7. Lucy
lucy
. . .
As Luke left, my gaze swept over the place, settling on the photos that hung above the
fireplace mantle. Familiar faces stared at me from moments captured to last for an eternity, smiling. Luke had two brothers—Landon and Logan. It was always an ongoing joke that their parents had a thing for names that started with L, but I thought it was sweet.
Landon was the oldest; then there was Luke, and then Logan. They were all about two years apart. There were also photos of his parents, who were, funnily enough, named Linda and Levi. Luke was a spitting image of his father; it was like staring into the future and getting an opportunity to see what he would look like in a few decades.
I had so much love for all of them. When we dated, they were practically a second family to me and welcomed me into their home with open arms. His parents, as well as my own mom, were our biggest cheerleaders. When we broke up, we didn’t only break our own hearts—we broke theirs, too.
I took another step to the left, finding a photograph of us that instantly drew a smile to my face. It was a candid photo from our senior prom. The dress I wore that night was a crime against humanity, but it faded compared to the adoring look that locked between us.
Luke stepped closer to me, placing one of his hands on my waist while the other held mine. Our fingers interlocked, and I couldn’t help but stop smiling.
“You know, a lot of people are skeptical about high school relationships, but I know this is it for us,” he told me softly as we swayed to the soft hum of the music around us. I rolled my eyes playfully.
“Luke, you know we’re dating, right? You don’t need to sweet-talk me like this anymore if you want to make out. I’ll gladly do it anyway.”
A cheeky grin crossed his lips. “Duly noted, but I’m not trying to sweet talk you into anything. Someday, we’ll be dancing like this at our wedding.”
Behind me, Luke cleared his throat. I whirled around. My cheeks flushed like I had been caught doing something highly illegal.
“Here’s some clothes for you. It’s all I have, but it should fit you,” he said, handing over sweatpants and a black t-shirt. I grabbed the clothes from him, and our hands touched for a fraction of a second, but that was enough to make me shiver. “The bathroom is just there. There’s a shower in there too. I put a towel in there if you would like to take one. Unfortunately, I only have three-in-one shower gel…”
“Luke,” I groaned. Some things never changed, apparently. No matter how much I tried to convince him that products like that sacrificed quality in at least one of their supposed functions, he swore by them back then. And now.
“Don’t judge me until you try it.” He put his hands up. “If you toss your clothes out, I can put them in a bag for you.”
“Thank you,” I said softly before heading into the bathroom, desperate to put some space between us. The photographs certainly had memories flood my mind. Why did he still have that photograph of us hanging on the wall? Did that mean he wasn’t seeing anyone? I couldn’t imagine any woman being okay with a photo of his ex-girlfriend in his living room.
Locking the door behind me, I looked around the bathroom. It was simple yet elegant—like the rest of his home. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, staring at my reflection.
“You need to get a hold of yourself,” I whispered. This was precisely what I wanted to avoid. I was supposed to be this sophisticated woman who left her past behind her and was now living in a big city and had a great job…but also had a shitty boyfriend and no place to live, apparently.
I couldn’t delve deeper into everything wrong with my life now. Instead, I stripped off my clothes and tossed them outside the door before starting the shower. I pulled my hair into a messy bun on top of my head but suspected the moisture would do its thing and make the curls even more prominent. And I knew Luke would like that. My curls were always one of his favorite things about me.
The warm water relaxed my tense muscles, but it did very little to clear my mind. I should have seen this coming, coming here and poking at my past like that. I took my time, not quite ready to face him yet.
Once I was confident I pulled myself together, I slipped into the clothes he gave me. Instantly, his scent hit me. How was it possible that he smelled so similarly to how he did all those years ago? And, more importantly, why did his scent remain so embedded in my mind for a decade?
The shirt he had given me was one of his beloved oversized shirts that I always used to try to steal away from him when we were younger. I was surprised that he still had it, considering he had grown well into his muscular frame. Wearing this shirt was likely the closest I’d ever come to having him embrace me again.