Chapter 5 #2
“Yeah, she thinks I’m too isolated and that I need to ‘get out more.’” He made air quotes with his fingers. “Her words, of course.”
“And are you? Too isolated?”
The question hung between us, and I realized I was holding my breath waiting for his answer.
Because I knew that bone-deep feeling of loneliness that came from being surrounded by people who knew your story but didn’t really know you.
The isolation that came from being the talk of the town, from everyone knowing your business but no one actually seeing you. From being alone even when you weren’t.
Luke’s gaze dropped to his wine glass, his thumb tracing the stem absently.
“I was when I first moved here. I barely left the house except for necessities. But lately …” He paused, and his expression became more open, more vulnerable as his eyes locked on mine.
“Lately, I’ve been finding reasons to get out more. ”
He didn’t say “because of you,” but he didn’t have to. It was written all over his face, in the way his voice softened, and in the way he couldn’t seem to look away from me.
Something in my chest loosened because I’d been finding reasons too, hadn’t I? Reasons to linger in his kitchen. Reasons to say yes to dinner instead of going home alone to my empty house or my freezing workshop.
I’d spent so much of this year alone—not just physically, but emotionally. Keeping people at arm’s length because it was easier than risking more hurt. But sitting here with Luke, I didn’t feel the need to guard myself the way I usually did.
He made me want to lean in instead of pull away. Made me want more of this. More of him.
Me too, I wanted to say. I’ve been looking for reasons to see you, too.
But that felt like too much, too soon. Like admitting something I wasn’t quite ready to say out loud yet.
“Talking to you is easier than I thought it would be,” I said instead.
“Easier how?” His brows drew together, not in confusion but in that focused way he had—like he was trying to solve me.
“Luke. You ran away from me like three times,” I pointed out with a chuckle.
His ears went red. “I wasn’t—okay, yes. I did. But in my defense, you’re very intimidating.”
I snorted inelegantly. “I’m intimidating?”
“Yes. You’re confident and beautiful, and you talk to people like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Meanwhile, I can barely order coffee without rehearsing what I’m going to say first.”
My heart did something complicated. No one had ever called me beautiful before. Cute, yes. Adorable, frequently. Pretty? Once or twice.
Beautiful was for other women. Women with perfect skin and perfect bodies and perfect lives.
Beautiful wasn’t supposed to be for me.
And yet Luke had said it like it was simply a fact. Like it was obvious.
“You think I’m beautiful?”
His expression was pure bewilderment, like I’d just asked him if water was wet or if gravity existed. “Obviously.”
I didn’t know what to say. The sincerity in his voice and the matter-of-fact way in which he’d said it made my throat feel tight.
I picked up my wine glass, needing something to do with my hands, and took a sip.
Around us, the restaurant hummed with conversation and clinking silverware, couples and families sharing meals, sharing moments.
And here I was, sitting across from Luke Byron, feeling things I hadn’t let myself feel in a really long time.
Dangerous things. Hopeful things.
This almost feels like a date.
I only realized I’d actually spoken the words aloud when Luke made a surprised sound.
Shit.
Heat rushed to my face. “I mean, it’s not,” I added quickly. “Obviously. You were just being nice because my life is a disaster and—”
“I’d like it to be,” he interrupted.
“What?”
“A date.” He set down his glass, took a deep breath, and blew it out. “I want to take you out, Holly. Officially. If you’d like that.”
I stared at this kind, thoughtful man who’d spent his afternoon listening to me fall apart. Who’d just admitted he thought I was beautiful. Who was looking at me now with hope and terror in equal measure.
“I’d definitely like that,” I admitted.
The smile that broke across his face was like the sun coming out after a storm.
After Rosa had packed up our leftovers and Luke had paid the bill—waving off my attempt to split it—he insisted on walking me home.
“It’s only ten minutes,” he said when I protested. “And it’s a nice night.”
Nice was being generous. The moment we stepped out of Rosa’s, the cold was all-encompassing.
But the night was clear. Above us, stars scattered across the black sky in a way you never saw in summer, and the moon was bright enough to cast shadows on the sidewalk, while Christmas lights twinkled from the businesses and houses we passed.
We walked slowly, our footsteps crunching on patches of snow on the brick sidewalk.
I tucked my hands deeper into my pockets. “I should have worn gloves.”
“Here.” Luke immediately started to pull his off.
“Don’t you dare,” I said, laughing. “Then you’ll be cold.”
“I run warm.”
“Luke. Keep your gloves. It’s not much further.”
We turned onto my street, our breath forming matching clouds that mingled in the space between us before dissipating into the night.
The cold made my nose tingle and my cheeks sting, but I didn’t mind.
There was something about winter nights like this—quiet and clear and still—that made everything feel a little bit magic.
