Chapter 24 #2
I let out a breath, half laugh, half ache.
‘There’s not much to say. We’re not close and we haven’t been for a long time.
I was the quiet one or weird one, I guess.
I’d rather read than go to parties. I was always getting lost in books.
I just never really fit into whatever mould they thought I should.
’ I shrugged. ‘Eventually, I stopped trying to explain myself and they stopped asking.’
Lucas doesn’t push. He just lets the silence stretch in that patient way of his.
‘But Nettie, she saw me. She always has. When I moved here, I didn’t know what to expect.
I was walking by the cafe and saw a little sign saying, “Apartment for rent.” When I came in and asked about it, she was so kind to me.
’ I pause, unsure how much to share. ‘We started talking, and when she found out I came here with no real plan, she offered me a job right away. She didn’t charge me rent here until I had a small emergency fund stashed away.
“Just in case,” she used to say.’ I feel the tears prick at my eyes.
My fingers curling as I trace my finger around the rim of my mug.
‘It still catches me off guard sometimes, how much she trusts me. We’ve only known each other a few years, and she’s already talking about stepping back, about me taking over. ’
He nods, no surprise in his expression, just quiet understanding.
‘She doesn’t have any family around,’ I add. ‘She said I’m the only person she thinks would care for it the way she does.’
‘Lilah, I think that’s wonderful,’ he tells me, shifting a little closer.
‘You know, that might be the bravest thing, letting someone in like that. Trusting them to see you when the people who were supposed to didn’t.
’ He lets the words settle, then adds gently, ‘Nettie sounds like a person who understands hearts better than most. She saw yours. And she’s right, you've got a lot to give.’
‘Thank you. I won’t tell her you said that. She’s the kind heart, rough exterior type.’
Lucas nods and reaches out, brushing his thumb gently along the back of my hand. ‘I’m glad you found your way here and I’m thrilled you let me in, even just a little.’
I reach for our empty cups and stand, carrying them to the kitchen with a quiet rhythm. I need the motion of something to keep my hands busy while my heart stirs.
As I rinse the cups, a thought rises sharp and uninvited: I could tell him.
The words hover for a heartbeat, too fragile, too dangerous. I swallow them down and turn on the tap instead.
From the couch, Lucas calls out, ‘Have you always written? Or is it more of a later-in-life thing?’
I turn, my fingers pausing on the kettle handle.
‘Journaling?’ I ask. ‘Yeah, for as long as I can remember. It is just something I did when I couldn’t say things out loud.
Now I write every night.’ I glance down, watching the steam begin to rise.
‘Some people don’t take that kind of thing seriously.
Especially when it’s emotional or personal, it’s easier to hide it than have someone pick it apart. ’
Lucas’s voice travels softly across the room. ‘Well, for what it’s worth, I think personal is the most powerful kind.’
I meet his eyes and give a small smile. I pour the tea and return to the couch, letting my leg press gently against his. Some truths don’t need to be spoken all at once. But I think he heard me anyway.
Lucas leans back, one arm draped along the couch cushion behind me, absently scanning my shelves. I follow his gaze and freeze when I see where its landed.
The framed photo. Carol smiling brightly, Marley, Tess and I, well, no Lola. He tilts his head, curiosity flickering across his expression.
‘So, the ice cream window? I haven’t had the chance to look into it or talk to Nettie, but I am so keen to do it.’
‘That’s great, I think it’ll be a hit.’
‘Could you help me?’
‘Of course, anytime.’
I smile, tension easing as the photo sits quietly in its frame, seen but not questioned.
Why doesn’t he ask? About the photo, about the missing piece.
Maybe he’s being kind, or maybe he already knows and is waiting for me to say it.
I know I want to stop hiding, but I'm not ready to share my secret yet.
I tuck my legs beneath me, turning slightly towards him.
My shoulder brushes his, close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating off his skin.
Lucas doesn’t pull back. Instead, his fingers trail along the seam of the cushion between us, casual at first, then deliberate as they find the edge of my hand.
‘You’re quiet,’ I say, my voice a notch lower than usual.
He glances sideways, his mouth tilting into a slow smile. ‘Just thinking.’
‘Dangerous.’
‘Maybe,’ he murmurs. ‘But I can’t stop.’
His hand turns, palm up, in invitation. I slide my fingers into his.
‘You’re staring,’ I tease.
‘I know.’
I feel my skin prickle and a pulse begins low in my belly. ‘Why?’
He doesn’t answer right away. His eyes linger on my mouth, jaw, neck, then back to my eyes. ‘Because I want to kiss you again,’ he says finally, voice low. ‘And I’m trying to be decent about it.’
My lips curl. ‘Don’t be.’
