Chapter 20 #2
I wished I could tell him I was sure he was proving his sister right, that I was positive she’d be so happy to see how he was with her daughter.
But I didn’t know her, so it felt strange to put words in her mouth.
Instead, I said the closest thing I could think of.
“You’re doing it, Luke. Luna is so well-adjusted, and she’s the sweetest kid but also so full of personality.
This home is a haven.” It’d been a haven to me, too, somehow.
He raised his glassy, brown eyes to mine. “You think so?”
I grabbed his forearm and squeezed lightly.
“Yes. You are doing an incredible job.” I said it again because apparently not even his parents told him this as often as he deserved.
I’d said the same thing on Friday, but that was an eternity ago, before I understood the depth of the responsibility he felt.
He nodded and swallowed. When his eyes met mine again, they were full of an emotion I couldn’t quite place. He shook his head slightly. “Thanks, Val. That means…” His low voice cut off, like he was struggling to come up with the words.
“I know.” I rubbed my thumb over his forearm and let go.
It felt wrong to let go when all I wanted to do was hug him, wrap my body around his and absorb some of the emotional weight he was carrying.
But that wasn’t the kind of relationship we had, so I just sat there and let him collect himself before he walked me out, as always.
“Okay,” I said aloud to myself when I stepped into Luke’s house the next day. “I have four hours to get the guest room ready, clean two bathrooms, tidy, vacuum, dust the entire downstairs, and scrub every inch of this kitchen until it gleams.” I blew out my breath in a huff. “I can do this.”
Instead of going to the gym, I’d biked back to the house. The deep cerulean blue bulbs of the hydrangea bushes that greeted me when I pulled up were photo-worthy perfection, and the lawn looked freshly mowed, so I was focusing on the inside.
I took the steps two at a time, headed for the laundry closet.
I was sure Luke’s parents were good people, but right now, I had an ax to grind with them.
By the time I was done today, they would not find one damn thing to critique about this beautiful home.
He told me not to, and it wasn’t part of my job description, and I would likely be sacrificing a day of writing to do this, but none of that would stop me.
I wanted to do this for him, and I refused to question my motivations beyond that.
The dryer was full and so was the washing machine.
Luke must have put these in this morning.
I grabbed an empty basket from the bathroom and pulled the clean, dry clothing out of the dryer: men’s T-shirts, socks, golf shorts, and…
soft, black boxer briefs. Dammit, these are all Luke’s.
I reached deeper into the dryer’s barrel and started pulling the clothes out even faster, in big armfuls.
Do not go through his laundry, and whatever you do, do not picture him in those black boxer briefs, you weirdo.
Pulling my lip in between my teeth, I spun around in the hallway, itching to put this basket away somewhere. I made for Luke’s room at the end of the hall, vowing to toss the basket in there and close the door.
Except I’d never gone in his room before, and I couldn’t help but take inventory when I crossed the carpeted threshold.
A king-sized, black wooden-framed bed held court in the center of the room, flanked by matching nightstands.
The only decorations were some framed photos on the dressers and nightstands.
Two stacks of parenting books—edges turned up, bindings creased—stood in piles on the floor next to the bed.
As I bent to place the basket by the bigger dresser, the picture on top caught my eye.
A couple stared lovingly at the brown-haired baby they’re holding between them.
It had to be his sister Monica and her husband with a baby Luna.
Monica was as beautiful as Luke is handsome.
I pivoted and closed the gap between me and the hallway in an instant, swallowing the lump in my throat before closing the door.
I found the vacuum in the front-facing office downstairs, which contained more boxes than furniture and appeared to be used primarily as storage right now.
By the time I left to get Luna for lunch, I’d finished vacuuming upstairs and was nearly done cleaning the upstairs bathroom.
We had grilled cheese sandwiches at a place in town, and I dropped her at the sailing center with her instructors a little early.
When I returned and went back upstairs to put the dry, clean sheets on the guest bed, I walked into a small bedroom Luke clearly used as his actual home office by accident.
