39
ELEANOR
One suitcase down; two more to go. Over the next few days, people will be coming by to pick up the furniture they’ve purchased. Jolene has offered to be the point of contact for that, so I can get to Chicago as fast as possible. I don’t want to waste my time kicking around Austin and making myself more miserable than I already am.
It’s bittersweet. On one hand, I was so eager to make this place my home for a long time. On the other, I can’t live in a haunted house anymore.
Jolene is helping me sort through things in my bedroom when she pulls up my portfolio of photographs I’ve printed.
“Oh, I’ll take that in my backpack,” I say before she can open it.
Jolene ignores me and opens the portfolio. “Oh my god. Eleanor!”
I roll my eyes. “Jolene, please, we have to focus.”
“These are amazing!”
She holds up a photo from The Maverick. The nice thing about small venues is that you don’t need to have a photography pass to use a nice camera. The picture is of the guitarist I saw with Luke the night everything changed. He’s mid-lyric, eyes shut, fingers in an impossible combination. The light pours over him, almost heavenly.
“You could put this one in the museum.”
I snort.
“I’m serious.”
“Well for every one of those, there’s hundreds of shitty—”
“Oh my god.”
She holds up another one. Luke laying on my floor, wrapped in a blanket.
“Seriously, you need to give me a warning before a jump scare,” I grumble.
“Eleanor, listen to me. These aren’t just pictures. These are beautiful.”
I chuckle. “Yeah, I’m sure the Reeder Music Library would like a picture of my ex-boyfriend wrapped in a blanket on the walls.”
“Well, no.”
“Mhm.”
“But you should have a gallery showing!” Jolene sorts through more photos. I try to ignore them as she spreads the photos out on the bed. So many of them are from times with Luke. The record shop, the boot store, the honkytonk, the lake, and on and on. More confirmation that my life here has always been about him. I’m more resolved than ever that leaving is the right choice.
“Jo, can you please focus?”
Jolene starts sliding the photos back into my portfolio. “I know this isn’t easy, Eleanor, but, like, we take chances in life and sometimes they don’t work out.”
“And sometimes they gut you like a fish,” I respond.
“Ha, ha.”
“I’m not being funny.”
Jolene grabs the shirt I’m folding and tugs on it.
“Hey!” I’m about to give her what for until I see the look in her eyes.
“You’re a good photographer, Eleanor. If it’s not here in Austin, fine, but you’ve got to do something with your talent.”
I’m not sure how to respond at first. I’m not used to compliments on my work.
That’s not true.
I don’t know how to accept compliments on my work. When you’ve been rejected so many times, you either have to have a reckless belief in yourself that your work is actually good, or you have to believe that anyone who has ever complimented you is a liar.
I’ve chosen the latter for a while now.
“I’m not just saying that because I’m your friend, okay?” Jolene grabs a photo off the bed and turns it toward me. It’s a photo from 6th Street. The aggressive lights and signage are composed against a swathing sky at sunset. “This is beautiful.”
I try to smile. “Then you can have it.”
Jolene narrows her eyes. “Great. Thanks.”
I laugh, thinking she’s joking, but she goes into the living room with the photo to put it with her purse a moment later. I shake my head and smile to myself. I hope we don’t lose touch.
From somewhere amongst the messy clothes on the bed, my phone starts buzzing. I haven’t shaken the urgency that floods me every time my phone makes the tiniest sound, always thinking it might be Luke. I know that I’m setting myself up for disappointment if I continue to believe that, yet I can’t help myself from hoping.
When I find it, I’m surprised to see the number from Harmony Hounds on the screen. I hope they’re not calling about Shortbread. The last thing I want is for him to suffer. Although, I’m not sure he’d understand when they tell him that the woman who fell in love with him doesn’t want him anymore. He’d probably tip his head back and forth, trying to understand, and then sniff around for a treat.
My baby boy.
Not mine.
I answer the phone. “Hello?”
“Eleanor? It’s Claire.”
My mouth grows hot. She might not be Luke, but she’s a blood relation, and something about that closeness makes me uneasy. “Hey, is everything okay?”
“Yeah, I just wanted to let you know that Luke adopted Shortbread today.”
I frown. “Sorry, what?”
“Luke adopted—”
“How did he—what did he—” I only called her this morning to tell her that I was leaving town. It’s all happened so fast, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. But still. Luke?