Or maybe that was just the company.
“So,” Luke said. “You should probably know it’s been years since I’ve been on a date that wasn’t a setup. Outside of dinner, what’s the current go-to?”
I smiled at his earnestness, my breath puffing as I spoke. “I don’t actually know. I was engaged to a man who thought me tagging along to his trivia nights qualified as a night out. A movie, maybe?”
“Full disclosure: I haven’t been to a movie theater in about three years.”
“Seriously?”
“I don’t like crowds,” he admitted. “Too many people, too much noise. I usually just wait to stream something.”
“That’s fair.” I could see my house now, just three doors down, and I found myself walking even slower. “What about Christmas movies? Have you seen any of the classics?”
He scratched his temple. “Um, define classics.”
“It’s a Wonderful Life. Miracle on 34th Street. White Christmas.”
“No, no, and no.”
I stopped walking and turned to stare at him. “Luke. That’s criminal.”
“It’s not like I don’t know about them,” he defended himself, stopping too. We stood there in the middle of the sidewalk, facing each other, our breath mingling between us in white clouds. “I’ve just never gotten around to watching them.”
“We’re fixing this!” The words came out forcefully, my voice carrying in the quiet night. “For our date, we’re having a Christmas movie marathon. I’m talking curling up in our pajamas with a big bucket of popcorn. Ooh, Chinese takeout, too! And for dessert, a glass of spiked eggnog!”
Luke’s smile was slow and genuine, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “That actually sounds really fucking lovely.”
We started walking again, the last few steps to my front door. I could feel the cold seeping through my coat now, making me shiver, but I wasn’t ready for this to end yet.
“Thanks for tonight,” I said, turning to face him. “For everything. You didn’t have to do any of that.”
“I wanted to,” Luke said simply. “I like being around you.”
“Luke.”
I’d spent the entire year feeling disposable. Replaceable. Like I was the backup plan no one actually wanted. And here was Luke Byron, looking at me like I was the main event.
I didn’t actually finish what I’d started to say. I didn’t know how.
Instead, I closed the distance between us and kissed him.
It was supposed to be a quick peck. A thank-you kiss. A goodnight kiss. Something brief and sweet and uncomplicated.
But it wasn’t any of those things.
The second our lips touched, Luke made a soft sound of surprise that melted into something deeper, and his hands came up to frame my face like I was something precious—something he’d wanted for a long time.
I’d been kissed before. Plenty of times. But this—
This was different.
Luke’s lips were warm and certain, moving against mine with a focused intensity that made heat unfurl low in my belly. Goosebumps rippled up my arms, and my whole body went weightless for a moment, a swooping sensation that stole my breath.
One hand slid into my hair while the other settled at the small of my back, pulling me closer, and I went willingly, my fingers curling into the front of his jacket to steady myself—not that it helped. The ground felt like it had tilted under my feet.
When his tongue swept along my lower lip, I opened for him without hesitation. The kiss deepened, and I heard myself make a small, involuntary sound that betrayed how much I wanted him.
Luke responded with a groan, pulling me even tighter against him, like he wasn’t ready to let go.
When we finally broke apart, we were both breathing hard. My hands were still tangled in his jacket.
“Wow,” I whispered.
“Yeah,” he breathed, his voice rougher than I’d ever heard it.
For one reckless second, I thought about inviting him inside. About seeing what else that intensity could turn into. But—
No.
Not yet.
This was too new, too fragile, too important to rush. And that kiss had rearranged something fundamental inside me. I needed a minute to catch up.
“I should go inside,” I said reluctantly.
Luke nodded but didn’t step back right away. He just looked at me—his eyes dark and his lips parted slightly—as if he were memorizing the moment. When he finally did retreat a step, I felt the loss of him like a physical thing.
I fumbled in my purse for my keys, hands not entirely cooperating, and somehow, eventually, got the key in the lock.
“Goodnight, Luke.”
“Goodnight, Holly.”
I stepped inside and closed the door, then immediately leaned back against it, my heart racing so hard I could feel it fluttering in my neck.
That kiss.
Oh my god, that kiss.
My lips were tingling. Every nerve in my body felt lit up. Electrified. I could still feel the ghost of his hands on my face, in my hair, at my back.
“Oh no,” I whispered to my empty living room.
Because I’d just kissed Luke Byron, and it had been the best kiss of my entire life.
I was absolutely, completely, irrevocably in trouble.
The kind of trouble that could rearrange your whole future. The kind that made you believe, just a little, in the reckless idea that maybe this year could end better than it started.
I pushed off the door and walked into my kitchen, my fingers lingering on my lips, still feeling the echo of that kiss.
Yeah, I was definitely in trouble.