Chapter 12
Luke
I’m staring at the text Cassie sent me last night, and I have questions. Why was she thinking about my neighborhood meeting, and possibly about me at 3:12 in the morning? She’s never been one to sleep a lot, but that’s late, even for her. Loud storms passed through last night, but they were gone by two. The most reasonable explanation is that she was awake thinking about me. I can hope.
I told her to meet at the United Methodist Church at seven thirty. It’s pushing eight. Maybe she took a siesta and forgot to set her alarm.
This church is Cassie’s cup of tea. It’s a simple one-story building with a steep pitch, a welcoming porch, and black shutters against white siding. The sanctuary is bright with tan carpet and walls, white trim, and a fresh coat of white paint on the pews. Behind the altar, arched molding creates a large-gridded window, each faux pane painted a medium-toned gray. The straight-back pine pews are original to the building, and they feel like it.
I shift my weight and stretch my left leg to reinvigorate the blood-flow to my foot. Meeting-goers sparsely populate the front half of the church, while I hold down the back of the sanctuary.
I’m new to the neighborhood, and this is the third meeting I’ve attended. I know people by the names scribbled on their tags. Since I’m in the back, I can’t make out the name of the gentleman who’s speaking at the podium. I think he said his name is Ed, but it could have been Ned. Or Ted. Or Red. I don’t know.
I’m bored.
Ed (we’ll go with that) is talking about exterior paint. We’ve paid big bucks for our houses, and we don’t want the neighborhood going down the tubes, plus we have to keep the Charleston Historical Foundation happy. That means if you have peeling paint, Ed is going to call you out about it. If the offender is not at tonight’s meeting, Ed is going to make a motion to send out a notification of noncompliance through the mail.
The door to the sanctuary closes softly. Anticipation replaces my boredom. I look over and Cassie raises her eyebrows at me. She clutches her purse and sits across the aisle.
I walk over and crouch so she can hear. “We can move up. I was just hanging back to wait for you.”
“I’m fine here,” Cassie whispers.
I measure the space between her knees and the next pew with my eyes. I think I can fit. She half-stands while I sidle past. A few disgruntled noises escape her throat. The space is a little tighter than I thought.
I sit, leaving two feet of pine bench between us. “Are you nervous?” I ask in a hushed tone.
When we were dating, Cassie told me about her high school speech class. She left crying after her first speech because she got stage fright and couldn’t finish. The rest of the class was a struggle against her nerves and her fear that she’d blank out in front of everyone again.
Cassie shakes her head. “I’m fine.”
“I can do the talking if you want.”
She glares at me.
“Or not.”
We listen to Ed talk for a few more minutes. When he’s done, an elderly lady replaces him and goes on a ten-minute rant about her raccoon problem. They’ve been digging through her trash, knocking the cans over, and spreading litter across her yard. A few people chime in that they have the same problem. The group unanimously agrees to use the maintenance fund to hire a pest control expert to humanely catch the trash pandas.
When she returns to her seat, silence falls over the room.
I tap Cassie’s arm. “I think it’s our turn.”
Without a word, she plops her purse into my lap and walks to the front. I trail behind her and find a seat behind Ed. Or Ned. Or Ted.
I’d planned to brief her, give her an idea of who she’s dealing with—a roomful of people who are used to throwing money around to get their way and who are very opinionated about insignificant details.
Cassie’s serene expression is a good start. If she wins them over with her charm, they might be open to the idea of allowing random groups of strangers into their neighborhood to fawn over their mansions. Maybe they’ll even have a few ghost stories to share.
Cassie begins her spiel by acknowledging me and thanking everyone for a chance to speak. She introduces herself as the owner of Old Towne Ghost Tours and expresses her interest in Charleston’s history. She rattles off several historical facts, including the city’s founding year, 1670, and its importance during the Revolutionary and Civil Wars as a trade center.
No wonder she didn’t want me to speak for her. She must have been up all night writing and rehearsing this speech.