A large desk with two big monitors and a few file cabinets lined the wall, leaving just enough room for a rolling chair.
Above the desk hung two diplomas: a bachelor’s degree from Franklin )
Five minutes before I had to go get Luna, I collapsed on the couch.
The house had the faint scent of lemon cleaning spray and Pine-Sol, and there were no dust bunnies or dirt in sight.
A sigh released from my chest as I sank further into the worn leather cushions, not daring to close my eyes.
Cleaning a whole house is a lot more work than going to the gym, and I was a disheveled mess, but the house was above reproach. Mission accomplished.
I bribed Luna to go to the grocery store with me after sailing by telling her she could pick out three things she wanted.
We filled a cart with burgers, hot dogs, chicken, salmon, cheese, buns, salad, berries and other fruits, vegetables, hummus, chips, and breakfast items—everything they could possibly need to host his parents for a few days.
Luna’s selection was not one, not two, but three boxes of sugary cereal.
I laughed when she dropped them in the cart.
“You said three!” she insisted, eyes narrowed.
“I know. That’s why I didn’t say anything.” I patted her head. This girl was good at finding a loophole.
Just after 9:00 p.m.—Luna long asleep after three chapters of Magic Tree House—I was curled up on the couch with a glass of that rosé Luke had been keeping on hand for me when the front door opened.
“Hey,” Luke said. His eyes crinkled when he took in my glass of wine and the romance novel in my hands.
“Hi, how’d it go?”
“It’s done.” He ran his hand down his face and started to kick off his boots. He looked at the clean bench—which had previously been covered with junk mail and a number of Luna’s socks, shoes, and tennis accessories—and paused what he was doing.
“Val,” he said in an admonishing tone.
“If there’s anything you can’t find, check the downstairs office. Or if it’s Luna’s, it’s in her room.”
He narrowed his eyes at me, finished taking off his boots, and walked into the kitchen.
I got up to follow him and found him gaping, holding himself up with both hands on the counter.
There was a bowl full of apples and bananas on the island, but otherwise it was spotless and gleaming, showing off the many attributes of the stunning custom kitchen.
“I told you you didn’t have to.”
“Well…I didn’t listen.”
His head shook before he looked up at me, his shoulders releasing down from his ears.
“The guest bedroom is all set,” I went on. “I dried and put the sheets on the bed, and washed all the towels I could find so there’s lots of clean towels in the bathroom now. I cleaned the bathrooms, too. Well, not yours. The only rooms I didn’t touch are your bedroom and your office.”
His head nodded slowly. Then he noticed the full bowl of fruit for the first time, and he pivoted and opened the fridge.
He closed it and turned to face me again, his expression full of meaning, his eyes shining. “Thank you. No one ever…” He swallowed. “Thank you.”
I felt his relief in my own chest. And the realization hit me like a blow—I’d do just about anything to make him happy, to make things easier for him, to make him cry tears of joy again.
This wasn’t a shallow fixation at all.
I needed to lighten some of the emotions building in my bones, so I lifted the corner of my mouth and said, “Don’t thank me too much, I charged everything to your credit card.
I took a load of your laundry out of the dryer, but I didn’t fold it.
I just put it in a basket and left it in your room, so it’s probably all wrinkled.
Also, I did Luna’s laundry, but she is missing several socks.
Like, there are almost no matches. It’s just all singles.
She must hide them somewhere? Or the dryer eats them?
I scoured her room and the rest of the house, all of her bags. Nothing.”
He’d started shaking his head halfway through my diatribe, a smirk tugging at his lips, and he was fully laughing by the end. It was music to my heart.
“I have to buy her a new pack of socks like every other month,” he choked out between laughs, gripping the counter. “It’s a scientific phenomenon.”
I beamed at him. “I’m glad it’s not just me.”
He watched me from across the kitchen, not saying anything for a moment, the relief mixed with disbelief still shining clear in his deep brown eyes. “Now that you picked out all of this awesome food, it’s only fair if you get to eat some of it. What are you doing on the Fourth?”