Chapter 19
Cassie
I thrash around with my head underwater for an inordinately long time considering I’m wearing a life jacket. Luke calls my name amid the sounds of splashing and roiling water. He approaches me from behind and wraps his arms around me, righting my body and lifting my head out of the marsh.
“Alligators!” I somehow manage to yell while gasping for air. Luke chuckles next to my ear.
“There are no alligators,” he says.
“That’s what they want you to think!”
Luke spins me around.
My foot touches something slimy. Panic wells in my gut. “Get me out of here!”
I’m bobbing on my own now, but Luke rests his hands on my shoulders to steady me. He ducks to meet my eyes. “I need Boss Cassie now, fearless leader, determined warrior, and conqueror.”
Water droplets slide down my temples and drip from the tip of my nose. I’m still convinced gaping reptilian jaws are about to swallow me whole.
“Boss Cassie isn’t fearless,” I say, my voice quivering. “She questions herself every step of the way.”
“You and every entrepreneur.”
“Can we...?” I flail to the left and then the right looking for my lime green kayak. It’s floating several yards away.
“I’ll get it,” Luke says.
“Don’t leave me alone in this swamp.” Funny how the grass and brackish water isn’t so idyllic now.
He searches in the water for my hand, grabs it, and we both do an awkward one-armed stroke to my kayak. I grab onto the lime green plastic and hoist my right leg onto the boat. I try to slide the kayak under me, but only manage to torpedo it several yards down the creek. We repeat our one-armed duet. This time Luke swims to the opposite side of the kayak. While he holds it steady, I try the leg-hoisting thing again. After much pulling, lurching, tugging, and wiggling, I manage to straddle the kayak. Backward.
“Wait a minute. Let me...” I mumble.
He continues holding on while I do a careful spin on my bum. When my arms, legs, and torso are in proper order, I realize I don’t have a paddle.
Luke has me covered. He swims away with strong freestyle strokes and returns with his kayak, two paddles, and somehow Korg, who is already at his post, drenched, but otherwise regally poised on the kayak. I watch in amazement while Luke climbs aboard with barely a wobble.
As we head home, I opt to follow Luke, wanting no repeat of Korg’s earlier escapade that nearly turned me into reptile food. We eventually reach his dock, and I climb to safety without incident. I collapse in exhaustion while Luke reracks the kayaks and tucks our jackets and paddles into the wooden storage bin.
“I don’t think my yoga classes are cutting it,” I say.
Luke offers me a hand and helps me to my feet. “You’ll sleep well tonight.”
“Not with Betsy wandering the halls.”
“Oh. True. We’re on ghost watch tonight.”
We head to his SUV and climb in.
“Maybe dinner will perk you up,” he continues as we’re driving, “and a glass of wine.”
“No way.” I slice my hands at the air.
Luke laughs. He grabs my hand. “I’m kidding. No wine tonight. Water only.”
“Juice?”
“I have water. And water. If you want something else, we can pop into a gas station.”
“Water is good,” I sigh. Under my breath, I tag on: “When it’s not full of alligators.”
Luke gives my hand a squeeze. I expect him to let go, but he keeps his hand wrapped around mine the entire drive home. When we reach his house, Korg bounds out of the car and prances around the front yard.
“He’s going to smell like dirty gym socks until I give him a bath,” he says as we enter the kitchen.
I look down at the dog. “Ditto, Korg.”
We agree that Luke will give Korg a quick bath while I shower in the upstairs bathroom. I tell him there will be nothing “quick” about my shower—it’s my mini-vacation after all. He informs me I’m only limited by the size of his water heater. I tell him that sounds like a metaphor for life and leave him looking befuddled at the bottom of the stairs.
The bathroom is large but outdated with a sunken garden tub and an enclosed shower—its off-white fiberglass surface dulled by years of harsh chemicals and scrubbing. The cramped size and overall state of the shower convince me a bath is in order. I soak my tired muscles for a good twenty minutes before pulling out my travel-size shower gel, shampoo, and conditioner.
I dry off using one of the lush, white towels Luke graciously left next to the sink before my arrival. I imagine him hastily running through Kohls piling towels, bedding, and throw pillows into the cloth shopping cart to make sure I feel like a proper guest in his dated, but still grand home.