While she’s pitching her idea to begin hosting ghost tours along our street, I have no choice but to gaze at her. I enjoy the perfect way her lips form words, the softness she projects while maintaining an air of authority. My eyes trace the ruffles on her orange blouse. The fabric falls in gentle rolls along her neckline and the bottoms of her sleeves.
She meets my eyes and blinks rapidly. I look down, grab the Bible from the slot on the back of the pew, and start flipping through it.
After completing her sales pitch, she rounds the podium and hands everyone a business card.
“I’d love to hear your stories,” she says. “You can send them to my email on the card. I’m interested in any local ghost stories you’ve heard as well as general historical facts about your homes and neighborhood.”
The mood in the room seems friendly. No one complains about her idea or grumbles about the potential intrusion on their properties. I expected a few people to balk.
The president of our neighborhood non-profit stands to close the meeting. “Thank you for coming, Ms. Sears,” he says. “We’ll write up your proposal in our weekly newsletter and schedule a time to vote on it.”
Cassie shakes his hand and then joins me in the pew. She gives me a funny look. I realize I’m still holding the Bible.
“Light reading.” I drop the Bible back into the slot.
“Was I that boring?” she says in a low voice.
“Not at all. You did great. Since when did you become such an amazing public speaker?”
“I joined Toastmasters a few years ago.”
The meeting wraps up and my neighbors file down the main aisle. A couple of people stop to let Cassie know they have stories and will be emailing her. This buoys my already elated spirit. I’m sitting next to Cassie, and I may have landed her a new business opportunity. I feel like a teenager and a brilliant, mature businessman simultaneously. The synergy creates a tangible fuel, harnessable power that I use to utter my next sentence:
“Do you want to grab a bite to eat?”
Cassie studies my face and then shrugs. “Sure.”
Running to the altar screaming “Praise Jesus” might turn Cassie off. Instead, I say, “I know a great place by the harbor.”
We head up Cumberland Street, my car in front and Cassie following closely behind in her SUV. I tried to convince her to let me drive us both. No bueno. I didn’t press the issue, afraid she might back out altogether.
The Flagship Bar and Grille sits on the east side of Concord Street overlooking Charleston Harbor. The tan, vinyl-sided building has a generous porch overhang with a metal, barn-style roof, and a gabled two-story entrance.
We exit our cars, Cassie lets me open the restaurant door for her, and we’re immediately seated in a spacious booth overlooking the water with a prime view of the pier. Cassie sits first, and I move to sit across from her, but she motions me to her side. My heart skips a couple of beats, not enough to put me in cardiac arrest, but enough to let me know the nerves are kicking up. I don’t want to read too much into her gesture, but I think she’s starting to soften.
The sparkling water, illuminated by twilight, acts as a backdrop for Cassie’s shoulders and hair while the yellow-tinged pendant light above the table softly illuminates the gentle curves of her cheekbones, chin, and forehead. I force myself not to stare, instead sweeping my eyes around the room to get a feel for the place.
The restaurant’s atmosphere is rustic—wood-paneled walls and booths, wide-open ceilings with wooden beams crisscrossing throughout. I hope the food lives up to the cozy décor and the savory aromas coming from the kitchen.
We both study our menus making random approving comments about the fare: fried green tomatoes, crab and spinach dip, shrimp three ways. Soon, our waitress arrives to take our drink orders.
“Hi, I’m Sonja. I’ll be taking your order tonight.”
“I’ll just have water,” I say.
This place needs stricter wardrobe standards. Sonja’s blue jeans are fair enough, but her black stretchy top barely covers what must be double Fs. We’re talking cleavage for miles. You could go on climbing expeditions on those.
“I’ll bring your drinks right out,” Sonja says.
When she’s gone, I mutter, “You could probably make fifty pacifiers out of all that silicone.”
“Her boobs aren’t fake.”
“You don’t think?”
“No, they jiggle too much. Also, please don’t say ‘boobs’ on camera.”
I sigh as Cassie pulls out her phone. Should have known this was coming. That’s why she wanted me to sit next to her. “We’re doing this again?”
“This is business,” she says. “We’re here to gain subscribers.”
“I’m here to eat crab legs and fried green tomatoes. And also to enjoy the panoramic views of Charleston Harbor.”
