Chapter 42 Luke
LUKE
The day before I was set to leave for LA felt surreal. My suitcases sat half-packed in the corner of the bedroom, a physical reminder that this was really happening. In less than twenty-four hours, I'd be on a plane and leaving Anna behind.
I'd been trying not to think about it too hard by throwing myself into last-minute preparations, triple-checking my script notes, anything to avoid the hollow feeling in my chest. But every time I looked around the room and saw Anna perched on the edge of my bed, watching me pack with running commentary, it hit me how much I was going to miss this. Miss her.
"You're bringing that shirt?" she asked, pointing at a faded t-shirt I was folding.
"What's wrong with this shirt?"
"Luke, it has a hole in the armpit."
"It's a small hole. Character-building hole."
"It's a hole that says, 'I've given up.'" She grabbed it from my hands and tossed it toward the trash can. "You're a movie star. Act like it."
"Hey!" I retrieved the shirt. "This is vintage."
"Vintage hobo, maybe." But she was grinning, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
I shook my head, smiling despite myself, and went back to packing. I reached for the lavender hoodie draped over my chair. "Remember when you gave this to me?" I asked, holding it up.
Her expression softened. "You're taking it with you?"
"Of course I am." I folded it carefully and placed it on top of everything else in the suitcase. "I'll take this with me wherever I go."
She bit her lip, her eyes getting a little shiny. "It's just a hoodie, Luke."
"It's not just a hoodie." I sat down beside her on the bed, taking her hand. "It smells like you. And when I'm in LA missing you at three in the morning, I'm going to put this on and pretend you're there."
"You're going to make me cry before you even leave."
"Sorry." I kissed her knuckles. "But it's true."
She leaned back on her hands, watching me fold another shirt with what I'm sure was terrible technique.
"You're doing it wrong," she observed.
"There's a wrong way to fold a shirt?"
"You're creating wrinkles. Future Luke is going to be very disappointed in Present Luke's folding skills."
"Future Luke will have a maid who knows how to iron."
"Future Luke sounds lazy."
I looked over at her. The afternoon light streaming through the windows catching in her hair, the easy smile on her face, the way she looked completely at home here in my space, and for a moment, I just had to stop and appreciate her.
"What?" she asked, catching me staring.
"Nothing. Just... I'm going to miss this."
Her smile softened. "Miss my superior folding critiques?"
"Among other things." I sat down beside her on the bed. "Your terrible coffee. Your off-key humming."
"I do not hum off-key."
"You absolutely do." I pulled her closer, pressing a kiss to her temple.
"And I'm going to miss it so much.” She leaned into me, quiet for a moment.
Then, I continued. "So... Bob and Mabel want us to go out tonight.
Apparently, we need to 'show the world our love story' and be seen looking happy and in love. "
"A public date?"
"Yeah. Dinner at Commander's Palace. They've already tipped off a few friendly photographers." She looked up at me. "Nothing too intense. Just us being us, but with an audience."
"That sounds... romantic?"
"About as romantic as a dentist appointment," I admitted.
"Well, when you put it that way, how can I resist?" She wrapped her arms around my neck. "Our last night before you leave, and we're performing for photographers. Very us."
"We'll make it fun," I promised, nuzzling against her. "And after, it's just you and me. No cameras. No performance. Deal?"
"Deal."
* * *
Commander's Palace was stunning, all white columns and Victorian elegance. We were seated at a prime table near the window, perfect for the photographers lurking outside, and Anna looked gorgeous in a deep blue dress that made her eyes shine.
"Smile," I murmured as our waiter approached. "We're madly in love, remember?"
"Right. Madly." She took a sip of water, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Should I gaze adoringly at you? Laugh at your jokes even when they're not funny?"
"My jokes are always funny."
"See, that right there—" She gestured with her fork. "That's the kind of delusion I'm supposed to find charming."
I grinned. "You do find it charming."
"Debatable."
The waiter arrived with our appetizers, and I reached across the table to take her hand, very aware of the cameras outside. But when her fingers laced through mine, and her smile crinkled the corners of her eyes, I forgot about the photographers entirely.
"You know what's weird?" she said, leaning in conspiratorially. "This is actually kind of fun. In a surreal, we 're-performing-our-relationship-for-strangers kind of way."
"It's the absurdity," I said. "Makes everything feel less real."
Her smile faltered slightly. "Yeah. Less real."
We ate and talked, and on the surface, everything looked perfect.
We laughed at the right moments, held hands across the table, and played our parts beautifully.
At one point, Anna told a story about Uncle Charlie's latest crawfish contraption that had me genuinely cracking up, and the photographer outside got his shot of me laughing, her beaming, both of us looking like the perfect couple.
But as dessert arrived—bananas foster that Anna insisted we share—she set down her spoon and looked at me.
"Can I be honest about something?" she asked quietly.
"Always."
"I hate this." She gestured vaguely at the window, the cameras, the performance of it all. "Not being here with you. That part's great. But... all of this? Having to prove our relationship to strangers? I want our love to be ours. Just for us. Is that selfish?"
Relief flooded through me. "Not even a bit. I was thinking the same thing."
"Really?"
"Anna, I don't want to share you with the world. I don't want our relationship to be a headline or a photo op or some narrative Bob and Mabel are managing." I squeezed her hand. "I just want you. The real you. The one who makes terrible coffee and hums off-."
