Chapter 13 Backseat Driver #2
"Oh, this is going to be good," Harper mutters.
With that, we divide into teams.
Luke and me versus Harper and Ben, with Claire and David acting as judges because Claire's fetus drawings have been banned by unanimous vote.
"First round," Dad announces, producing the timer with ceremony. "Luke, you're drawing for Sage."
Luke takes the card, reads it, and nods once. "Ready."
The timer starts, and Luke begins drawing with the focus of a man performing surgery. Quick, precise lines appear on the paper.
"Box!" I guess. "Square! Rectangle!"
He shakes his head, adding more lines.
"Building! House! Prison!"
More lines. Is that a wheel?
"Car! Truck! ... Hearse?"
He stops drawing and looks at me. "How did you get hearse from that?"
"The wheels look funeral-y!"
"They're regular wheels.”
"Draw better wheels!"
"These are perfectly acceptable wheels.”
"Time!" Dad calls.
"It was a bus," Luke says, showing me the drawing. "See? Wheels, windows, door."
"That door looks like a coffin!"
"It's a rectangle.”
"A death rectangle!"
Harper and Ben high-five. "Point for us!"
The game continues, and something magical happens.
Luke and I develop a bizarre telepathy that defies all logic. He draws what looks like a potato with stick legs, and I correctly guess "hamster."
I sketch something that resembles a drunk octopus, and he immediately says "chandelier."
"How?" Claire demands after our fifth straight correct answer. "How did you get 'volcano' from that?"
"The triangular shape suggested elevation," Luke explains seriously. "And the squiggles clearly indicated lava flow."
"Those squiggles were supposed to be smoke!"
"Even better. The abstract nature required interpretive analysis."
"You two are terrifying together," Harper mutters.
We win the next three rounds. Then the three after that.
My family watches in growing amazement as their perpetual loser racks up victory after victory.
"Final round," Dad announces. "Sage draws for Luke."
I take the card. 'Wedding.'
My hand freezes over the paper.
Wedding.
I'm supposed to draw a wedding for the man I've tricked into saving my inn. The man I've kissed twice while harboring massive secrets.
The man who's somehow made me win at family game night for the first time in my adult life.
"Thirty seconds," Claire prompts.
I start drawing. A stick figure in what's supposed to be a dress but looks more like a tent. Another stick figure in what might be a tuxedo or might be a very formal box.
"People," Luke says. "Formal event. Dancing?"
I add flowers. So many flowers.
Panic flowers.
"Garden party? No... wedding?"
"Yes!" I practically shout.
"Time!" Dad calls. "And that's game! Luke and Sage win!"
"We won?" I stare at the score sheet. "I won?"
"We won," Luke corrects, and something about the way he says 'we' makes my heartbeat triple.
"This is unprecedented," Harper says. "Sage actually won at something."
“Oh my God, quit. I win at things.”
"Name one thing you've won before tonight."
"I..." I think hard. "I won that pie eating contest in fourth grade!"
"You threw up on the judge."
"After I won!"
“I should go,” Luke says quietly, setting down his empty plate and glancing at the time.
He stands slowly, smoothing down his sweater sleeves, then looks around the room.
“Patricia, thank you,” he says, turning to my mom. “That seven-layer dip was better than anything I’ve ever had catered. I may start negotiating exclusive rights.”
Mom practically glows. “Oh, you’re welcome anytime. If you like casseroles, I do a mean chicken enchilada bake.”
“Dangerous knowledge.” He winks, that chiseled face of his softening. “I’ll never survive my waistline.”
He turns to Dad. “Frank, the house rules were incredibly clear. I appreciate the rigor.”
Dad puffs up like someone just knighted him. “We run a tight ship.”
“Damn right we do,” Harper mutters.
“To the judges,” Luke says, nodding toward Claire and David. “Fair, unbiased, and occasionally ruthless.”
Claire beams. “We take our bans seriously.”
David offers a toast with his LaCroix. “Come back next month, and we’ll really throw down.”
Luke leans toward Ben. “Excellent teamwork tonight. You may have a career in espionage.”
Ben lifts an eyebrow, impressed. “You’re surprisingly cool for a guy with an algorithm empire.”
Luke gives a short laugh. “I’ll add that to my LinkedIn endorsements.”
And then—before he leaves—he does something that punches me square in the chest.
He walks over to Claire and gently touches her shoulder. “Good luck with the baby. If you ever need security for your nursery camera, let me know. I know a guy.”
Claire stares at him, touched. “Thanks, Luke.”
Then he turns to Harper and says, “I hope your next trial closes well. That paralegal you mentored? I read her write-up in the law journal. Smart move bringing her in.”
Harper’s eyes widen, speechless for once. “How did you—?”
“I make it a point to know impressive people.”
Surprise—and something else I can’t describe—places a knot in my throat. I cough to clear it.
"I'll walk you out," I say quickly, needing air and space and distance from my family's knowing looks.
By the time Luke and I exit to the porch, the autumn mist is already creating halos around the streetlights, the damp air soaking into my skin.
My eyes flick over Luke’s six-foot-four figure, landing at the partnership papers tucked under his arm.
"Thank you," I say, at last. "For playing. For helping me win. For not running when Claire mentioned the kissing within thirty seconds of your arrival."
"Your family's wonderful.” He nods, the strong jaw of his bobbing. "Chaotic, but wonderful."
"They're something."
He shifts on his feet, and I realize he's nervous.
Luke Sterling—billionaire tech genius, impossibly muscular human machine—is nervous on my parents' porch.
"I need to take the train back to the city," he says. "But I could drop you at the inn first. If you want."
"You take the train?"
"Sometimes. When I need to think." He pauses. "It's a bit unusual. The train, I mean."
"Unusual how?"
"You'll see. If you come."
I blink, crossing my arms against the cold.
This is exactly the right time to say “no.”
To take my own car. To take a step back, to put some slack into the slowly tightening rope that’s tying me to this god of a man.
It’s exactly the time to remember that tie—the tether between us—is all built on lies and desperation and a hack that could destroy everything if he finds out.
Instead, I say, "Let me grab my things."
"Really?" He looks surprised.
"Really. Just promise me the train isn't made of solid gold or something equally billionaire-ridiculous."
His smile is mysterious. "I make no promises."
I head back inside to find my entire family pressed against the window.
"Subtle," I tell them. "Very subtle."
"Is he taking you home?" Claire asks eagerly.
"On his private jet?" Mom chimes in.
"On a train, apparently."
"A train?" Harper frowns. "Like... Amtrak?"
"I guess we'll find out." I grab my purse and the leftover wine. "Thanks for dinner. And for not completely humiliating me."
"The night's still young," Harper calls as I head back out.
Luke's waiting by a car that's definitely not his usual town car. This one's more understated, but still screams money in that quiet way rich people prefer.
"Ready?" he asks.
No, I think.
I'm not ready for any of this.
Not ready for how you make me feel. Not ready to tell you the truth. Not ready to lose whatever the hell we're building, even if it's built on sand.
"Ready," I lie.
Because that's what I do now, apparently.
I lie to Luke Sterling.
And pretend it doesn't feel like swallowing glass every time I do.