“The Instagram audience loves your face for some reason. You should post more on social media. You could monetize.”
“I don’t want to monetize my face.”
“Why not? You love earning money.”
“The love of money is the root of all evil.”
“Nice. Sitting next to Granny at church for two years rubbed off on you. You actually listened to Pastor Ellis.”
“How could I not? He screams.”
“He doesn’t scream. That’s just his preaching style.”
“Trying to scare me straight, I guess.”
She swipes up on her phone and taps her Instagram icon. “Scoot closer.”
We’re almost touching already, but I’m happy to oblige. I close the gap between us and reach my arm around her, allowing our bodies to touch. A second later, we’re live, which means I don’t have time to calm my excitement before the internet is staring at me. I’m basically hugging Cassie, and she hasn’t shoved me away.
We stare silently at the phone for a moment. I open my mouth to break the awkwardness, but Cassie jumps in first.
“Hey everyone. It’s date number three.” She holds up three fingers. “Luke is already drooling at the waitress, so I’m not sure how this is going to go.”
I gape at Cassie. “I am not.” I lean closer to her phone. “I’m not.”
“Hey SugarSquirrel. Good to have you back.”
I watch hearts float up Cassie’s phone screen while the audience count continues to grow. Don’t people have anything better to do on a Thursday night than live vicariously through me and Cassie’s third date? More like two hundred and third date, or more. But this is Cassie’s gig. I’ll keep playing along if it means I get to scoot in close and wrap my arm around her.
Sonja comes back. I have to duck so her boobs don’t hit me. Kidding.
I order my crab legs and fried green tomatoes. Cassie orders the shrimp three ways.
I can see why Luke was drooling, Hammer_Time says.
“I was not drooling,” I repeat into the camera.
Cassie swipes at me and laughs. “I was just joking. Luke is cool.”
My muscles relax. I settle against the booth and scan the comments as they pass.
Thanks for taking us along.
So great to see you two together again.
Bring back drunk mom.
Grabbing my popcorn. Can’t wait for the encore.
“Encore?” Cassie asks.
The kissing, making out...
I can tell Cassie wants to say something, but she holds back. She has to keep up the charade that we’re still feeling each other out, still trying to decide if we’re soulmate material. That means, at least for the Instagram audience, she can’t nix the possibility of an “encore.”
“How do you know we haven’t already kissed?” Cassie says.
An unexpected play. A little truthfulness tucked in with the lies. I like it.
OMG. Have you kissed???
Why didn’t you tell us?
Details!!!
Cassie looks at me and shrugs her right shoulder.
My lips are sealed, zipped, superglued, sewn shut. You get the idea. I’m not touching this one.
Cassie pulls in a breath and refocuses on her phone. “How about we field some questions while we wait for our food? What do you guys want to ask? It can be about me and Luke, MatchAI, anything.”
Yes. Forever the saleswoman, Cassie is hawking her wares. I can’t blame her. I’d do the same.
Have. You. Kissed??
Cassie looks at me again. My lips are locked, and the key is somewhere on the bottom of the bay. I think my placid expression clues her in that she’s on her own.
“No. We haven’t kissed. Next question. Luke, you choose one.”
The questions roll up the screen faster than I can read. I squint and tap the phone to try to slow them down.
What’s the verdict? Are you two soulmates?
I read it aloud to Cassie. I probably should have picked an easier one. “No, let’s not do that one. How about... ‘when are you guys going to...’” I clear my throat. “Let’s go with the first one. Cassie, are we soulmates?”
She doesn’t appreciate being put on the spot. I can tell by the way she’s slowly moving her jaw side-to-side. But she put me on the spot with this dumb Instagram Live thing. Calm down, you owe her this much.
“I think we gel. We always have,” Cassie says. “I mean, we’ve gelled on every date we’ve had so far. That’s four dates. I mean three. This makes three. Three total dates. Is that right?” She looks at me for reinforcement.
“It seems like way more than that.”
Awwww. That’s so sweet.
“Lucy_Broughton wants to know if Luke and I have met up outside of our Instagram Lives.”
