Chapter 13 #2
"God, Maya," he breathes against my mouth, and the reverence in his voice makes me brave.
I shift on the bed, swinging my leg over his lap to straddle him, and his hands immediately go to my hips to steady me. The position brings us impossibly close, chest to chest, and I can feel his heart hammering against mine.
"Is this okay?" I whisper, suddenly self-conscious about being so forward.
"More than okay." His hands slide up my back, fingers tracing the line of my spine through the thin fabric of my pajama top. "You're perfect."
There's something almost sacred about this moment—the quiet house, the gentle sunshine, the way he's looking at me like I’m his everything.
I lean down to kiss him again, slower this time, savoring the feel of his lips against mine, the way his hands tighten on my waist when I nip at his bottom lip. One of his hands moves to cup the back of my neck, fingers tangling in my hair, and the gentle pressure makes me arch against him.
Desire floods my veins.
He murmurs my name against my throat, pressing gentle kisses along the column of my neck. "I know, sweetheart."
His stubble rasps against my skin, sending shivers through me. When he finds that sensitive spot where my neck meets my shoulder, I can't help the soft gasp that escapes me.
"You like that?" he asks, and I can hear the smile in his voice.
"You know I do," I manage, my voice breathy and unsteady.
His hands slide lower, settling on my hips, and I realize how thin the barrier of our clothes really is. How easy it would be to cross that final line, to give in to the heat building between us.
The thought fills me with anticipation and a bone-deep certainty that this is right. This is what I've been waiting for without even knowing it.
"Maya," Lucas says softly, and when I look down at him, his expression is serious. "I need you to know—"
That's when my phone starts ringing.
We both freeze, the spell shattered by the insistent buzzing from my nightstand. For a moment, neither of us moves, hoping it will stop, but the ringing continues with the persistence of someone who really needs to talk.
"I should get that," I say reluctantly, not moving from Lucas's lap.
"Should you?" His hands are still on my hips, and there's something almost possessive in the way he's holding me. "It could be—"
"Mom" flashes across my phone screen, and my stomach drops. "Oh shit. It's my mother."
Lucas's expression shifts from confused to understanding. "She doesn't know you're here?"
"She doesn't know I'm anywhere." I slide off his lap, instantly missing his warmth, and stare at the phone like it's a bomb. "I told you I couldn't handle her disappointed-but-trying-to-be-supportive voice when I left Seattle."
The ringing stops, then immediately starts again.
"You have to answer," Lucas says gently. "She's not going to give up."
I take a deep breath and swipe to answer. "Hi, Mom."
"Maya Elizabeth Bennett." My mother's voice is sharp with hurt and confusion. "What in the world is going on? Mrs. Patterson just called me about the Harvest Festival committee, thanking me for raising such a helpful daughter, and I had to pretend I knew what she was talking about."
I close my eyes. "Mom—"
"Are you in Willowbridge? Have you been in Willowbridge this whole time without telling us?" Her voice cracks slightly. "Honey, what happened? Are you all right?"
The genuine concern in her voice makes my chest tight with guilt. "I'm fine, Mom. I'm sorry I didn't call. Things have been... complicated."
"Complicated how? Mrs. Patterson mentioned something about trouble with a man from Seattle, and Lucas Mason stepping in to help. Maya, are you in danger? Are you hurt?"
I look at Lucas, who's watching this conversation with growing concern. Of course Mrs. Patterson told her about the assault. In a town this size, that kind of drama doesn't stay quiet for long.
"I'm okay now," I say carefully. "There was a situation with a former client, but it's been handled."
"A situation? Maya, what kind of situation requires Lucas Mason to—" She pauses, and I can practically hear her putting pieces together. "Oh my God. Are you staying with Lucas? Is that why you didn't call? Because you knew I'd worry?"
"I'm staying with Harper, actually. And yes, I knew you'd worry. I knew you'd want to fix everything, and I needed to figure some things out on my own first."
There's a long silence on the other end. When my mother speaks again, her voice is softer but still filled with hurt. "I'm your mother, Maya. When you're in trouble, you're supposed to come home. You're supposed to let me help."
The pain in her voice breaks something in me. "I know. I'm sorry. I just... I needed to prove to myself that I could handle it."
"And Lucas helped you handle it?"
I glance at Lucas, who gives me an encouraging nod. "Yes. Lucas helped."
"Well." My mother's voice takes on a different tone, one I recognize from when she's trying to process information while being diplomatic. "I'm glad you had someone looking out for you. Lucas was always such a good boy. Is he... are you two...?"
And there it is. The question I've been dreading and hoping for in equal measure.
"I don't know what we are yet, Mom," I say honestly. "It's new. It's complicated. And I'm not ready to put labels on it."
Lucas squeezes my hand, and I realize he's been listening to my half of this conversation with the kind of attention that suggests he's very invested in my answer.
"Well," my mother says again, and I can hear her choosing her words carefully. "I suppose that's honest, at least. Will you call me later? Really call, not just text."
"I will. I promise."
"Good. And Maya? I love you. Whatever's going on, whatever brought you home, I'm glad you're safe."
After I hang up, Lucas and I sit in silence for a moment. The intimate bubble we'd created has been thoroughly popped by reality.
"That went better than expected," I say finally.
"Did it?" Lucas asks. "Because you look like you're about to bolt."
He's not wrong. The weight of family expectations, community gossip, and the very real question of what we are to each other is pressing down on me like a lead blanket.
Lucas shifts beside me, and I can feel him choosing his words carefully. "What are you thinking?"
"I'm thinking that five minutes ago, everything felt simple.
We love each other, we want to be together, end of story.
" I run my hands through my hair, frustrated.
"But now there's my mother guilt tripping me and Mrs. Patterson spreading gossip and the whole town watching to see what happens between us. "
"Does that change how you feel?"
"No. But it changes everything else." I look at him, this man who's been nothing but patient and understanding through my complete emotional chaos. "What if we try this and it doesn't work? What if we're better as friends? What if—"
"What if we're perfect together?" he interrupts gently. "What if this is exactly what we're supposed to be doing?"
"But the festival—"
"Is weeks away. We don't have to have everything figured out by then." He reaches for my hand again. "We can take this at whatever pace you need. We can be as public or as private as you want. We can figure it out."
This is exactly why I love him. He sees my fear and doesn't dismiss it, doesn't try to rush me past it. He just offers to walk through it with me.
"My mother will have expectations," I warn him. "She'll want to know where this is going, what our plans are, when we're getting married."
"Are those things you want to think about?" he asks quietly.
The truth is, when I imagine my future now, Lucas is in it. Not just as a maybe or a possibility, but as a certainty.
"Eventually," I whisper. "Maybe. If we don't screw this up."
"We won't screw it up."
"You don't know that."
"No," he agrees. "But I know we're worth trying for. And I know that whatever happens at the festival, whatever your mother expects or the town thinks, it doesn't change what's between us."
I look at this man who's offering me everything I've ever wanted while asking for nothing in return except the chance to try, and realize I'm still scared.
Not of him. Not of us. But of how much I want this to work.
"The festival is going to be a circus," I say finally. "Everyone watching, everyone with opinions."
"Let them watch." His smile is soft, confident. "I'm not ashamed of caring about you. Are you ashamed of caring about me?"
"No. But everyone's going to assume we're this serious couple, and we haven't even—" I gesture between us, flustered. "We don't even know what we are yet. It's so new."
"Then maybe it's time we figured that out."