She laughed, her eyes getting shiny. "Again, I do not hum off-key."
"You absolutely do. It's adorable."
“Well, you eat your sandwiches with the turkey on top of the cheese. Like some kind of monster. And you're completely unapologetic about it."
“There's a right way and a wrong way to eat a turkey sandwich, and I will die on this hill."
"You're ridiculous."
"And yet you're going to miss me."
"I will," she said softly, her laughter fading into something more tender. "I'm going to miss you so much."
"I'm going to miss you every single day." I brought her hand to my lips, kissing her knuckles. "But we'll make it work. I'll call you so much you'll get sick of me."
"Impossible."
"Anna." I looked at her thoughtfully. "I love you. That doesn't change just because I'm in LA. You're it for me. You know that, right?"
Her eyes were definitely shiny now. "I love you too. So much it scares me sometimes."
"Scares you?"
"That this is too good. That something's going to take it away from me." She swiped at her eyes, laughing self-consciously. "Gosh, I'm being ridiculous."
"You're not." I stood up, pulling her to her feet and into my arms right there in the middle of the restaurant. Let the photographers get this shot. "You're not being ridiculous. And nothing's taking me away from you. Distance is just... distance. It doesn't change how I feel."
She buried her face in my chest, and I held her tight, breathing in the scent of her hair, memorizing the feeling of her in my arms.
When we finally pulled apart, she was smiling through her tears. "We should probably leave before I completely ruin my makeup."
"You look beautiful either way."
"Smooth talker."
We left the restaurant hand in hand, ignoring the flashes from the cameras, and drove home in comfortable silence. When we got back to the house, Anna turned to me in the doorway.
"Thank you," she said. "For tonight. For understanding."
"Always." I kissed her softly. "Get some sleep. You've got writing to do tomorrow."
"And you've got a plane to catch."
"Exactly. We're both busy, important people." I grinned.
She shoved me playfully, and I caught her hand, pulling her in for one more kiss.
When she finally went upstairs, I stood in the hallway for a long moment, the silence of the house pressing in around me.
The morning came too soon. As Hal loaded my bags into the car, Anna stood in the doorway, arms wrapped around herself against the early chill. I walked over to her slowly, neither of us quite ready for this moment.
"Call me when you land?" she said, her voice small.
"The second the plane touches down." I pulled her into my arms, holding her tight. "I love you."
"I love you too."
The car idled in the driveway behind us, waiting. I kissed her one more time, trying to memorize everything about this moment. Then I forced myself to let go and climbed into the backseat.
The car started to pull away, and I turned to watch her through the back window, standing there in her pajamas, getting smaller—
"Stop! Stop the car!"
Anna's voice cut through the air. Hal hit the brakes before we'd even reached the end of the driveway, and I spun around, my heart leaping into my throat.
She was running toward the car, clutching a paper bag. Hope surged through me like electricity. She changed her mind. She's coming with me. She's—
I threw open the door before she even reached us. "Anna?"
She skidded to a stop, breathless, holding out the paper bag. "I made you a sandwich for the plane."
My heart, which had been soaring, settled into something softer. "You made me a sandwich?"
"Yes. And before you ask—" She was trying to catch her breath, a smile breaking through even as tears filled her eyes. "The turkey is on TOP of the cheese, just like you like it. You weirdo."
I started laughing, even as my own eyes burned. I took the bag from her and pulled her into my arms. "You made me a sandwich?"
"It's a long flight," she said against my chest. "And airplane food is terrible. And I just—" Her voice cracked. "I needed to do something. To take care of you one more time before you leave."
I held her tighter, this ridiculous, wonderful woman who'd sprinted barefoot down the driveway to make sure I had lunch. "I love you so much."
"I love you too." She pulled back to look at me, tears streaming down her face, but smiling. "Don't let it get squished."
"I'll guard it with my life."
"And text me when you eat it so I know you didn't throw it away."
"I would never throw away a sandwich you made."
She laughed, then started crying harder. I cupped her face in my hands, wiping away her tears with my thumbs.
"Come with me," I whispered. "It's not too late. Just get in the car. We'll figure everything else out."
She closed her eyes, fresh tears spilling over. "I can't. I'm sorry. I just—I can't."
I wanted to understand. I wanted to ask her why, what was holding her here so tightly that she couldn't take this leap with me. But looking at her, I knew pushing wouldn't change anything.
"Okay," I said softly. "Okay."
She loved me. I had to hold on to that. Even if I couldn't understand why she was so scared to leave, even if it hurt like crazy, she loved me.
"I'll call you the second I land," I promised.
"You better."
I kissed her one more time, trying to memorize everything—the taste of her tears, the way she held onto my jacket like she couldn't let go, the sound of her breath hitching.
Then I got back in the car, clutching the paper bag like it was something precious.
As Hal pulled away, I turned to watch her through the back window. She stood in the driveway, barefoot and beautiful and heartbroken, getting smaller and smaller, until the car turned the corner and she disappeared from view.
I looked down at the sandwich bag in my lap. There was writing on it in her handwriting: I love you. Come back to me.
I stared out the window, the streets of New Orleans blurring past. I was chasing a dream of this blockbuster movie, but what if I'd just walked away from the only reality that mattered?