Cassie’s office, the break room in her office, the conference room, the United Methodist Church. Oh yeah, and the entire two years we were dating.
“Nope,” I say. That’s one less lie for Cassie to atone for later.
Our food comes. Red crab legs occupy my entire plate, with a bowl of dipping sauce in the middle. A separate plate piled high with fried green tomatoes looks like it could feed four. I break into the crab legs without hesitation. I only feel slightly guilty that five hundred people are watching me eat and I have nothing to offer them; however, I’m keenly aware that I have to entertain them somehow.
“Go get something to eat,” I say into the camera. “Some ice cream. A beer. Brats.”
“Brats?” Cassie laughs.
“Whatever you got, dig in. I don’t want to be the only one eating here.”
“Tell us what ya’ll are eating,” Cassie says.
Comments flood in.
Ramen and hotdogs.
Blue Moon ice cream.
Hard seltzer.
Mike and Ikes.
I don’t understand what the draw is. Am I really so interesting that people want to watch me eat? Cassie, sure, she’s gorgeous. But me? I have butter on my chin and there’s a piece of shell stuck to my shirt.
I grab my water and suck through my straw until it gurgles on the bottom. Sonja is one booth over, and she hears the call of a customer in need.
“Can I get you both more drinks?”
Cassie and I nod.
Riveting entertainment, I tell you. But we have over six hundred people watching now. Should I break out in a song and dance?
“I have an idea,” Cassie says. “Why don’t you guys choose the location of our next date?”
My ears perk up at the word “next.” Date number four? I didn’t even have to weasel my way into it.
“Please, someone say the My Little Pony Convention,” I say.
Cassie tilts her head back and laughs. I expect her laughter to die down, but it ramps up, a little squeak sounding from her throat and then a snort, which makes her laugh harder.
“She doesn’t take my collection seriously,” I say. “It’s worth seven thousand dollars.”
Cassie squeezes her eyes shut and covers her mouth with her hand as her shoulders bounce. Moments later she calms down and concludes her laughing fit with a long sigh.
“It has to be in Charleston,” she says.
How does she go from laughing hysterically to a businesswoman in less than a second? I need to learn that trick.
“Those are the rules?” I ask.
“Yes. I’ll put a comment on this stream. You guys can pick any location in Charleston, and I’ll do a random comment picker.”
“Works for me.” I stuff fried green tomato in my mouth, and then I try to wash it down with my nonexistent water. As if sensing my need, Sonja approaches with a tray and two refills.
I refocus on my crab legs, expecting to enjoy a buttery bite when I hear a scuff and then a squeal. Sloshing. A second later, I have a face full of double Fs. Time slows as my nose carves a straight line through Sonja’s cleavage. I can’t help but notice her flowery perfume, its citrus notes, and its pairing with sweat.
I search frantically in the dark for a pair of shoulders. When I can’t find them, I palm Sonja’s chest and shove.
That’s when I realize I’m wet. So is Cassie.
Sonja quickly resituates her shirt. Did they fall out? I’m not sure if I palmed T-shirt or flesh. I don’t want to know. Both Sonja and Cassie look as mortified as I feel. No, I’m the most mortified of the bunch.
“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry,” Sonja repeats. She takes a pathetic little napkin and tries to wipe me down. I push her hands away. I don’t want her body parts anywhere near me.
“I’ll go get towels,” she says, and then she darts away.
Cassie picks several ice cubes off her lap and dumps them into the empty glass she just picked off the seat. Her shock has passed, and I see the beginnings of laugh lines around her eyes. She leans into her phone. “Hey guys, if you didn’t notice, we had a...uh...an incident. We need to clean up. We’ll catch you in the next Live. Don’t forget to put in your vote for our next date. Okay. Signing off. Peace.” She flashes the peace sign and turns off her phone.
After she stuffs her phone in her purse, she looks at me, the corners of her lips twitching. “I thought you weren’t a boob man.”
“Don’t even start.”
Her lips crack into a grin. “Oh, trust me, I’m just getting started,” she says, then she raises her knee and gives me a tap on the thigh with her foot. “Scoot. I’m going to see if they have hand dryers in the bathroom.”
