Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
KATE
The panic doesn’t hit all at once. It creeps in quietly, like something settling into the edges of my thoughts before I fully register what’s happening.
One minute I’m standing in my kitchen, my phone still warm in my hand, rereading Lukas’ last message.
The next, my chest tightens just enough to make me pause.
Friday. Dinner. Just you and me.
I stare at the words again, as if they might rearrange themselves into something less significant if I give them enough time. They don’t, they sit there, steady and certain, carrying far more weight than a simple invitation ever should.
I agreed to go out for dinner.
The realisation lands properly this time, and with it comes a rush of heat that climbs up my neck and settles in my cheeks.
My fingers curl slightly around the edge of the counter, grounding myself in something solid as my breathing shifts.
It’s not quite fast, but it is uneven enough to feel wrong.
What have I done?
It was supposed to be a bit of harmless fun. One evening where Hudson and I would go watch a game and let our hair down a little. Something contained and manageable. We could go, enjoy it, leave it there, nothing stressful.
This is different, this is a date, an actual date with a guy who is semi-famous.
I press my lips together, exhaling slowly as I try to steady myself, but my thoughts don’t cooperate.
They scatter instead, pulling in every possible complication all at once.
His age. My age. Hudson. The way Lukas looks at me as if he’s already decided something about me that I haven’t quite figured out yet.
“Oh God,” I murmur, the words slipping out before I can stop them.
My keys fall from my hand and clatter against the counter, the sharp sound cutting through the spiral just enough to pull me back.
I push away from the surface, pacing once across the kitchen before turning back again, my hand dragging through my hair as I try to slow everything down.
You’re fine, I tell myself. It’s just dinner.
People go to dinner all the time. Yes, but not like this and not with someone like him.
The thought sends another wave of tension through my chest, pressing just enough to make my breathing catch.
I stop moving again, forcing myself to focus on something tangible like the cool edge of the counter beneath my palms, the faint hum of the fridge in the background, and the quiet stillness of the house around me.
In. Out. Slow. I close my eyes briefly, willing my body to follow the rhythm even as my mind resists it.
I’m fine. No one is asking me to change my life.
It’s nothing more than one evening. The tightness eases gradually, not disappearing entirely but loosening enough so that I can breathe properly again.
I straighten, rolling my shoulders back to try physically reset myself, and let out a long, steady exhale.
“Get a grip, Kate,” I mutter out loud, my voice steadier than I feel.
I reach for my phone again almost without thinking, unlocking the screen and rereading the messages like they might make more sense the second time around.
They don’t, but they do feel different now.
A little less overwhelming. Still significant and unsettling, but threaded with something else that wasn’t there a moment ago.
Something warmer that makes my stomach dip in a way that has nothing to do with anxiety.
I haven’t been on a date since Hudson’s dad asked me to go to prom with him. That’s a lot of years ago.
I sink down onto the edge of the sofa, phone still in my hand, my thumb hovering uselessly over the screen. Emma is going to lose her mind.
The thought almost makes me smile, but I don’t reach out to her, not yet.
I’m not ready for her excitement, or for the way she’ll immediately turn this into something bigger than I can process right now.
I need a moment to sit with it first. To figure out how I feel before she tells me how I should feel.
Because the truth is, I don’t know. I’m not sure what this is or what it could become, if anything.
And that uncertainty sits heavily alongside something else I’m trying very hard not to acknowledge. Anticipation. I let my head fall back against the sofa, staring up at the ceiling as the thought settles in.
I could still cancel. The thought slips in quietly, reasonable and safe. I could find an easy way out, like something came up. Hudson needs me or work is busy. Life happens; it would make sense, no one would question it, not least Lukas.
It would be easier.
My eyes close briefly, and for a moment I let myself consider it properly. Then I open them again and I know I won’t make any excuse to cancel. Because as much as the fear is there, so is the slight thrill of excitement. It feels dangerously close to wanting.
Instead of phoning Emma, I head up to bed and put my phone on charge on the nightstand. Deciding that tomorrow, after I’ve slept on it, it’ll be easier to tell Emma about the date.
But sleep is inconsistent at best. I don’t lie awake thinking about him constantly, but my mind refuses to settle, circling back to the same handful of thoughts over and over again.
Every version of how this could go plays out at least once, some more believable than others.
