Chapter 23
Luke has the door open as he works, and I pause just outside it, gazing in, feeling the fine drizzle coat my hair. I see him standing near the kitchen, holding a map and frowning. Planning his next move, I presume. He is wearing the same faded Motorhead T-shirt he was wearing on the day of the storm; the day I met him. Ages ago, in a different world.
I take a deep breath, note the way my pulse quickens as I look on. The way I feel lighter already now that I am near him; the way I want to reach out to him, the way I am magnetically tugged in his direction. I note all this, and I know that my parents were right.
This is Luke Henderson. I have not known him for long, but I know enough to understand that I love him. I love him, and I want to be with him, and I want to be brave enough to tell him all of this—no matter what happens next. He might be horrified, he might be repulsed, he might be overjoyed—but I need to at least tell him.
I climb the stairs, and he looks up in surprise. He puts the map down and takes a step toward me. This is the part where we would normally make small talk. Where we would normally avoid touching each other, avoid having a “moment.” Where we would normally pretend that this thing between us hasn’t grown out of all recognition, taken on a life of its own. Where we would normally skim the surface of our friendship, both afraid of what might lie beneath.
I close the distance between us, deciding that this will not be normal. Deciding that this will be a moment—the most important moment we have shared so far.
Before he can speak, I press my body against his and wrap my arms around his shoulders. I let my hands finally touch his close-cropped hair, stroke the side of his face, run my fingertips over his lips. I turn my head up toward his and meet those green eyes. I ignore the question in them and pull him down for a kiss.
It is deep, and it is long, and it is glorious. I have thought of this act so many times, imagined it and blushed at it and reprimanded myself for it—but now it is here, and it is even more than I thought it would be. His hands tangle into my hair, his hips crush against me as he backs me up against the wall, and we simply lose ourselves in each other. I revel in the feel of his muscled back beneath my hands, in the scent of him, in the way the world around me disappears, and only this kiss exists.
This kiss and, of course, Betty. She dances around our feet, confused by what we are doing, jumping up and scrabbling against our legs with her little paws. Eventually, we cannot ignore her, and Luke pulls away, laughing. His tanned skin is flushed, and his eyes are intense with need, and his voice is deep as he mutters: “Was that really our first kiss?”
“The first one for real, yes. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about it a lot, though.”
He runs his gaze over my face, reaches out to smooth back my hair, his hands trailing down my shoulders and arms until his hands entwine with mine.
“What made you finally do it?” he asks. “Not that I’m complaining.”
“Would it be weird if I said my mum and dad told me to?”
“A bit, yes... but I guess I should thank them...”
He pauses and shakes his head, and I see him struggle to regain his composure. I feel exactly the same, and want nothing more than to touch him, to kiss him, to hold him. It is as though all of the need and all of the desire that I’ve been denying for so long have come calling all at once.
“Why now?” he asks, taking a step back. “Was this, like... I don’t know, one for the road? A goodbye kiss? Something to remember you by?”
I take his hand in mine again and stroke the skin of his palm. It is a blessed hand, and I do not want to let it go, ever again.
“No,” I reply firmly. “At least I hope not. We’ve danced around this for so long, Luke, for reasons of our own. Perfectly valid reasons. We both have our histories, our bruises, and I think we’ve both been alone for so long, we’ve forgotten how else to be. My mum told me I had to be brave, so this is me being brave—I love you, Luke. I don’t just like you. I don’t just see you as a friend. I don’t just enjoy your company. I love you, in every way a woman can love a man. If you hate that idea, if it terrifies you or makes you want to run screaming in the opposite direction, then I understand that—but I also know you deserve to hear it, and I deserve to say it. To at least give us a chance at, well...”
“Finding our joy?” he asks, quirking his lips into a half smile and giving me a look that literally makes my knees weak.
“Yes,” I murmur, “if that’s a proposition that you would be at all interested in...”
There is way too long a pause after I say that. I feel exposed, raw, all too aware of what I am risking here. I have done this on impulse—literally run headlong into this confession. What if he doesn’t feel the same? What if he does, but his wounds are still too deep? What if he still doesn’t think he deserves to be happy, or even worse, what if he doesn’t think that he’ll be happy with me? What if he does actually want this to be just “one for the road”?
Yes, he kissed me back—but that could mean nothing. That could have just been a primal reaction in the heat of the moment. What I feel for Luke has snowballed, changed, evolved—for me, this isn’t just about the physical. I am in love with the man, and if he doesn’t feel the same, it might break me.
As the seconds tick by, my tension builds, and a sense of dread starts to envelop me. I’ve been a bloody idiot , I am starting to think.
Then Luke pulls me close, kisses my forehead, wraps me tightly in his arms. I couldn’t move even if I had any interest in doing so.
“I love you too, Jenny,” he says, murmuring the words into my ear. “I’ve known it for a while, and it scared me. I didn’t want to even admit it to myself, and I didn’t want to put any pressure on you, especially when you seemed so set on staying here. It’s been torture, lying alone out here, knowing you were just up in that room—so close but out of reach. Knowing that we would be so much better together than we are apart...”
I lay my head against his chest and simply let myself breathe. Let myself feel safe, and hopeful, and—yes—joyous.
Better together , he said, and that is exactly it. I didn’t even know what I was missing until we made each other whole.