“Great. Leave me alone here with them.”
Cassie breaks into a laugh. “You should have seen your face.”
“Shh. Here she comes.”
“Let me out!”
I stand and let Cassie slide out of the booth. She grabs a towel from Sonja on her way to the bathroom, sashaying the entire way there because she knows I’m watching.
Cassie
I exit the bathroom feeling like I just stepped out of a shower. The hand blower didn’t do much to dry my shirt, it just muffled my laughter. Every time my mind replays Sonja’s boobs smooshed against Luke’s face, I break into another fit and nearly give myself a hernia.
Luke is waiting for me by the front doors.
“Hey,” I say, trying to swallow down a cackle. Poor guy. Sonja just busted through his personal space. Literally. I can’t hold it in.
“Okay, okay. Ha ha,” Luke says. He’s smiling. “The manager didn’t make me pay.”
I grab Luke’s arm. “That poor girl. She’s probably curled up in a back corner.”
“Oh, no. She’s still waiting tables. She told me to have a nice night as I was walking out. Locked eyes with me and everything.”
“No, she didn’t!”
Luke looks down at my hand, and I realize I’m still holding on to him.
“Let’s get the heck out of here,” he says.
I nod and we exit into the parking lot. Just as we’re about to head to our separate vehicles, he pauses. “Want to walk to the end of the pier?”
My thoughts replay the moment I grabbed his arm. And then further back to the moment he asked if I wanted to join him for dinner. I could have rejected his offer. I could have gone home to cuddle with Pudge.
“Sure,” I say.
He lightly touches my back as we redirect our steps toward the pier.
“Wait a minute.” I stop just before the asphalt meets the boardwalk.
“What?” Luke looks worried.
“We have it on video.”
His furrowed brow deepens. He looks at the stars. “No.”
I dig through my purse and pull out my phone. He quickly snatches it out of my hand and holds it high overhead.
“Gimme that back.” I brace one hand against his chest and jump, swiping at air. “Gimme it!”
“We have to delete it.”
“I want to watch it first.”
Luke grabs the hand I placed on his chest. He tucks his chin to meet my eyes. The sky is dark, but the restaurant’s lights are close enough to illuminate his face. We stand for a moment, quietly looking at each other, my pulse quickening by the second.
“Here,” he says finally. He unfolds my hand and tucks my phone into it.
I turn away from him like I can just turn away from the emotions, put them behind me. Forget the look in his eyes, and the heady silence.
“Well,” he says. “Let’s see the damage.”
I pull up Instagram. “Oh...no...” I say when I see the hits on our video. “I think you’re going viral.”
“I don’t want to be a virus.” He grabs at my phone again, but I turn away.
“I have to see this.”
I play the video and fast forward to the part where Luke innocently breaks into a crab leg. We watch together as Sonja tumbles toward him, our refills spilling, her chest mashing against Luke’s face.
“I can’t believe I grabbed her boobs,” Luke says.
“Wait. Wait.”
After he pushes Sonja off, he shakes his head like he just came up from a long dive under water. His eyelids are peeled back, white donuts circling brown irises.
Laughter spills from my throat. I clutch my stomach. Here comes the hernia. “Your eyes about popped out of your head.”
Luke grabs my phone. “Let me see that again.” He replays the video. “Thank goodness, they didn’t fall out of her shirt.”
“Look,” I say. I replay the video again. “You look like you’re coming up for air.”
“I was!”
His comment doubles my laughter. I fall to the parking lot.
“Get up, woman.” He grabs my arms. “You’re gonna get dirty.”
“I can’t,” I say, gasping for air.
Luke chuckles along with me. “You have to delete that video.”
“The internet never forgets!”
“We gotta scrub it.”
I let Luke pull me to my feet. “I’m sorry. It’s not funny. I don’t even know why I’m laughing.”
We look at each other, and I burst out laughing again. “Sorry. I’ll stop.” I take a deep breath and release it through rounded lips.
Luke and I continue along the boardwalk. We reach the pier and walk onto the weathered planks.
