Chapter 24
Luke
Ezra isn’t wrong about how oblivious I can be when someone’s showing interest in me.
Those social cues just do not load in my brain.
I mean, I can spot interest if someone sets off a firework that spells I WANT YOU in the sky.
I can spot flirting if it’s Shawn-style—loud, flashy, and painted in neon.
But the subtle stuff? And when it’s happening to me?
Yeah, I’m clueless. But yesterday and this morning I thought I’d picked up on something from Oliver.
The way he looked at me, brushed against me, stood a little too close.
But when I tried to respond? It just tanked. Totally flat.
To be fair, that could be my fault. If there’s one thing I’m worse at than noticing when someone likes me, it’s showing I like them back.
Last night’s “competent mouth” comment .
. . prime example. Even I knew that was not “the move. Still, I thought I’d been a bit more successful this morning, but Oliver hadn’t taken the bait. It left me confused and off-kilter.
“What’s going on with you today? You seem distracted as hell?” Sarah asked as we were heading to the shelter for an evaluation. “Did one of the residents call last night?”
“No, nothing like that,” I said.
“Well, that tells me everything,” she said. “You going to share more, or are we playing into the whole emotionally repressed, stoic bodyguard archetype today? I’ll play along, but full disclosure, I think we should leave that role to Brent. It fits him like Kevlar. Doesn’t quite work on you.”
I chuckled. “Yeah, one emotionally constipated brick wall on this team is enough. I’m trying to sort out if I’m being hopelessly na?ve or accidentally arrogant.”
Sarah raised a brow. “Those are two pretty different flavors of confusion. You want to break that down for me?”
“It’s the guy I live with. I’ve recently realized I might like him a bit more than basic friendship.”
“Well, I’ll be, Luke Walker caught feelings?”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. Rare form. Make sure to log it in the history books.”
“So what’s the deal?”
I appreciated that she didn’t make it weird, didn’t turn this into an interrogation or explanation of my orientation because the team’s only seen me with women.
Nobody here plays that game. We all knew assumptions screwed people over.
Still, it was nice. She just heard me, accepted it, and focused on what actually mattered: I like someone, and I have no clue what the hell to do about it.
“Well, this morning it seemed like he might be flirting or testing physical boundaries. Something like that.” I rubbed the back of my neck.
“I thought I left him an obvious opening to like, take the next step, and he didn’t.
So now I’m wondering if I made the whole thing up because my brain is an overconfident dumbass. ”
“I see. So translation, you responded in a very Luke-esque way, which is to say warm, sweet, respectful, and about sixty percent less obvious than you thought. Walk me through it. What did he say, what did you say, and what did you do?”
Leaving out the embarrassment of my attempts at flirting last night, because I would rather get tased than share what I’d said aloud to another human being ever again, I told her about both run-ins in the kitchen.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Sarah said when I finished. “Let me see if I got this. This man comes up behind you, wraps his fingers into your belt loop, whispers into your ear, and instead of turning around and kissing him, you handed him a mug?”
“I handed him the mug because he asked me to and I was closer and in his way.”
“Luke, he touched you intimately. He whispered in your ear. You know who whispers? People trying not to wake someone up, villains detailing their master plan, and lovers. That’s it.
Those are the categories. He didn’t care about his mug.
He manufactured an excuse to touch you and you gave him nothing in return. ”
“I told him I’d yield for him if he asked,” I defended, but suddenly felt more embarrassed for myself than I did coming into this conversation.
“Yes, which I’m sorry but that could mean a lot of things.
It’s not clear, and you said it after he retreated into a joke because you didn’t respond to his initial flirting.
Let me break this down for you. From his perspective this is what happened.
He took a risk and made a bold move and you responded with here’s your ceramic vessel you asked for, have a nice day, move along. ”
“I didn’t want to pressure him if he wasn’t ready or if I read the situation wrong.”
“Okay, for starters, I can tell you, you did not read the situation wrong. Next, pressure is pushing past a no. Responding to a very obvious green light is called participating, it’s advancing the moment.”
“So what do I do?”
“Meet him where he’s at and give him something he can actually work with, more than just you have a request, here, request fulfilled.
Lean in close. Touch him back. Let him know what being around him does for you.
Compliment him. Hell, breathe suggestively in his direction.