“I asked him if he would want to, and he said yes.”
I can’t help but be annoyed. “You asked him to?”
“Yes, I did.” Her resolve is impenetrable.
“That’s . . .” It’s a good thing overall. Shortbread has a home. But with the man I love who won’t give me the time of day? It’s a betrayal. “That’s great. I hope they’re very happy together.”
“Eleanor, wait—”
How did she know I was just about to hang up?
“Luke told me he didn’t know you were leaving Austin. Is that true?”
I sit down on the edge of the bed. “Yeah, that’s true.”
Jolene appears in the doorway and mouths, “Who is it?”
I wave her off and thankfully, Miss Meddler actually retreats.
“God, Eleanor.”
“Look, Claire, I appreciate what you’ve done, but this is a bit of an overstep, don’t you think?”
She ignores what I’ve said. “It broke his heart when I told him.”
I run my hand across my chest where my broken heart sits. Why are we doing this to ourselves? “It did?”
“Yeah.” I can sense a smile on her face. “He came this afternoon for Shortbread. Barely any questions asked.”
“Why do you care so much, Claire?”
“Because . . . we’re family. And I don’t have any other family left.”
Fucking Claire. As if my heart wasn’t already broken enough.
“I know it might be putting the cart before the horse, but I thought I owed it to you to tell you. As thanks for connecting us.”
I look into my lap. “Thank you, Claire. I appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome.” She hesitates. “He loves you. I don’t know if you love him, but . . . yeah. That’s all I’ve got.”
I smile to myself. I love him too.
“Let me know what happens. I’m invested.”
I laugh. It feels like the first real smile I’ve had in weeks.
After we say our goodbyes, Jolene pops her head into the doorway. “What was that about?”
I have so many questions. “Luke adopted my dog.”
“The dog you were going to—"
“Yeah.”
Jolene eyes me carefully. “How does that make you feel?”
A brick is lifted off my chest. “I feel like I should go talk to him.”
Jolene grins. “Atta girl.”
* * *
I pull up in front of Luke’s house, the house I’ve never visited.
It’s unexpectedly charming in a subdivision much more suited to couples and families than I’d expect for Luke and the life he lives. His home is a white bungalow, shaded by trees, surrounded by a white picket fence. The mailbox juts out an angle toward the street and has been haplessly repainted to obscure the name of the former owners.
A veranda encircles the house with a bench I’d love to sit on as night approaches.
The best part, though, is the blonde dog having the time of his life in the front yard, flipping and flopping. Finally free.
When I climb out of the car, Shortbread clocks me. He starts barking, music to my ears.
I walk up to the gate and reach over to scratch his ears. “Hi, honey. Oh, hi. You look so happy.”
He licks and whines, his tail thrumming like a bass drum.
My eyes well up with tears. He’ll be happy here. If Luke wants nothing to do with me anymore, Shortbread will be happy here.
A figure moves in my periphery. I lift my eyes and see Luke has come out of the house. He’s standing, leaning against one of the columns at the top of the stairs. Looking amazing as always. Not his 6th-Street self. A band T-shirt and a pair of old jeans with frayed cuffs. Damn, the cowboy looks good even when he takes the day off.
Neither of us says anything. Where do you start?
I unlatch the gate, making sure Shortbread can’t dart past me into the street. “Excuse me, baby.”
As I walk up the front walk, Luke descends the stairs, one at a time. His arms are pressed over his chest defensively, but his expression isn’t standoffish. He’s trying to read me just as I’m trying to read him.
Neither of us stops until we’re close enough to hold one another.
I slide my arms around his waist, and he loops his around my upper back.
I should say hi or something, anything. But I’m mute. I have nothing to say. I’m happy right here, not understanding. If this is the last time I hold him, at least it feels good. At least I know it’s right.
Luke’s lips brush the crown of my head. I cling to him tighter.
Shortbread yips and leaps up, trying to break us apart.
“Kids,” Luke says.
“Yeah, tell me about it.” I lift my head and rest my chin against his chest, offering Shortbread a hand as a peace offering.
Luke takes a deep breath. “What are you doing here?”
“Claire called me. To tell me you adopted Shortbread.”
“Ah . . . she told me you were going to Chicago.”
“Yeah.”
Luke nods. “I understand.”
