18
LUKE
Fuck no.
I should have known better, leaving her alone for more than a moment. She might not believe it, but I know there are eyes on her all the time. Her otherworldliness draws people in. Their gazes. Now their hands.
My blood boils seeing this guy’s hand on her knee. Then her thigh.
I shoot a look to Cressida. She picked up a shift here tonight and usually takes good care of me, but she’s swamped, having to balance several drink orders at once. I’m at the bottom of that list because she knows I won’t give her a hard time. All I asked for was two whiskey cokes. Broken Spoke isn’t known for its cocktails. All I need is the well whiskey and a squirt of Coke in each glass.
Instead, I have to wait and watch Eleanor squirm in her seat while Cressida works her way through the drinks.
I look back at Eleanor and this guy. It burns my insides to have to look, but if I don’t look, he might do something, and I wouldn’t forgive myself if I stood idly by while that happened.
The man’s hand shifts to the bottom of her seat between her legs, and he drags her closer to him. Eleanor laughs, however, her eyes are rolling away from him, wide through the lenses of her glasses, crying for help.
Fuck the drinks. We don’t need them. Cressida and I can hash it out next time she’s at Lonesome Rose.
I stalk over to the table, trying to rein in the fury I’d like to unleash. My father always said calm, cool, and collected is the best way to deal with assholes. And if that doesn’t get rid of them, let out the fire and brimstone.
As I close in, my shadow drapes over the table.
Eleanor notices: her eyes shoot to me. The relief is visible through her eyes and body when she sees me.
“We got a problem here?” I ask.
The man glances back at me, then at Eleanor. Back to me again. “Shit, you didn’t say your friend was a guy ,” he says through a laugh, still well-humored.
Eleanor says nothing. Her lips are sealed shut. Poor thing looks like she’s been scared half to death.
“Yeah, he is,” I say. I place my hand on the back of his chair. “And I think you’re in my seat.”
Dave lifts his hands. “Sorry, buddy, if I’d known she was yours—”
“She’s not,” I interrupt. Because she belongs to no one. As much as I wish she belonged to me, I’ve been too much of a coward to ask. And even so, it doesn’t matter if she’s got a guy or if she’s on her own—discomfort is discomfort. No one deserves that. “And that shouldn’t matter. I could tell from a mile away she wasn’t interested. Shocked you couldn’t.”
Eleanor covers her mouth with her hand, resisting a laugh.
The guy gets up out of the chair, a little uneasy on his feet. “I got it, I got it. Have a . . . night,” he says before stumbling off. Just a hapless dude who doesn’t know his way around flirting. So many of them like that. They’re harmless until they’re not.
I watch him go, limping off to the next object of his desires. I lower myself into the seat across from Eleanor. “You okay?”
Eleanor nods. “Yeah, I’m fine.” Her voice, while plain, is clearly veiling a well of emotions.
I wish she didn’t feel she had to hide herself from me. “You sure? You want some water or—”
“Can we just—” Eleanor begins, but her breath is trapped in her throat.
I’d like to reach out and touch her. But the last thing I want to do is make anything worse.
“Can we just get some fresh air?” she manages to choke out.
Fuck the drinks, fuck the dancing. We need to get out of here. “Yeah, let’s go out back.”
Eleanor follows me through the crush of people in the bar back toward the patio at the back of the bar. I want nothing more than to reach back and take her hand, make sure I don’t lose her in the throng. Let everyone know that she is mine because, fuck it, I’m done pretending she’s not.
It might not be the right moment, but the second I get her alone, when the world softens around us, I’m letting it out. I can’t hold it down anymore. Life is too goddamn short. I know well enough from losing my dad. If I lose her by being open, so be it.
It’s gotten to a point where this hurts more. Pretending I’m not feeling everything I’m feeling.
The night air isn’t necessarily cool, but it feels like menthol to my lungs. Although that might be the smoke of cigarettes pilling in the air.
