Chapter 18
Cassie
I cringe the moment I open my eyes. I’m in my bed. My memory of crawling up here is fuzzy, but I remember enough about my make-out session with Luke to wonder what in the world came over me.
I roll over and groan. Sunlight falls on the front of the building at this hour, my bedroom window out of its direct onslaught. Still, the brightness bouncing off my white comforter is too much for my eyes. How can I have a hangover after only two glasses of wine? I was always a lightweight, but now it’s times ten.
As I sit up and swing my legs over the side of the bed, my head swims. There’s literally a fishbowl in my brain holding a dozen goldfish. As blood surges into my temples, I feel the thrum of my heart, each pump making my vision wobble. The pain comes next, radiating through my frontal lobes at even intervals.
Pudge hops onto the bed and perches on my lap. Together we stare at our reflections in my full-length mirror. I’m glad Luke isn’t seeing me like this, with my fuzzy mouth, the pillow prints on my cheek, and my hair that looks like I was just struck by lightning.
“Why did you let me drink wine?” I ask while scratching behind Pudge’s ears. She lifts her nose and I oblige with some scratches under her chin. “Oh, really? I was on my own the second I decided to let Luke into my apartment? That’s how you are?”
Pudge chirps and then hops off my lap. I guess I wasn’t petting her right.
I tried to lose myself in work yesterday, tried not to think about Luke coming over, tried not to notice the tickle of excitement I felt in my stomach at the prospect of having him all to myself, alone without an internet audience. The wine was a lifeline, a buoy against the waves of emotions that crashed over me the moment he crossed the threshold, part of me wanting to forgive him, the other part never wanting to forget, never wanting to absolve him. And it worked. The wine relaxed me, steadied me, buffered the waves of attraction that intermingled with waves of anger when he relayed the details of his encounter with Rose. Unfortunately, it worked too well.
I danced with him? I let him take me in his arms, our hips swaying in tandem? And then I pulled his face toward mine. I made the move and kissed those irresistible lips.
I anchor my palms on the mattress and wait for a wave of nausea to subside, not at the memory of kissing Luke, but at the surge of emotions the thought evokes. And, oh yeah, the hangover. That’s still real.
Convinced my stomach is going to stay put, I push off my bed and hobble down the stairs, clutching the railing for dear life. Coffee, water, shower. That’s what I need. A little coffee, a lot of water, and a long shower.
I cross over to my Keurig and pop a fresh pod into the top, make sure it has enough water, and grab a mug to catch the coffee. As I head to the fridge to fill a glass with water, my eyes graze the microwave. It’s already eleven thirty. I never sleep this late.
With a fresh glass of water in one hand and the hot mug of coffee in the other, I round the island and plop onto a barstool. A piece of paper sits on the butcher block with purple writing on it. I grab it and read. It’s from Luke. He was going to leave quietly last night and let me sleep.
I smile at the note. Luke is trying hard. He wants to prove he’s changed. That he’s safe. I’m still not sure I believe it. I’m also not sure I’ll act in my best interest if he gives me evidence that he hasn’t changed. After our encounter last night, I might be the stupid girl who thinks maybe... Maybe this time I can change him, when the truth is, I simply can’t resist him.
My smile reverses into a decisive frown. I can’t be that girl. If he gives me any indication that his cheating days aren’t over, I mean, any indication, I’m out. Fun time’s over.
I crumple Luke’s note and toss it toward the trashcan. It bounces off the wall and falls to the wood floor. I stare at it while I sip my coffee.
He’s been an absolute gentleman since we re-entered each other’s lives. Strike that. Since he forced his way into my life in an underhanded, conniving way. Can’t forget that. Or can I? I groan. The sound reverberates against my skull and ratchets up my pain level.
I could really use some Tylenol, but it would require moving and I’m not ready to do that quite yet. So, I sit and sip and wish I had my phone for entertainment. I have no idea where it is, probably on the couch, the same couch where I clutched Luke’s biceps like he was going to spiral into the fifth dimension, away from me once again, like I had to cling to him for one last desperate kiss.
I thump my forehead with the heel of my palm a couple of times trying to knock some sense back into my head. This too magnifies the ache. I need some Tylenol. I collapse onto the butcher block instead.
My phone chimes across the room, near my couch. A shot of adrenaline allows me to lift my head and contemplate walking over to the living room. It passes quickly and I take a final sip of my coffee instead.
