7. Sarah
Sarah
My laptop has been open on my lap for the better part of an hour.
I’ve spent that time trying very hard not to think about Luca, his family, or the secret sitting between Katie and me.
Instead, I’m curled up on the couch in one of Luca’s hoodies with a blanket pulled over my legs, reading through USC’s master’s program in counseling.
Three years ago, I graduated with a degree in psychology and every intention of getting my master’s. Instead, I took a job at the bar while I figured out my next step.
The problem is that I ended up liking it more than I was supposed to.
I like the people. I like the chaos. I like walking in and knowing exactly what my day is going to look like. Somewhere along the way, a temporary job became my actual life, and every time I thought about graduate school, it felt easier to tell myself there was always another year.
Now, for the first time in a long time, I’m wondering if I’ve run out of excuses.
Not that I’ve talked to Luca about any of this.
He has never once suggested I quit. He’s never complained about the hours or the customers or the fact that I get home long after midnight some nights.
He’d never tell me what to do, yet I have a feeling the idea of me spending my days in a counseling office sounds a hell of a lot better to him than spending them breaking up arguments between drunk strangers.
A line about trauma-informed counseling catches my attention. For a split second, all I can see is a beam overhead, moonlight slipping through the cracks in the barn wall, and a man’s weight crushing the air from my lungs.
I blink hard and look back at the screen.
Tuition. Clinical hours. Application deadlines.
Real things. Present things. Things that exist here instead of seventeen years old in a barn that smells like hay and dirt.
The counselor I saw after everything happened once told me that healing wasn’t the absence of memories.
It was learning they couldn’t drag you back there forever. Most days, she was right.
I stare at the screen for another minute before grabbing my phone and calling Daddy.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
“Hi.”
“You doing anything fun on your day off?”
“How do you always remember stuff like that?”
“You’re my little girl.”
Warmth spreads through my chest.
“You know, most people eventually stop keeping track of their grown children every second of every day.”
“Most people don’t have you.”
I laugh softly, but the truth is, he’s right.
I’ve spent enough time around other people to know not everyone grows up with a father like mine.
A father who never missed a birthday, a school play, or a softball game.
A father who still calls to check in and somehow remembers my work schedule better than I do.
A father who has spent my entire life making sure I know exactly how loved I am.
Somewhere along the way, I stopped assuming everyone’s dad was like that.
I smile and pull the blanket tighter around my legs.
“You know, Luca has never ridden a horse.”
He lets out a rough laugh.
“That boy’s gonna learn this weekend.”
“Don’t be too hard on him, okay? I kind of like him.”
“Kind of? You live with the man.”
That makes me laugh out loud. “Yes, Daddy. I sort of might like him a lot.”
“Well, your Mama is very excited to meet him.”
“And you?”
Daddy’s opinion means the world to me.
“Of course,” he says. “I gotta meet the man that has my little girl so happy.”
“I seem happy?”
“You do, sweetheart, but are you doing okay?”
The words pull loose a memory I don’t ask for. My cheek pressed into packed dirt. Tears running into my hair. The overwhelming certainty that nobody could hear me.
I swallow hard.
“I’m okay.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I’m taking my antidepressants.”
“Good.”
I already know what’s coming next.
“You still seeing your therapist?”
“Not regularly anymore. We stopped the scheduled appointments about six months ago.”
“That your idea or hers?”
“We decided that I didn’t need standing appointments anymore. If something comes up, I can always call her, but otherwise I’m doing okay on my own.”
He grunts on the other end.
“I promise I’m okay, Daddy.”
“I believe you. It’s just hard when I’m so far away from you.”
I take a deep breath.
“Well, you can see for yourself in a few days.”
“I will.”
I can hear the satisfaction in his voice.
“Now go do something more exciting than talking to your old man.”
I laugh.
“Okay, Daddy.”
“Love you, sweetheart.”
“Love you too, Daddy.”
I’ve got my earbuds in and am dancing around the kitchen while stirring a pot of chili when two hands suddenly wrap around my waist.
“Holy shit!”
I jump so hard I nearly sling chili across the stove. Ripping one of my earbuds out, I spin around to find Luca laughing behind me.
“Asshole.”
I slap his arm. He bends over laughing harder, one hand landing on the counter for support.
“You scared the hell out of me.”
“Baby Girl, you practically jumped out of your skin.”
“Because you snuck up on me like a serial killer.”
Luca gasps and clutches his chest.
“Wow.”
A grin tugs at the corner of my mouth despite my best efforts.
“Stop it.”
He immediately straightens and starts toward me with both hands raised.
“Am I allowed to touch you now?”
My eyes immediately drift to what he’s wearing.
The black suit is tailored within an inch of its life.
The white dress shirt underneath makes his tan skin stand out even more, and his sleeves are rolled back enough to expose the tattoos covering his forearms. It’s the same thing he wears almost every day, but somehow it never stops working on me.
“I guess.”
He doesn’t waste a second. One arm hooks around my waist, and he effortlessly pulls me against him.
God, this man is so fucking hot.
His body presses me back against the counter edge, the cool granite biting into my lower back through the fabric of his hoodie.
It’s huge on me, sleeves bunched past my wrists, the hem riding up as he pulls me closer.
One of his hands slides up my side, fingers grazing the soft cotton before slipping underneath the hem to find bare skin.
His palm is warm and rough against my waist.
The other hand cups my jaw, tilting my face toward his.
“You have no idea what you do to me in my hoodie,” he murmurs, voice dropping. “Lookin’ all soft and mine.”
Before I can form a reply, his mouth crashes into mine.
It’s not gentle. It’s hungry and demanding, his tongue sliding against my lower lip until I part for him, letting him deepen the kiss.
His grip on my hip tightens, fingers digging in as he angles me harder against the counter.
I make a noise somewhere between a moan and a gasp, my hands fisting in the crisp fabric of his dress shirt.
He tastes like coffee, and his stubble scrapes against my chin, sending sparks through me. The chili can burn for all I care, but reality nudges back in. I break the kiss, breathless, pressing a hand against his chest.
“Luca, I need to finish dinner.”
A wicked grin spreads across his face. He steps back and rakes his eyes over me.
“Dinner?” he repeats, one eyebrow arching. “Baby Girl, I’ve already got my appetizer right here.”
He steps forward again, caging me against the counter with both arms and leaning in until his lips brush my ear. “And I’m planning on taking my sweet time eating you.”