“I didn’t think I could hack it here. Not just because I don’t have a job anymore or a boyfriend, but because all the things I love about Austin have to do with you. I saw you wherever I went. So, I thought the only choice I could make was to leave. But I don’t know anymore.”
He pinches his eyes shut and shakes his head. “Eleanor, I’m sorry. I’ve acted like such an asshole.”
“At least you know it,” I grin.
Luke laughs, chest rumbling against mine. He releases me, keeping a hand on my arm as if I might float away if he lets go. “I didn’t know what to do with myself after I found out about my dad and—”
“I get it.”
“I thought you might be better off without me. I mean, I lied and then I have a philanderer for a father. I feel like you could do better.”
I focus on Shortbread for a moment, scratching his head. “Let’s sit, hm?”
Luke and I sit on the top step. Shortbread too, plopping down next to me until he’s lying on his belly.
I start. I’m the one who showed up out of the blue. “Look, I think you made a mistake with the picture. I can forgive you for that because life is a whole lot better with you than without.”
Luke drops his head and laughs a little at himself.
“As far as what happened with your dad . . . if that’s how you always respond to something bad happening, pushing me away, then I have to walk away, Luke.”
Luke grabs my hand. “I promise, I won’t. Never again. It was—I’d say it wasn’t like me, but the truth is, I don’t know myself in a relationship like this. Not with someone who—” He stops. “Goddammit, Eleanor, I think you’re the love of my life.”
“And you couldn’t even bother to call and tell me?” I ask with a stupid smile.
He brings my hand to his mouth, his lips ghosting across my knuckles. “Is it too little too late to tell you I need you? That I don’t want you to go?”
“Not too late,” I say.
Luke leans closer to my ear. “I need you. I don’t want you to go to Chicago.”
Before he can pull away, I turn my face into his and let my lips press against his. I’ve needed this. Badly.
Luke cups my cheek and when the kiss breaks, he leans his forehead against mine. “I’m sorry. I can’t say it enough.”
“It’s okay. We’re here now. We’ll try again.”
“You’ll stay?”
“I’ll stay.”
He kisses my forehead.
“I like your house,” I say.
“It’s . . . intense, isn’t it?”
“Intense?”
Luke glances up at it. “I don’t know. I bought it because I knew I wanted to have a home and a family someday. But then I realized when women learn you have a house, they start thinking you’re trying to rush things and—”
“I love it,” I interrupt. “Perfect for a man and his dog.”
“Speaking of . . .” Luke reaches around me and pats Shortbread. “Claire mentioned I could rename him.”
I quirk an eyebrow. “You don’t like the name Shortbread?”
Luke grimaces.
“Say no more.”
“It doesn’t really roll off the tongue. Shortie’s cute, but that feels like a hit to his ego.”
I scritch behind Not-Shortbread’s ears. “I guess it is a little demoralizing for a mid-sized dog.”
Not-Shortbread’s eyes roll toward us. He licks his lips, pink tongue darting out before he settles again and sighs. It truly is a dog’s life.
“How about Frank?” I tease.
Luke guffaws. “Are you being serious?”
I shrug. “Yes, I mean no, but . . . it’s not a bad name.”
Luke leans over me. “Let’s see . . . Yo, Frank.”
Not-Shortbread’s ears perk.
We exchange a look, eyebrows launching up.
“Maybe it was meant to be,” I say. “But he’s your dog, you should name him.”
I lean into Luke as we both gaze down at Not-Shortbread. Or Frank, I should say.
“No, he’s ours.”
Luke presses a kiss to the side of my head.
“I think Frank suits him perfectly.”
Luke considers for a moment. He squeezes my shoulder. “Frank it is.”
Frank’s ears twiddle, and he side-eyes us both before licking his lips and yawning.
We both laugh at the abject cuteness. Our eyes return to each other’s.
“I love you,” he says. “Everything I’ve done, as stupid as it has sometimes been, has come from loving you.”
I cup his chin, unable to hide my smile.
“What’s that look?” he asks.
I take a deep inhale. His musk intermingles with the freshness of the air, a sweetness on the breeze. “I’m taking a picture, so I never forget this moment.”
Luke moves in to kiss me, but he stops an inch away. “You’re going to have thousands of moments like this with me, Eleanor.”
I close the space between us, indulging in his lips.
Yep. I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be .