My phone chimes again. And again. I glance at the crumpled note beside the trashcan. It’s probably Luke. He probably wants to know I’m still alive.
I use the counter for leverage and push myself off the barstool. My phone is on the coffee table. I grab it and head back over to the stool, detouring for the bottle of Tylenol. Bolstered by the two capsules of extra strength Acetaminophen, I wake up my phone and check my texts.
Good morning, sleepyhead.
Are you regretting the wine?
laughing emoji>
I regret nothing, I type. I stare at the text before sending. It’s both lie and truth. I regret the wine, but do I regret those intoxicating kisses?
I add an embarrassed emoji and then hit send.
Luke responds with another embarrassed emoji. He quickly adds, How’s your head?
Screwed on and functioning, I say.
I think I left mine at your house last night, Luke responds with another embarrassed emoji.
Me: That’s unfortunate. I hope you have extras.
Luke: Nope. No extra heads laying around. I have modeling clay, though. Would that work?
Me: I hope so because Pudge gnawed off your nose last night.
Luke: horrified emoji>
I stare at my phone. I’m not sure what to say next.
Hey, Luke continues, relieving me of the burden of continuing my bad joke. If you’re feeling OK, I wondered if you wanted to finish our research tonight?
We never started our research, I say.
Heh. Right.
Dot, dot, dot.
Can I call you?Luke asks.
Sure.
My phone rings. “How are you talking if your mouth is over here at my house?” I answer.
“This is becoming a little macabre,” Luke says.
“I blame my hangover.”
Luke chuckles. “So, you do have a hangover.”
“I had two glasses of wine. So, yeah.”
“Always the lightweight.”
“About last night before you left, I was a little buzzed and I might’ve acted a little out of character. Sorry.”
Luke is silent for a moment and then he clears his throat. “Given that you ruined our opportunity to complete our research for your potential Benton Street tour, how would you feel about coming over to my house and going commando on those emails?”
A laugh escapes my throat. It makes my head hurt. “Ow. Don’t make me laugh.”
“I’m not being funny.”
“Don’t you know what going commando means?”
“It means carrying out a special attack, in a military sense.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Sure it does.”
I rub my face and then tap a fingernail against the countertop. “I might come over if you promise to wear underwear.”
“I will definitely be wearing underwear.”
“Thank goodness.”
“I was thinking you could come this afternoon. We could go kayaking in the marshes behind Folly Island, come back home, make dinner, read some emails, hang out with Betsy, listen to her moan.”
I rest my elbows on the counter and lean into them. “What you’re describing sounds like a date.”
“An overnighter actually. Betsy only moans at night, and I want you around to hear her. For research purposes. Don’t worry. Separate bedrooms. I have five extra. You can take your pick. No funny business.”
“And you’ll be wearing underwear?”
“Except while kayaking. In that case, I’ll be wearing swim trunks with a mesh pouch that holds all my—”
“TMI!”
“—keys. What did you think I was going to say?”
I can hear Luke’s smile in his voice. My smile is plastered on my face, kept there by the thought of Luke bare-chested in a swimsuit. I’m not sure I can handle a night at his house. I’m not sure I can trust myself.
“Are you sure it’s not too soon?” I ask
“Too soon for what?”
“An overnighter. Remember, I only recently decided you might not be a jerk.”
Luke laughs. “No funny business.” His tone turns serious. “I mean it. We’ll stay up until Betsy pays her visit and then we’ll go to our separate rooms.”
I drop my forehead to the counter.
“Even you need a break now and then,” he says.
Bethany and I worked our tails off last week. My TikTok videos for next week are in draft status, just waiting for me to push publish. The radio segments are scheduled. Everything is planned. There’s nothing left to do but wait.
Maybe I do need a break.
The Tylenol is already starting to lift my headache. If I drink a lot of water and soak for an hour in the shower, I’ll probably be back to myself—my stress-laden self who could stand a mini-vacation in a fancy house that might be haunted.
“Don’t make me regret this,” I say.
“I won’t.”
We set a time, say our goodbyes, and I chug two glasses of water in quick succession.
I pull up Luke’s driveway, and Korg bolts to my car, tongue wagging. Luke trails after him.
“Korg, get back here,” he calls.
