TWENTY-FOUR #2
I chew my bottom lip, teeth digging in like maybe pain can keep the vulnerability from leaking out any further.
And then—
‘You lie,’ he says between mouthfuls, ‘and yet you’re also the worst liar I’ve ever met.’
I let out a startled laugh. ‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’
He gives me a wry smile. ‘You shouldn’t.’
We look at each other.
The tension diffuses enough for my lungs to remember how to work. ‘Are you heading back tomorrow?’
I hesitate. My flight back home tomorrow is still booked. ‘I don’t know.’
Luke studies me, and for a second I think he’s going to let it drop. Then, softly, he says, ‘You don’t have to go yet.’
My chest tightens. ‘I don’t want to overstay.’
‘You’re not.’
He reaches out and lays his hand over mine.
‘I want you to stay.’
Unsure what to say, I’m saved from giving an answer because Luke gets up abruptly, crosses the room, and lifts the arm of the record player. The music stutters into silence.
He swaps the vinyl out without saying anything, flipping through the pile until he finds one with a faded sleeve. A few seconds later, Stevie Nicks fills the space – ‘Stop Draggin’ My Heart Around’ – soft and slow and too on the nose.
I raise an eyebrow. ‘Little dramatic, don’t you think?’
Luke shrugs and smiles before he sits back down.
I take another bite of pie, even though I’m not hungry anymore.
The music plays on, and between the bites and the silence and the way he won’t quite meet my eyes, something shifts.
‘So,’ Luke says casually, helping himself to the last piece of pie, ‘only one sister?’
The question should be benign. Ordinary, even.
It isn’t. Not when it comes from him. Not with Stevie Nicks in the background and my heart threatening to climb out of my throat to make a break for it.
I could lie. Slip into an edited version of myself that fits into his world.
It would work – it always works. Only there’s something achingly honest in the way he looks at me.
It’s painfully tragic, like that calf outside – alone in the dirt, wide-eyed and waiting for someone, anyone, to make the world feel a little smaller and a little less lonely.
Balancing my fork between two fingers, I lean back in my chair and offer him the truth. ‘One that I know of.’
Luke lifts his eyes, chewing slower. ‘That sounds ominous.’
‘It is.’ I stab at a piece of pie crust, my chest cracking open with the confession. ‘My dad’s on wife number five. She’s twenty-six.’
His fork pauses mid-air. ‘How old are you?’
‘Twenty-nine,’ I say, like I haven’t recited this fact a hundred times already to every horrified friend, colleague or mildly intrigued bartender who’d asked the same questions.
His brows lift. ‘So … she’s younger than you.’
I nod. ‘I was the flower girl at wedding number two. The bridesmaids wore matching extensions. There was a vegan cake no one asked for.’
He blinks. ‘That’s … interesting.’
I shrug. ‘Sunrises are interesting. A father flirting with statutory rape is not.’
Luke coughs – chokes, really – on a bite of pie. I don’t help him. I sip my water and wait.
‘Fair,’ he croaks.
‘And that’s only the paternal side of my carnival.’
Luke rests his arms on the table, watching me with real attention.
‘Mum fell into a long-term relationship with pinot gris after the divorce. Got a ton of money after the split and decided she wanted to reclaim her youth, or what was left of it. Blamed me and Issy for ruining her body and taking up the best years of her life. Then she rebranded herself as an “intuitive entrepreneur”, which is a nice way of saying she volunteers at places to make herself feel wanted without the commitment.’
His laugh is low and disbelieving. ‘That’s impressive.’
‘And then there’s Issy. She’s beautiful in that tragic doesn’t-even-know-it way,’ I tell him. ‘Which is probably how she ended up marrying an accountant with a porn addiction and a micro penis, because she has a fear of being abandoned.’
His eyes widen.
I lift my fork in a sarcastic toast. ‘My family’s a circus. I’m simply trying to keep the lions from eating the clowns.’
He laughs – really laughs this time. It’s rough around the edges and curls low in my stomach.
‘It suits you,’ he says.
‘That better be a compliment.’
‘I wouldn’t dare say otherwise.’
I narrow my eyes and let it go. ‘What about you, then? Tell me more about your emotionally guarded farm family.’
He considers me. ‘Only child. Dad was hard. Mum was harder. They weren’t cruel. Just … determined.’
‘Determined?’
‘Mum wanted to make sure I didn’t end up in the same situation as them.’ He pushes his plate aside, fingers curled around his glass of water. ‘She wanted me to leave. Get educated. Own something that wasn’t livestock or debt. Dad was the opposite. He wanted a legacy.’
I lean forward, arms folded on the table. ‘And what do you want?’ Luke shrugs. ‘Degrees don’t matter much when your old man’s dying and the property’s bleeding out.’
There’s something heavy in the air now, and I don’t know how to breathe through it without breaking the moment. ‘That can’t be easy.’
‘Mum’s breast cancer hit fast, took her faster.’ He pauses, eyes flicking to the speaker. ‘Dad took longer. Leukaemia. Two years to say goodbye.’
I chew the inside of my cheek. ‘You miss them.’
‘Yeah.’ His voice is softer now. ‘I kind of said goodbye a while ago. The sickness drags it out. Gives you time to get used to the hole. Most people don’t get that. They lose someone and realise too late that they had things left to say.’
Silence settles between us, thick as honey. Stevie’s still singing, her voice further away now.
‘That was disgustingly human and deeply revealing,’ I say finally.
Luke smiles faintly. ‘We can go back to insults if you’d prefer.’
I nod seriously. ‘Considering you’ve got the emotional availability of someone who was raised by cattle and a copy of The Barefoot Investor, I’d say yes.’
Luke grins. ‘Says the girl raised in a dysfunctional group chat.’
I chuckle. ‘You’re not wrong. But wow.’
‘You’re shockingly good at pretending you’re above the drama – right up until you show up uninvited to a funeral,’ he says with a shrug.
My mouth drops open. ‘You said it was fine.’
He smiles. ‘Did I?’
I smile back. ‘Do you want me to leave?’
‘Only if you feel like you’re in the wrong place.’
I pause. Then smirk. ‘Maybe. At least the company’s decent.’
The tension is different now – diffused, tilted, sparking against the edges of something new. I stand up, pushing my chair back. Luke’s eyes track me. I move around the table at an excruciatingly slow pace, barefoot and a little breathless, until I’m standing between his knees.
Without asking, I climb onto his lap.
His hands rest on my thighs as I reach up and cup his face, my thumbs brushing over the stubble on his cheeks. ‘I know you said I’m bad at lying, but you’re worse than me.’
His eyes darken. ‘What makes you say that?’
‘You said I’m not your type.’
He opens his mouth to reply, but my lips crash into his and devour the answer.