“Seriously, though,” he says. “Can we delete it?”
“I’m supposed to put a comment on it so people can vote for our next date. And...Sonja’s face isn’t in the video. Just her...you-know-whats.”
“I’m feeling a little violated.”
“It was an accident. And it has five thousand views.”
Luke flashes me an incredulous look and grabs my phone. “How is that even possible?”
“Don’t look. It’s probably more now.”
Benches line the pier’s perimeter. Luke walks to a gap between them and leans against the railing. I walk beside him and grasp the rough-hewn wood. Around us, the ocean breathes rhythmically, like a music conductor is leading the swell of each wave.
“You’re just using me as free advertisement,” Luke says. There’s a sullenness in his voice.
Of course he would think that. I’ve given him no indication otherwise. I hadn’t felt guilty about it until now. Except, that’s not why I’m here tonight. Is it? The livestream was just a cover.
“No, that’s not it,” I say. “We’re business partners. We’re both putting ourselves out there to generate attention and excitement, and I guess it’s working.”
Luke’s expression softens a bit.
“Sorry to burst your bubble, but Instagram doesn’t just like your face. It likes mine too.” I say it with a smile to let him know boss Cassie isn’t in charge right now. Not entirely.
He turns to me, resting his elbow on the railing. “How long are we going to keep pretending?”
My adrenaline spikes. Pretending? I’m not pretending. “What do you mean?” I ask.
“How long are we going to keep up this charade for the Instagram audience?”
My nerves settle a bit. I shrug. “For as long as we need? It’s no harm, is it?”
He does a quarter turn and rests his other elbow on the railing, leaning his weight into both. Several meters away, a pair of dolphins crest and then dive for another minutes-long swim. Luke is looking down. He missed them.
“First,” Luke starts, “they could find out that we have a history, and if they do, they’ll lose confidence in Cupid. Second, I’ve turned over a new leaf. I’m all honesty all the time now.” He peers at me over his shoulder.
“Except tonight. You played along with me.”
“I’m doing this for you.”
His eyes pierce through the darkness into my chest. Blood radiates from the point of entry, heat diffusing through my heart. “You’re not doing it for you?”
Luke looks down at the water. “I have a stake in the company. Of course. But...” He pushes off the rail and does a one-eighty, paces toward the boardwalk, and then back again, stuffing his hands in his pockets to mark the end of his short journey. “There are other ways to market. I just think this could blow up in our faces.”
To be honest, I hadn’t thought about our little charade going south. I didn’t think I needed to worry about it. How could I have known we’d garner this much attention with our livestreams? How could I have known that a cute, busty waitress would smash her chest into Luke’s face? It made for some great entertainment, and it doesn’t hurt that my company name is attached to it.
“I think you’re over-analyzing it,” I say finally. “I also think you still haven’t learned to tie your shoes.” The laces on his right shoe are undone. Both aglets rest expectantly on the wood decking, waiting to trip him. “I swear.”
I walk over to him and bend down like I’m his mom. “You make two bunny ears. Like this.” I look up. “Are you watching?”
“I know how to tie my shoes.”
“No, son, you don’t.”
Luke laughs. “Fine. Show me.” He crouches down.
“Okay. Two bunny ears. One. Two.” I demonstrate. “Then, tuck one bunny ear under the other bunny ear and pull. To make it stronger you can even double knot it.”
I look at Luke and realize he’s not watching my demonstration. He’s watching me and tracing my face with his eyes. His lips are slightly parted. I can hear the in and out of his breath.
“I’m so sorry,” he says.
I swallow and glance down. “You’re fine. We’re just talking business.”
“No.” He rests a hand on my cheek. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”
Tears prick the backs of my eyes, another unexpected twist to this evening. Old emotions well up in my chest, the hurt, the betrayal, the loss. They pour down like a heavy rain and I become lost behind the curtain of water. I can’t see Luke as he is tonight. I only see him as he was, the night he betrayed me.
I stand.
“I can’t do this.” I walk around him and head up the pier.
“Cassie, wait,” Luke calls after me.
I shake my head and keep walking.