By the time I finally fall asleep, it’s late enough that I already know the morning is going to be difficult.
And it is.
My alarm drags me out of sleep far too soon, the sound grating and unwelcome as I reach for my phone to silence it. My eyes barely focus on the screen as I squint at the time.
7:02am.
Always too early. I sit up slowly, rubbing my face as I try to shake off the heaviness still clinging to me.
The house is quiet, which means Hudson is still asleep, and I have a small window of calm before the morning properly begins.
I push myself to my feet, grabbing my phone as I stand.
It vibrates gently, alerting me to an unread message.
A message from Lukas.
The shift in my body is immediate. Sleep disappears, replaced by a sharp awareness that settles low in my stomach. I open it before I can overthink it, my thumb moving almost automatically.
A photo loads first. It’s simple, almost deliberately so.
A plain white coffee cup sitting on a wooden table, steam rising faintly in the morning light.
There’s nothing particularly remarkable about it, nothing staged or overly polished.
It feels real and unfiltered. And then I read the message beneath it.
I wish I was sharing this with you.
I blink at the screen, my brain taking a second longer than it should to catch up. There’s something about it that disarms me completely. It’s not over the top or overly rehearsed. It’s just direct and intentional in a way that feels different from the kind of casual flirting I’ve come to expect.
My first reaction isn’t panic this time, its warmth, and it spreads slowly through my chest, soft and unexpected. It settles into something that makes it very difficult not to smile.
“That’s not fair,” I murmur under my breath, shaking my head slightly. Because it works, far more than it should.
I sit down again without meaning to, my attention fixed on the screen as I read it once more.
He sent this first thing in the morning.
Not late at night when everything feels softer and less real, and not after a drink when his bravery is fuelled by alcohol.
It’s morning and that means more. I shouldn’t read too much into it, but I absolutely do.
My thumbs hover over the screen as I try to find the right response; something that doesn’t immediately give away how much that message affected me. I type a reply, then delete it. Try again and delete that too.
“Just answer him,” I mutter, exhaling slowly as I force myself to stop overthinking.
Kate: That’s a very effective way to start the morning. I pause for a second, before I add to my message. Is this your usual approach?
It feels safe enough. Light and slightly teasing without giving too much away. I send it before I can change my mind. I’m not prepared for how quickly he responds.
Lukas: No. Only when I mean it.
I let out a small breath, my lips pressing together as that familiar warmth returns, stronger this time. Dangerous; that’s the only word for it. I push myself up and head downstairs to the kitchen, setting the kettle running as I lean back against the counter, phone still in my hand.
Kate: Dangerous answer.
Lukas: You say that like it is a bad thing.
A quiet laugh slips out of me involuntary.
Kate: I say that like I’m trying to be sensible.
Lukas: And is it working?
I pause, considering that for a moment longer than necessary. The truth sits right there, it’s impossible to ignore.
Kate: Not particularly.
The kettle clicks softly in the background, but I don’t move to pour it yet. I’m too focused on the conversation unfolding in my hand.
Lukas: Good.
I shake my head slightly, smiling despite myself.
Kate: You’re very confident for someone who hasn’t even taken me out yet.
Lukas: I already know I enjoy talking to you. That is a strong start.
The simplicity of it catches me off guard. There’s no hesitation in him, no second-guessing. He says what he means and leaves it there, like it’s enough. And somehow, it is.
Kate: Friday will be better.
Lukas: I don’t doubt that. Not even for a second.
And that’s what unsettles me most.
Movement down the hall pulls my attention away. Hudson is finally awake, and reality settles back into place around me. Routine. Responsibility. The life that exists outside of this small, glowing screen. I glance back down at my phone, a faint smile still lingering.
Kate: We’ll see.
Lukas: We will.
The conversation ends there, naturally, without pressure or expectation. It doesn’t need to stretch further because it already feels like enough.
I finally pour my coffee, watching the steam curl upward as I lean against the counter, my reflection faint in the glass of the microwave across the room. My cheeks are slightly flushed and my eyes a little brighter than usual. “Friday,” I murmur quietly.
It doesn’t feel as overwhelming as it did last night. Still uncertain and complicated, but now there’s something else there too. Something that feels a lot like possibility.
And that might be the most unsettling part of all.