Anything that lets him know it’s safe to wade deeper into this and that he isn’t alone.
He can’t be the only one initiating all the hard first steps.
“You think I flubbed that badly?”
“I think you tripped, fell down the stairs, and landed in a box called missed opportunities: fragile.”
“Sheesh. I’m really getting it from all sides. First Ez and now you.”
“Ah, good, so you involved him. At least that means one person with skin in the flirting game has been training the baby duckling.”
“Gee thanks.”
“It needs to be said. You know if the nightclub bartender recognizes where you’re lacking, it’s legit. In fact, it shouldn’t have ever needed to come to me if you had Ezra giving you this feedback. But just be grateful it’s me you’re sharing this with and not Shawn.”
“You’re right. I’d never hear the end of it.”
“No, you wouldn’t. Don’t worry, though, despite your seeming hopelessness thus far, I think we can avoid involving the overenthusiastic fairy godmother.”
“Or maybe I need help from everyone willing to give it,” I said.
“Look, people don’t test boundaries the way your roommate did unless they feel safe enough to hope, so you’ve done something right. It’s just your follow through that’s lacking. Give him reason to believe his hope isn’t misplaced.”
“Okay, yeah, I’ll make sure if he does something like that again to meet him more than a few steps.”
“Great. Now show me you listened to the sound advice from apparently both your buddy and now me, and next time we chat bring me a juicy update.”
I chuckled. “I’ll do my best to deliver.”
The day had turned into one crisis after another. My eight hour shift turning into twelve, making it closer to my bedtime than not by the time I got home.
I found Oliver on the couch, legs curled beneath him, a book in hand.
“Hey,” he murmured, marking his place and setting the book aside. “You’re home later than I thought you’d be.”
“Yeah, I’m sorry, I didn’t get the chance to message you. A situation with one of my clients came up that we couldn’t delay.”
“I understand. Your schedule can be demanding, and you’re not always in a position to message me. I made dinner. It’s in the fridge if you’re hungry.”
“Thank you. I actually ended up getting some grub with the team before we left, but you can bet I’ll be raiding the fridge for leftovers tomorrow. Whatever’s creating that cinnamon cloud, though, is another story.”
“That’s chai I made. Do you want some?”
“A warm cup of spicy, cozy goodness? Hell yes, I want some. The perfect remedy for the day I’ve had.”
I made to follow him into the kitchen, but he turned with a soft, chiding sound and a mock-stern finger pointed toward the couch. “I’ll get it. You rest.”
“Bossy,” I joked.
“Yes, and you’ll do as I say, or no chai for you,” he called over his shoulder.
“Damn. Bossy and a disciplinarian.”
“You ain’t seen nothing yet.”
“I always look forward to seeing more of you, Ollie. Learning about all these facets of you that you’ve locked away, and seeing them breathe and come back to life. It’s magic.”
Oliver turned back but kept his gaze on the ground, chewing on his lower lip. “What if I told you there’s a part of me that’s wanted to show you more, but I’ve been scared? Not of you, but afraid I’d mess it up, or misread something and overstep, and it would make you pull away.”
I didn’t know what he wanted to share, but I recognized him testing the waters again. My turn had come, to show him he wasn’t adrift in this ocean, that he could safely wade deeper.
“Then I’d tell you I want to see whatever you’re ready to show me. Nothing you’ve shared has ever made me pull back. If anything, it’s just pulled me in closer, closer than I ever expected to be. And I’m not about to up and walk away when it’s getting this good.”
“That’s, uh . . . chai,” he mumbled, giving a nervous chuckle as he turned on his heel. “I’m going to get the chai.”
Well, that went nowhere. Did he not know what to say back, or did he not understand what I meant? Sinking deeper into the couch, I stretched my legs out in front of me. I’d done more overthinking in the past few weeks than I had in the last decade combined.
“Careful, it’s hot,” Oliver said a few minutes later when he returned with a mug on a plate next to a star-shaped cloth napkin.
My mind recalled his first night here and the heartbreak of him crying over an unappreciated dinner, the heart-shaped napkins he’d folded for a man who didn’t recognize the effort.
Fingers tracing the folds, I looked up into his eyes. “It’s a star.”
Giving me a tentative smile, he said, “It is. It’s what I see when I look at you. A twinkle of light in the dark.”