Luke’s heather gray T-shirt makes him look especially masculine, hugging his chest in all the right places, exposing his golden arms. His veins pop and his muscles flex as he gestures at Korg.
When I open my door, Korg wiggles toward me, his enthusiastic hello warranting a few head pats.
“Korg!” Luke approaches and grabs the top of my door as he tries unsuccessfully to wrangle the dog with his other hand.
“He’s fine,” I say. Korg exuberantly wags his tail.
The pebbly gravel crunches under my feet as I exit the car. Luke closes the door behind me. I open the passenger door, grab my bag from the back seat, and start toward the house.
We ascend the steps to the back porch, and he leads me through the mudroom.
“So, about this kayaking adventure...” I say. “You realize I swim about as well as a rock?”
He pauses in the kitchen and turns to give me his attention. “Safety measures will be employed. I’m also certified in CPR.”
“That doesn’t make me feel better.”
“It’ll be fun. Trust me.”
“The CPR?”
“No. The kayaking.”
“Oh.”
He steps closer and lifts his hand like he’s going to touch my arm but stops himself. Our eyes meet and I blush. I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows.
“You’re safe with me,” he says.
In more ways than one, I hope. I want to believe.
“There are five bedrooms upstairs. You can pick your favorite. I suggest you go with the one that has a bed.”
I laugh. “That’s a lot of bedrooms.”
“A bit excessive, isn’t it?”
“I mean, you live here alone...”
“With Betsy.”
“Yes, with Betsy.”
Luke props his hip against the island and rests his hand on the counter. “I’m hoping I can get her to move on to the netherworld, or underworld, or great beyond. Somewhere that’s not here.”
“Then what will you do with all your empty rooms?”
He picks at a chip in the countertop and looks down. “I had this crazy idea of maybe filling them with kids.”
“Five kids!?” I’m shocked by the number and by his admission that he wants kids. When we were dating, he was adamant about never being a father.
“Ten? They could double up?” He looks at me and grins. “Kids these days are so spoiled. They think they need their own room.”
“I think you need your gray matter examined. No modern woman is going to squeeze out ten children.”
He shrugs.
“Okay. Um. I think I’ll go pick my room. The one with the bed.”
“Get ready to get wet.”
“I am not getting in that water. I’ll look at it, but I won’t get in.”
“Why not?”
“Alligators.”
“I haven’t seen a single alligator since I moved here.”
“They lurk.”
Luke laughs. “Fine. Suit yourself. Literally. Put your swimsuit on and get back down here so we can leave.”
I ascend the wide staircase and poke my head into every door until I come to the one with the bed. It contains a double bed—well adorned with a plush comforter and four fluffy pillows—a dresser, some dated yellow curtains, and nothing else. I’m not sure what Luke was thinking buying this house. It’s certainly big enough for a family of twelve. Much too big for a family of one.
A few minutes later, I re-enter the kitchen, modestly dressed in an orange one-piece that holds everything in—not that there’s much to hold—and an oversized white button-up that hits mid-thigh.
“Ready?” Luke hands me a water bottle.
“Bring it on.”
He touches his front teeth to his bottom lip and whistles. “Korg. Come on, boy.” Korg perks up from his spot under the kitchen table and saunters over to Luke.
“Korg is coming?”
“He loves it.”
We make quick time to Luke’s SUV and strap in for the fifteen-minute drive to Folly Island.
“Todd has a house on the river. He lets me borrow his kayaks whenever I want,” Luke says as he turns off Benton Street.
“What if he’s using them?”
“He’s out-of-town for the weekend. We’re good.”
Luke and I talk business the rest of the way. MatchAI stats, trends, projections. When we pull into Todd’s driveway, I say, “No more work talk the rest of the weekend.”
Luke looks at me, surprised. “Really?”
“Yeah, really. I could use a break.”
He smiles faintly. “I know.” He taps his temple. “There’s some method to my madness.”
“It’s definitely madness,” I say, nudging him.
Todd’s house is an impressive modern masterpiece, built on stilts with a first-floor garage, large windows on the second floor, and a porch with two sliders on the third, all of it fitted with white board and batten siding with black shutters. The well-shaded property boasts a breathtaking view of the marsh and winding tidal creeks, launching the house’s price into the million-dollar range, no doubt.
We hop out of the car and walk to the edge of Todd’s property where we follow a metal pier to a square deck. The kayaks are racked to the side. A wooden outdoor storage box sits next to them. Luke opens it and pulls out two lifejackets, handing me the smaller one, and keeping the larger red one for himself.
