gauging my reaction.
“Is that what you dreamed about last night?” She flushes, but nods. “If you ever want to talk, you can always come over.”
“You know,” she says, “I was wondering something.”
“What’s that?”
“Why do you always leave your light on?” The water finally runs clear, so she turns the hose off and grabs a nearby towel. Duke isn’t as patient and starts wiggling when she covers him. Her shorts slide high on her thigh, revealing a cluster of freckles I’d like to explore. My fist flexes, fingers itching to touch the patches of newly exposed skin when her tank rides up her back.
“My eyes are up here, Luke.”
“I know,” I say, dragging my eyes over her glistening skin.
“Luke.”
The breathy way she says my name snaps me out of it. “What were you asking?”
“Your lights,”—she laughs—“why do you keep them on?”
At first, I’m not sure what she’s referring to, but then it dawns on me that she’s talking about the kitchen light.
“Oh, it’s something my mom and dad always did.”
I step forward, unable to resist, and squat down next to her, needing to do something, anything, to keep from dragging her to me. With the other dry towel, I dry Duke’s ears. She huffs.
I smile. “I want to help.”
“I don’t need you to help.” She plops down on the ground, shoulders slumped.
“I know you don’t, but I want to. It has nothing to do with me pitying you and everything to do with the fact that I just enjoy helping those around me in whatever way I can. Let me help you, Greer, okay?”
Her skin is warm beneath my palm as I slide my hand over her bare shoulder. She gives me a quick nod.
“Thank you.” I squeeze her shoulder before continuing to dry Duke. “Growing up, my parents always wanted me and Sutton to know they were there for us, so they left the kitchen light on to remind us that we always have someone to talk to if we need them.”
“Oh, I really like that.” I really like how soft her eyes become. “You sound close to your parents.”
“Yeah, I’m a mama’s boy through and through, and Dad was my best friend.”
“It sucks losing someone you love.”
“It does, but it gets better.”
With a brief nod, she grabs the wet towel from my hand and drops it by her back door with a thud. Our hands collide as we both reach for the dog brush. Her sharp intake of breath tempts me. Neither of us pulls away. Despite the chill in the air, my blood heats. I want nothing more than to pull her to me.
“Luke . . .” Damn, a man could get used to hearing his name said like that.
Not allowing her to stew in whatever emotions are rolling through that mind of hers, I wrap my hand around her wrist, feeling her pulse thrum beneath my thumb. Then, I grab the brush with the other. She allows me to hold her wrist for a few moments more before she pulls away and tucks it against her stomach. I kneel down to brush Duke at the same time Greer sits cross-legged nearby.
We talk for a while longer as rain continues to fall around us. Greer goes on and on about the romance book she’s reading. I smile, loving how animated she gets, but even more so because she’s actually letting me brush Duke’s fur. Tufts of loose hair drift around the patio, and she collects what she can as they float by her. The whole time we talk, our eyes keep finding their way back to each other.
Suddenly, Greer stops talking and stands abruptly. “I have to go,” she says. I grasp her calf, the bumps of her scars rough beneath my hand, and smooth my palm down to her ankle.
“Stay,” I say. “It’s okay.”
She twists her fingers together. “I’m nervous.”
“Don’t be nervous. It’s just me.”
It takes great effort to pull my hand away, but I do, and she sits back down. Duke stops his wiggling when she rubs behind his ears.
“What else are you doing today?” she finally asks.
“Until I heard you hollering in the yard, I was planning on relaxing at home.”
“And now?”
My eyes cut to hers. “I was wondering if you like lunch.”
She knits her eyebrows. “Um, yes, I like lunch. Why? You got something in mind?”
“Yep, let’s get this cleaned up, and I’ll make us some turkey sandwiches and lemonade.” The sweet smile she gives me in return is all the confirmation I need.