Luke is clanging in the kitchen when I descend the steps. I’m wearing my go-to lazy day outfit: a hoodie and joggers. I splurged on this set, though. It’s velvet in a pleasing shade of lavender with white athletic stripes down the arms and legs.
“Hey, Sporty Spice,” Luke says when I enter the kitchen.
“You know it.”
“Did you rinse off all the marsh muck?”
“I did. Did you?”
“I took a quick shower so I wouldn’t use all your hot water.”
“Thanks.” I smile and take a seat opposite him at the island.
Luke pulls out a cutting board and slides a wooden bowl full of tomatoes toward his workspace. He’s about to slice into a juicy beefsteak tomato when I interrupt him.
“Wait.” I eye the pot of boiling water and the opened box of spaghetti noodles. “Are you making spaghetti?”
Luke’s chef knife hovers over the doomed tomato. “Um. Yes?”
“No, no, no.” I swing around the island and grab the tomato from him.
“Hey,” he balks.
“Have you ever made spaghetti sauce before?”
“Sure. You unscrew the lid, pour it into the skillet, and let it simmer for ten minutes.”
I bump him out of the way with my hip. “Homemade spaghetti sauce requires a little more attention. You have to remove the skins.”
“I’m not peeling a tomato.”
“If you’re gonna grow tomatoes in that garden, you’re going to need to know how to prep tomatoes for canning.”
“You noticed my garden?”
I look up at Luke and smile. “Yes, I noticed.”
Luke searches my face with an intensity that belongs somewhere other than a kitchen. What did I say that was so enticing? My stomach flutters and I look down at the bowl of ripe tomatoes, suddenly feeling a kinship with them as a mixture of embarrassment and desire flames my cheeks.
Luke slides behind me slowly, intentionally placing one hand on the counter to my right, the other to my left. I clear my throat. “Um. You need to blanch them and then the skins peel right off.” There’s a bit of distance between me and the stove, so I take aim and toss the tomato into the pot of boiling water. Not one of my best ideas. Scalding water splashes from the pot and lands on our arms.
Luke seizes and jumps back. I spin around and grab his arm. “That was my pasta water,” he says. “Also... Ow.”
“I’m sorry!” I rub the water droplets from his skin, and I continue rubbing even when his skin is dry, enjoying the contours of his muscles. This is weird. I let go. He’s grinning down at me.
He lifts my hand and rests it back on his arm. “You don’t have to stop.” And then he gathers me up in his arms and presses me against his chest. Our lips meet and yearning grips my stomach.
But—
The tomatoes—
I pull away. “We need to drop the rest of them into the pot.”
Luke lets go and leans over the island to grab three more tomatoes. He juggles them through a few rotations before plopping them into the water one by one.
“When did you learn how to juggle?”
“When my business took off and I had to counsel five start-ups all day, every day.”
“I guess that’s why you’re so adept at clowning around.”
“I’m adept at a lot of things.”
Flames roar in my belly. Intense and blue like the ones licking the copper-bottomed pot. No more talk about clowns and juggling. I want Luke’s lips on mine. He reads my mind and leans in to kiss me.
Movement to my right catches my eye and I turn my head. Like someone turned the burner back to low, the flames in my stomach die down, replaced by a cold tingle up my spine. The cabinet door—the door to Betsy’s medicine cabinet—opens slowly, purposefully.
Luke sighs and slumps. “Darn you, Betsy.”
“What did I just see?” I know what I just saw but I don’t want to believe it.
“Must be time for Joey’s medicine again.”
I extract myself from Luke’s arms and tiptoe over to the haunted cabinet. “Do you think I’m walking through her? Right now?”
“Do you feel cold?”
I rub my goose-pimpled arms. “A little.”
I’m sharing the kitchen with a ghost. This is bizarre, unnerving, but I can’t stop my intrigue. I grab the door handle, swing the door on its hinges, search for any possible explanation based on the laws of physics regarding why a random cabinet door might suddenly, inexplicably open on its own.
I feel a tap on my shoulder and my body nearly flies apart at the atomic level. I’m pretty sure my feet leave the floor. I know my heart spits out an extra gallon of blood. My temperature spikes and not in the fun I-want-to-kiss-Luke-way.
Luke’s laughing.
“Are you trying to send me to an early grave?”
He walks over and lightly presses his index finger to my lips. “Don’t joke about dying. Betsy might be listening.”
I lean back and holler over my shoulder, “Go to the light, Betsy! You’re dead. There’s nothing for you here!”