“You’re wearing a lifejacket too?” I ask.
“Always.”
“You were on the swim team.”
“Safety first,” he says. “If I pass out, I can’t trust Korg to pull me out of the water. He’d try, but I weigh two hundred pounds, so...”
Two hundred pounds of muscle.
While I was changing into my swimsuit, he switched his gray T-shirt for a blue, short-sleeved swim shirt. Disappointing. I wanted to see those muscles in action.
I feed my arms through the life jacket and fasten the clasps while Luke goes about unhitching the kayaks from the rack. When they’re both sitting on the deck, he lets me choose my color. I choose the lime green, and he hands me a double-ended paddle. He scoots my kayak into the water and anchors it against the dock with his foot.
“You first,” he says.
“I’ve never done this before.”
“I’ll help you.” He offers his hand and I grab it, his skin against mine.
“Don’t let me fall,” I say as I place a foot on the wobbly boat. Ripples form in the murky water while I find my balance. I grab the deck boards. Luke lets go of my hand and steadies my hips, his strength providing the safety and confidence I need to swing my right leg over. He doesn’t let go but braces me until I lower to my seat, then he hands me a paddle.
“You good?” he asks.
My hips burn where he held on, his energy signature imprinted on my cells.
“Yeah, I’m good.” In more ways than one.
As Luke is boarding his kayak, I take in my surroundings. The docks along the river vary in length depending on the breadth of the salt marsh. Todd’s stretches several meters through brackish water, mud, and cordgrass. The verdant grass still holds its color in the warm early-autumn temperatures. Soon the leaves will turn golden brown. In winter, they’ll break off at the stems, creating a mat of decomposition, further breaking into small pieces of detritus that will provide food for the marsh animals.
For now, I enjoy the vibrant green and the scent of the marsh, which some people find foul, like rotten eggs. I’m used to the smell. But I rarely take time to enjoy the Charleston outdoors anymore. I’m too busy trying to earn money.
I sigh and grab the center of my paddle.
“This is a straight shot to the river,” Luke points, referring to the wide creek we’re floating in. “But we’re not going that way.”
“Of course.” I laugh.
“I know a better way.”
“You first.”
It shouldn’t be hard to paddle a kayak, but it takes me five minutes to figure out how to alternate between my left and right blade without throwing my entire kayak off kilter. Luke and Korg wait patiently, Luke chuckling at my clumsiness and offering encouraging words and helpful tips, Korg perched on the front of Luke’s kayak with his tongue hanging out and a look in his eyes that says what-is-taking-this-crazy-lady-so-long.
When I fall into a comfortable rhythm, Luke leads me through the winding tidal creeks, checking frequently over his shoulder to make sure I’m keeping up. We’re both silent as our paddles slosh through the water, the wind rustles the cordgrass, and wood storks call in the distance.
The shirt may be hiding Luke’s chest and back, but I can still enjoy his biceps and forearms as he effortlessly pulls his kayak through the calm waters. His skin has already developed a sheen of sweat that reflects the sun and highlights the contours of his muscles.
I feel it too—the strain in my back from the water’s resistance, the misting of sweat on my face and arms. The sun feels brighter and hotter on the water, where the dense grass blocks the breeze.
The creek finally empties into open water. A stronger current presses against my kayak and I have to adjust my paddling to counteract it.
“We’re going against the current for a bit,” Luke says over his shoulder.
“No problem,” I lie. My arms are almost spent. Luckily Luke quickly maneuvers his kayak into another tidal creek on the opposite side of the river. I manage to fight off the current long enough to follow him while commanding my arms to cooperate.
Korg barks at something in the grass. The dog has it easy. All he has to do is sit there. But the longer I paddle, the more my brain unwinds, each pass of my blade through the water like a kind, reassuring stroke on my psyche telling me it’s okay. Everything will be okay. I didn’t realize how keyed up I’ve been. About Luke, yes, but mostly about work. I can’t remember my last official rest day. Sure, I go to church. I visit with my family, but every Sunday evening when I get home it’s back to planning, strategizing, problem-solving.
We round a bend in the creek, and I see land. Behind all the grass is a sandy beach with shallow water and a protective overhang of trees. I paddle until my blade strikes the creek bed, and then I step out of the kayak and splash through the water to pull my boat ashore. Alligators don’t worry me here. The water is too shallow for them to hide.