Eleanor emerges next to me, her eyes glassy.
Luckily, the concrete patio is only peppered with people. There’s the group of smokers in the corner and a couple whispering sweet nothings to one another, leaned up against a fence post. At the back of the patio, out from under the portcullis, is a fire pit surrounded by a few curved benches, all empty.
Eleanor and I share a fide-side bench. It’s big enough to leave a gap between us, but the curve in the bench makes it impossible not to be angled toward one another. Fine for my purposes, but for Eleanor’s, I’m not so sure.
We’re silent for a bit. I’m not sure where to start or what to do. I remove my hat and lean my elbows on my knees, waiting for inspiration to strike.
“Thank you,” Eleanor says in a soft voice.
I shake my head. “No, you shouldn’t thank me. I shouldn’t have left you alone.”
“You couldn’t have known.”
“Of course, I could have,” I say, looking into the fire. The flames waver, dancing together. A perfect image to encapsulate how I’m feeling inside. Chaotic burning threatening to incinerate me. “You’re a beautiful woman and if guys see you alone at a bar—”
“Are you about to say, ‘boys will be boys?’ Because I’m not—"
I sit up with a scoff. “Of course not. That’s not what I mean at all, I’m trying to . . .” The words are trapped inside me. My heart has so many things it would like to say, and I can’t manage to string a couple of words together to get them to come out right. “You’re a catch. That’s all.”
Eleanor smiles sadly. “You are too. Obviously.” She grips the edge of the bench. “I mean, I see how women talk to you.”
I frown. So, she’s been watching? She notices? Is she jealous like I am?
“I mean, just at the bar you were like—”
“No, come on,” I say, laughing at the ludicrousness of the situation.
Eleanor balks. “What do you mean ‘come on?’ You were talking to that woman and then the bartender—”
“I work with them, Eleanor. Cressida is a bartender I’ve known for years and—”
“You had your arm around the other woman,” she says coldly.
So, she is jealous. “And Jen runs a venue on 6th. With her wife.”
Eleanor is quiet before she lets out a singular, “Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh,” I huff. I dig the toe of my boot into the gravel circle surrounding the fire pit. “What’s it matter to you anyway?” I don’t ask it meanly. It’s just a question. A question I would love an answer to.
Still quiet. I lift my eyes to look at her. Break my heart. I fucking want you to. Put me out of my misery like Old Yeller.
A strange smile appears on her face. “I can’t tell if you’re an idiot or a gentleman or both.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Eleanor purses her lips, rubbing them together.
“Nor . . .” I slide a little closer. “Please tell me.”
“I’m starting to think it’s Option C,” she murmurs, then shakes her head. With a deep inhale, she finally says it. “This is more than friends, right? What’s happening between us?”
The elation inside me is so great I’m mute.
“I’m not good at this kind of thing. I don’t like guessing because I don’t want to be wrong, so just tell me so I don’t—”
“Yeah,” I say, though it’s barely a word, more a breath. “Yeah, it’s more than that.”
Eleanor’s eyes twinkle.
“You think I would have gone to a radio station at midnight for someone who was just my friend?” I ask.
She giggles. “You’ve been telling me that this is what friends do for each other! How am I supposed to know if it’s southern hospitality or—you know, something more?”
“Let me make it incredibly clear, then,” I say.
Eleanor’s lips part, eyes widen. As much as I’d like to kiss her, I haven’t gotten this far to ruin it with overenthusiasm. I grab one of her hands in mine and lift it to my mouth. With our eyes locked, to be sure there is no mistaking what I’m about to do for “friendship,” although that would be a logical leap for anyone, I kiss the back of her hand.
God, it’s only the back of her hand, but it makes my stomach swoop. My eyes flutter shut as I plant the kiss there like seeds that will bloom in springtime. Every part of her needs to know from this kiss what I’ve wanted from the moment I laid eyes on her.