Luke’s eyes go wide. He covers my mouth with his hand. “Don’t make her mad,” he whispers. “I want her to stay friendly.”
He closes the gap between us and encircles my waist with his arms. The burner in my stomach returns to “High.” I reach around and ball up his shirt in my hands. He responds by pressing me tighter, compressing what little space there was between us. We meld into one as his mouth devours mine.
“Do you want to go to the couch?” he whispers.
I bite my bottom lip. I can’t help the giggle that escapes my throat.
Luke grabs my hand and I trail behind him. He falls onto the couch and pulls me onto his lap. His lips draw me like a magnet. I kiss him slowly while he supports my lower back with his hand, the other hand sitting respectfully on my thigh.
As we part to catch our breath, he nuzzles my neck. “Are you okay with this?” His voice is low and husky.
“Do I seem okay?”
He peeks at my face. “Yes.”
I smile.
We slide along the leather cushion until I’m on my back. Luke hovers over me, caressing my neck with one hand while the other holds his weight. “I’ve missed this,” he says before kissing me deeply. I pull on his neck. My other hand roves his chest, wants to reach under his shirt, but I stop myself. I’ll just enjoy his lips, the scent of his aftershave, the—
“Well.”
Luke jerks his head toward the voice. He catapults off the cushions and stumbles backward between the glass coffee table and the couch.
“Mother. No. Just. No!”
Cecelia is standing in the center of the living room, a plush terry cloth robe hiding her thin frame, one hand clutching the cloth to her neck, the other resting on her chest.
“Am I... Interrupting something?”
Luke clambers to his feet. “Yes, Mother. Yes. You are.”
“I see you managed to coax Cassie back to your castle.”
I ease into a seated position. “That’s not exactly how it went.”
“Well, I can see how it’s going.”
“Why are you here?“ Luke’s tone oozes exasperation.
“I need a roll of toilet paper.”
He slouches and runs his hand over his head. “Of course you do.” He turns to me and gestures for me to stay like he gestures to Korg. Then he turns to his mother, his index finger pointed for emphasis. “Don’t talk. Do not. Talk to her.”
He takes off down the hall.
Cecelia remains standing in the middle of the living room. She flutters her hand over her hair and then re-clutches her robe. “I’m not sure what he thinks I’m going to say.”
I think back to Luke’s home tour that ended abruptly when Cecelia surprised us in the same manner, drunk as a sailor. I still remember what she said. That Luke was pining for me over alcohol and said I was “the one.” What made me recoil then makes my stomach flutter now.
I lift my shoulders in the most respectful shrug I can manage. “Maybe he thinks you’re going to say mom stuff. Like ‘He’s such a good boy.’”
“That’s what I say to Korg even though I don’t mean it.”
“Korg really is a good boy though. Usually.” Except when he dunks me in marsh water that’s teeming with alligators.
“The dog stinks.”
“A little.” This conversation is going about as well as can be expected.
“I should probably apologize for our last encounter,” Cecelia says. “I said some things I shouldn’t have. I don’t usually drink.”
“We all say and do things we regret when we’re drunk.”
“Exactly! Because when Luke made out with Rose while you two were dating, he wasn’t in his right mind. It was the alcohol. I promise.”
I’m pretty sure Luke would file her comments under ‘Things I don’t want Mom to say.’
“Luke really is a good boy,” she continues, “he just took some time to figure things out.”
“True. He’s finally potty trained and he doesn’t jump on guests anymore.”
Cecelia narrows her eyes at me. I know she’s not the joking type, but I had to change the subject. Talking about Luke’s cheating days with his mother isn’t on my agenda tonight.
“You called Luke a good boy,” I try.
“Oh.” Her head twitches on her neck. She smiles stiffly. “Yes. Luke is a good man. We’re not talking about dogs here.”
“You’re not supposed to be talking at all.” Luke enters the room with his arms full of toilet paper.
“I said I needed one roll.”
“Well, now you have twelve.”
“And you call me a hoarder.”
“You never know when there’s going to be a run on toilet paper,” Luke says. “Or when your mother is going to stop by at an inopportune time to borrow something she probably has stashed away in a closet.”
“I didn’t want to dig into my emergency supplies.”
Luke drops the toilet paper into Cecelia’s arms. Several rolls tumble to the floor. “I can’t carry all these.” She doesn’t look amused.