Korg seems to know the drill. He bounds off Luke’s kayak and starts prancing about, creating a generous spray of water. I laugh at his display, and then it hits me: this is perfect. The warm sun on my face is perfect. The scenery is perfect. Being here with Luke and Korg: perfect. Moments like this can’t be scripted.
With a smile, I collapse onto the sand with my water bottle. Luke drops down next to me. We take off our lifejackets and watch Korg frolic for a moment before I speak.
“My arms are about to fall off, but this is great.”
“Did you see any alligators?”
“No. Did you?”
“I saw a three-foot snake, but I decided not to mention it.”
I smack his arm with the back of my hand. “You did not!”
“You’re right. I didn’t.”
“Don’t even get me started on snakes.” I lean into him and laugh.
We both take swigs of water. Luke props his forearms on his knees. A breeze swishes the leaves overhead, cools my sweat-dampened skin. Korg finds something in a nearby patch of cordgrass. He tentatively pokes his nose through the strands before darting through, the grass closing behind him like a curtain.
“What if he gets lost?” I ask.
“He won’t. They have noses for that.”
“What if he gets eaten by an alligator?”
“I hadn’t thought of that possibility until now.”
I tap my temple with my index finger. “This brain never stops.”
Luke peers down at me, a soft smile on his lips. “I know.”
“Korg!” I call. The grass stirs as his body threads through. A moment later, his nose appears. It’s surrounded by green. “Get back here.”
He perks up at my command and barrels toward me. I hardly have time to raise my hands before Korg attacks me with his tongue. I feel like I’m rolling through an automatic carwash with all the wet, floppy swipes and velvety licks.
“Korg, get off her.” Luke settles his dog and pats the ground. “Sit.” Korg responds dutifully and perches beside his master.
We listen to the breeze and the soft lap of the water against the sandy shore as insects buzz behind us.
Luke breaks our silence by clearing his throat. “Last night you said you wanted to know everything. There’s more I want to tell you, something that changed me. Something—”
I cover Luke’s mouth with my hand. He continues talking in muffled tones, most of the words indecipherable. When I let go, he chuckles.
“I get the hint,” he says.
We’re silent for a moment.
“But seriously,” Luke continues, “whenever you want to hear the rest, I can fill you in.”
I flick an iridescent green beetle from my arm. “Not today. I don’t want to ruin the moment.”
“It’s not bad.”
“Some other time.” I rest my hand on his forearm and squeeze. He smiles shyly and ducks his head. Time wears on, but I don’t let go. He finally places his hand on mine.
“Um...” He swallows. “Should we talk about what happened before I left?”
“What do you mean? This?” I roll onto my knees, take Luke’s head in my hands, and lift his lips to mine. His plump lips are both salty and sweet. He presses his hand against the small of my back and we recline against the sand, our lips never parting.
I feel a wet nose against my ear and hear the rapid in-out of curious canine breath. Korg’s trying to get a piece of the action. I dissolve into laughter and fall onto my back. Luke looks at his dog wryly.
“Bad dog,” he says.
“I think he’s jealous.”
“He’s most certainly jealous. But I don’t care.”
Luke leans over me and kisses me again. Korg immediately tries to poke his nose between our faces. He starts licking our cheeks. This time we both fall onto our backs and laugh.
“I think I’m covered in sand,” I say after I’ve calmed down.
Luke prods my side. “Yep.”
“I know I said I wasn’t going to get in that water, but...” I head into the shallow, clear water, and lie down. Luke can’t resist the temptation to splash me a few times, then he follows my lead and rinses the sand off his back.
Since we’re clean, we opt to leave the sandy beach and return to our kayaks. We paddle back into the tidal creek, Korg perched like a mast on Luke’s kayak. I use my newfound rowing skills to glide up beside Luke, and we travel side by side along the narrow waterway.
We’re almost to the mouth of the creek when Korg’s body goes alert and stiff. He barks at something in the grass, and then does the unthinkable: he leaps from Luke’s kayak, parkours off mine, and dashes into the grass. The displacement caused by his weight knocks me and my kayak over. My face plows into the water first, followed by the rest of me while my kayak—my safe-haven from lurking alligators—pops out from under me.
It all happens so fast that I don’t have time to scream.