Chapter 2 #2
“I’m not jealous.”
The answer came too quickly. Luke noticed. Grace noticed that he noticed, and humiliation crawled up her throat.
“I’m not,” she repeated, quieter. “Not exactly.”
Luke crossed the kitchen and took the salad spinner from her hands. He set it aside, then drew her gently against him.
For a second, she resisted on principle.
Then his arms closed around her, warm and familiar, and the fight drained from her body in a way that made her resent the comfort even as she accepted it.
“I love you,” he said into her hair.
Grace closed her eyes.
“I love you too.”
“I’ll talk to her.”
Panic flared, sharp and immediate.
“No.”
Luke pulled back enough to see her face. “Why not?”
“Because she’ll apologize.”
“That’s usually good.”
“She’ll apologize beautifully. She’ll say she’s sorry she made me uncomfortable, she’ll tell you she was only trying to help, and then I’ll become the woman who made you scold your childhood friend for going to a flower shop.”
Luke’s face changed. “I wouldn’t scold her.”
“Exactly.”
He frowned.
Grace stepped away before either of them could say something worse.
The paper bag on the counter had begun to spot with steam. The wine stood unopened beside it. Outside the kitchen window, the sky had deepened from blue to violet, and the hydrangeas along the fence were turning into silhouettes.
This was supposed to be their time.
Their beginning.
Nine days ago, Luke had stood in this kitchen and asked her to marry him. Grace had been so happy.
Now she was standing in the same room trying to explain why a woman who had technically done nothing wrong felt like a threat.
Luke reached for her again, but this time he stopped himself.
“I’ll tell her to check with you before she does anything wedding-related,” he said.
Grace looked at him.
“And if she wants to help,” he continued, “she asks you. Not me. Not Mom. You.”
The knot inside her loosened by a fraction.
“Thank you.”
He nodded, though he still looked troubled.
They ate dinner at the kitchen island because neither of them suggested moving to the dining table.
Luke opened the wine. Grace put noodles into bowls.
For a while they talked about his day and her impossible client and whether they should get married in late August or early September.
The conversation recovered its rhythm slowly, like a bruise being pressed and released.
By the time they were clearing dishes, Grace almost believed the evening had been salvaged.
Then Luke’s phone lit up on the counter. Brooklyn’s name appeared on the screen.
Grace did not mean to look. She looked anyway.
Luke glanced at the phone, then at Grace. He did not pick it up. The phone buzzed again. And again.
Grace wiped the counter with a damp cloth. “You can answer.”
“I don’t need to.”
“It might be important.”
“It’s probably not.”
The fourth buzz came. Luke swore under his breath and picked it up. Grace hated that she could hear Brooklyn’s voice even from where she stood.
Not the words. Just the tone. Light, breathless, intimate with familiarity.
Luke’s shoulders shifted. “Slow down,” he said. “What happened?”
Grace stopped wiping.
He listened for nearly a minute, eyes lowered, jaw tightening. “No, don’t drive if you’re upset,” he said. “Where are you?”
Grace set the cloth in the sink.
Luke looked up at her. And there it was, before he said a word. The apology. The divided loyalty.The old obligation rising.
“Brooklyn’s car won’t start,” he said. “She’s at the community center. She was leaving some charity meeting, and she’s kind of stranded.”
Grace stared at him. “She called you?”
“She said she tried Elaine first.”
“Did she try a tow truck?”
“She’s upset, Grace.”
Grace laughed, but there was no humor in it.
Luke closed his eyes briefly. “Grace.”
“No, go.”
“I don’t want to leave like this.”
“Then don’t.”
The words hung between them.
Luke looked at the phone in his hand.
Brooklyn’s voice came through faintly.
“Luke?”
Grace turned away.
For a moment, he did not move. Then he lifted the phone back to his ear. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” he said.
Grace’s throat tightened.
He ended the call and reached for his keys, then stopped and came toward her. “I’ll just make sure she gets home.”
Grace nodded.
“That’s all.”
She nodded again.
His hand touched her waist. “I’m sorry.”
Grace looked at him then.
He seemed genuinely torn. Maybe that should have comforted her. Instead, it made the ache worse.
Because he was not choosing Brooklyn easily. He was choosing her reluctantly. And still choosing her.
“Drive safe,” Grace said.
Luke kissed her cheek.
Not her mouth. Maybe because she turned slightly at the last second. Maybe because he did.
Then he left.
Grace stood in the kitchen and listened to his car pull out of the driveway.
On the counter, two bowls sat beside each other in the sink. His wineglass still held a mouthful of red at the bottom. His jacket was draped over the back of one of her chairs because he had forgotten it in his hurry.
Grace stared at that jacket for a long time. Then her phone buzzed. For one foolish second she thought it was Luke.
It was Brooklyn.
I’m so sorry to steal him tonight. I know you probably think I’m hopeless. Thank you for understanding. You’re lucky, you know. He’s always been the person who shows up.
Grace read the message once.
Then again.
Then she placed the phone facedown beside Luke’s forgotten jacket.
She stood there until the kitchen lights began to feel too bright, until the quiet pressed against her ears, until she no longer trusted herself not to throw the phone across the room.
Only then did she move.
She picked up Luke’s jacket, folded it over her arm, and carried it to the hall closet. She hung it carefully. Because she was not irrational. She was not dramatic. She was not jealous.
She was simply a woman standing alone in her kitchen, nine days after getting engaged, beginning to understand that Brooklyn Shaw did not need to steal Luke.
She didn’t need to, because he would come running when she called.