He goes to the kitchen, rummages through the pantry, and returns holding a trash bag. While his mother clutches two rolls, he deposits the remaining ten into the trash bag, then he grabs the two she’s holding and tosses them into the bag. “Knock next time.” He hands her the bag.
“I always knock. You never answer.”
“Knock louder than an ant.”
Cecelia clutches the bag to her chest. “Fine. I’ll use a sledgehammer.”
“Thanks, Mom.” He kisses her on the temple, and then gently nudges her toward the back door.
“I’ll leave you two alone,” she says over her shoulder. “You seemed rather busy.”
When she’s gone, he plunks down on the couch and leans back with his hands pressed against his eyes. “Sorry about that.”
“Maybe you should change your locks?”
“She would find a way in.”
“Maybe. I still think it’s sweet that you’re taking care of her.”
He lowers his hands and looks at me. “It’s sweet until she walks in during sexy time.”
I look down at my hands. “How often has this happened? Since you moved here, I mean?” Why didn’t he want his mom to talk to me? Is he hiding something? I remember my promise to myself—if I have even the slightest suspicion that Luke is still a cheater, I’m gone.
Luke leans in and lifts my chin until we meet eyes. “This is a new couch. I bought it when I moved in. And it has never, ever seen sexy time until tonight.”
“What about your bed?”
“Cassie.” He runs his thumb along my cheekbone. “I’m not interested in any other women. I came here because...”
“Because you wanted to support southern businesses.”
He drops his hand and tucks his chin. After a deep breath, he meets my eyes again. “Would you think I’m crazy if I said there was another reason?”
“Yes.”
Luke focuses on my lips. “At the risk of sounding like a fool, I came here for you.”
I suspected as much, based on his mother’s drunken admissions, but the words from his mouth are like a weight against my chest. So much pressure. “You uprooted yourself, bought this house with six bedrooms, moved your mother from Chicago, all for me? Luke, I—We—“
“Shh...” He touches his fingers to my lips. “Don’t worry about me. If we don’t work out, I’ll still be happy here. I love Charleston and I love living near the ocean.”
If we don’t work out.Why wouldn’t we work out? If I choose to trust him, and we rekindle our relationship—which is what I thought we were doing—what could tear us apart?
I’m being wishy-washy. Either I trust him, or I don’t. I want him or I don’t.
I clasp Luke’s wrist and lower his hand. “It’s just... I want to trust you, but...”
“Trust takes time.”
I nod.
“I know. And I have a lot to prove.”
Rather than disagree, I chew on my bottom lip. My thoughts are scattered but I try to rein them in. “It took me a long time to get over you. A long time. You wrecked my life, Luke. I can’t go through that again.”
Luke grabs my hand and pulls it to his lips. We sit for over a minute, his breath moving in and out, the warmth of his lips against my skin. “Give me a chance,” he says.
Tears bite at my eyes. “I want to. I do. But I—“
Luke leans in and kisses me. When our lips are inches apart, he says, “You don’t have to decide tonight.”
I don’t have to decide. But I already have, haven’t I? When I agreed to this overnighter, I was giving him a chance. I am giving him a chance.
I sniff, and the inhalation pulls a pungent smell into my lungs. “The tomatoes!”
Luke curses softly and then jumps off the couch. We dart into the kitchen to find mushy tomatoes half submerged in boiling water. Their skins are coming loose. We solved that problem, at least.
“Are they ruined?” he asks.
“They’re pretty waterlogged.”
“I was going to fix you a nice Italian dinner and then you distracted me.”
“You distracted me.“ I punch him playfully on the arm.
“Is that how it worked?” He pulls me into a hug and plants his lips on my forehead.
“I don’t remember. It’s all a blur.”
“A blur of deliciousness.”
I pull back my head to meet Luke’s eyes. “Is that what I am to you? Food?”
“Um.”
I break into laughter.
“Is that so bad?” he finishes, and then he steals another kiss.
No, it’s not so bad. It’s good. Very good. I savor his lips.
“What are we going to do about dinner?” Luke says after we force ourselves apart.
“I think the tomatoes are ruined.”
“I’m not eating them.”
“Pizza?”
“Sure. Ham and onion with extra cheese.”
“Don’t forget Betsy,” I say. “What toppings does she want?”
“Ghost peppers.”
“Ah. Clever.”
I grin at him as he goes in for another kiss.