I could remain there forever. I could kiss the length of her arm, all the way to her neck, up to her mouth, and taste every part of her.
Slow, Luke. Slow.
I tear my lips from her and push her hand up against my chest.
Eleanor’s face is still painted with shock. “Well, you’re not wrong. That was incredibly clear.”
I chuckle, but I say nothing. With my free hand, I tilt the brim of her hat back, then pinch her chin between my fingers, angling her face perfectly toward mine. Her lips are either going to take me to heaven or pull me into hell. I welcome either outcome.
“Luke,” Eleanor says. Though my name is a single syllable, her voice still trembles.
“Eleanor,” I echo.
Her eyes flick across my face. Not the welcome expression of a person about to receive a kiss from someone they are presumably attracted to. She’s scared. “We can’t go back. If you do this, we can’t go back.”
I laugh, extend my hand against her cheek and drag my fingers through the curls. “Why would I want to go back?”
“Because you might change your mind.”
“It’s a kiss, Eleanor, not a contract.”
Her cheeks flush: she turns her face out of my hand.
I make a fist of my empty hand and place it reluctantly in my lap. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No, I—no, it’s not you. It’s me. I’m—” Eleanor places her hand against her face and rubs at her eye. “I’m afraid to get hurt.”
“Well, I can’t promise anything, but that’s the last thing I want to do, Nor.” I hold tight to her hand against my chest so she can’t pull that away too.
“If I tell you why I’m scared, I’m afraid you’ll freak out.”
“Nothing scares me.”
She scrunches her nose with a smile. “Shut up.”
“When it comes to you, nothing. I swear.” Though I swear out loud, there’s a pang in my heart knowing that there is one think I’m terrified of with her. My little white lie that’s grown into a big fat one.
Ignore it.
“Swear,” I repeat. “You hear me?”
Eleanor nods. “I hear you.”
The fire crackles.
“My ex-boyfriend cheated on me. For, like, months,” she says and then has the gall to laugh at herself.
“Oh, god Nor, I’m sorry.” I’ve been pretty damn lucky not to come up against that even though most people I know have dealt with cheating in one form or another. Because of that, I’ve never worried about infidelity. But I can only imagine how hard it would be to let someone in if you’re scared that they’ll hurt you like that again.
She shakes her head, looking away. “It’s stupid now.”
“Not stupid. At all .”
“He’s kind of why I left Chicago,” Eleanor says. “We were living together.”
“No, Eleanor .” As if it could get worse.
She laughs, no doubt to stave off the pain she’s had to unwind from. “Yeah, I went home from work with a migraine and walked in on them.”
Apparently, it could get much worse. “Fuck, I’m so sorry.”
Eleanor stares into the fire, warmth dancing across her face. She hasn’t taken off the hat which I take as a good sign it’s growing on her. It’s an appendage, a new vestigial organ. Her profile is elegant. Like a marble statue in a museum. Long luscious lashes. Full lips. Pretty nose. You know you’re down bad for someone when you’re admiring their nose.
“I think it’s going to be okay,” she says. “I think I’m going to be . . .” Eleanor returns her gaze to mine. “I think I’m okay.”
I’ve done things I’m not proud of, but it doesn’t compare to infidelity, right? It was a lie to bring us closer, not push us farther apart. In a few years, I can tell her, and we’ll laugh about it. Assuming we have a few years together. Is it crazy that I hope we do?
“I’d never do that to you,” I say. “I’d never betray you like that.” That is the truth. A solid fact.
Eleanor’s lips perk up at the corners.
“You’ve . . . since the moment I saw you, you’ve had every bit of my attention.” Also the truth. I have more truths than lies. They should weigh more at the end of the day. I’ll choose to believe that or else I’m not going to make it through this next moment. “Your ex is a total dumbass.”
She laughs. My laugh is trapped in my chest. My rib cage is squeezing around my heart. I’m aching.
If she turns away from me now, I think I’ll absolutely die.