That does it. He leans in, slow and sure, and I meet him halfway. The kiss isn’t soft. It’s hungry.
He tastes like tea and honey, and all the things I never let myself want. His hands find my waist, tugging me closer until I’m half in his lap. My fingers thread into his hair, pulling just enough to make him groan.
When I finally break away, breathless and flushed, I search his face. ‘I thought you just came to check on me?’
‘I did,’ he murmurs, kissing down my jaw. ‘You seem a little tense.’
‘Oh?’ My breath hitches as his mouth brushes my throat.
‘I should probably help you unwind.’ His hands slide under the hem of my shirt, rough palms against soft skin. I arch into him on instinct.
‘Lucas,’ I whisper, not as a warning, more like a prayer.
He stills, just for a second. His forehead rests against mine, eyes locked on me like he’s making sure we’re both standing at the same edge.
‘We don’t have to rush,’ he answers, his voice hoarse. ‘We can just stay here. I’d still be happy.’
The sincerity in his tone makes my chest ache. I search his eyes, feeling my own answer rising before I’ve even thought it through.
‘I don’t want to stop.’ My fingers trace the line of his jaw. ‘I just want you.’
Something flickers in his expression—relief or surrender—and then his mouth is on mine again.
I stand, backing towards the bedroom, my gaze never leaving his. ‘Coming?’ I ask. He doesn’t answer, he just follows.
We stumble into the bedroom. My breath hitches as he kisses me again, deeper this time. His hands find my waist, pulling me close. I gasp softly against his mouth, my fingers curling into the collar of his shirt.
Clothes come off in pieces. Not rushed, just with the urgency of two people who’d already waited too long.
I run my hands across his chest like I need proof he is real.
He kisses down the side of my neck, across my shoulder, taking his time with each inch of skin, like he is learning the map. Heat pools in me, low and steady.
‘God,’ he whispers, brushing his mouth against my collarbone, ‘you’re unreal.’
I huff a laugh that sounds like yes and pull him with me onto the bed. He pauses, eyes searching mine.
‘Tell me if you want to stop.’
‘I don’t,’ I say, honest and steady. ‘I want you. Do you have-?’
‘Yeah.’ He leans away long enough to fish a foil packet from his wallet, then tosses it to the nightstand like it’s always lived there. The look he gives me when he turns back is all focus.
‘Still only came to make sure I’m okay?’ I tease, voice not as calm as I want it to be.
‘Something like that.’
I rise to my knees and slide my hands over him, curious. My movements are sure, and his breath stutters. He tips his forehead to mine in permission. When he kisses me again, it’s hungry. I feel the question in it. I answer.
His jaw flex’s. ‘Lie back.’
I do, breathless, as he moves over me, his eyes dark, pupils blown wide. He kisses me like a man starving, all tongue and teeth. His palms skate over bare skin like he is trying to memorise every inch.
His mouth finds my breast, sucking until I arch into him with a whimper, then he is trailing kisses lower, biting gently at my hip as he kneels between my thighs. He looks up at me, all slow heat and control, and slides two fingers up my centre.
‘Already soaked for me,’ he groans. ‘You don’t even know what you do to me, Lilah.’
‘Please,’ I beg, hips pressing to his. ‘I want you inside me.’
He doesn’t make me wait. He pushes in slowly, stretching me inch by inch until he is fully seated, hips flush to mine. My back arches off the mattress with a gasp.
‘Fuck,’ I breathe. ‘You feel...’
‘Like I was made for you?’
His thrusts start slow, deep, dragging pleasure from me like a promise. I wrap my legs around his waist, nails digging into his back.
‘Lucas,’ I cry out, head tipping back, hair fanned out on the pillow. ‘I’m so close.’
He leans in, breath ragged at my ear. ‘Let go, baby. I want to feel you fall apart around me.’
With a sharp cry and trembling limbs, the world goes white behind my eyes as pleasure tears through me. He follows with a groan, his release spilling inside me as he buries himself deep and holds me through it.
We lay tangled and breathless, his forehead resting against mine, his hand brushing the damp hair from my face. There is a tenderness in his touch, a quiet reverence that feels more intimate than the sex itself.
‘Still with me?’ he whispers.
‘Always,’ I breathe, chest still heaving. ‘God, Lucas’
He smiles, lazy and spent. ‘We’re not done, sweetheart. Not even close.’
Lucas shifts beside me, one arm draped across my waist, his fingers idly tracing circles along my bare skin. Like he’s putting markers down: here, here, I was here.
I stare up at the ceiling, my chest rising and falling beneath the sheets. My heart is quieter now, but my mind isn’t. Don’t overthink it and don’t pull away first.
‘Okay?’ he asks.
‘Okay,’ I say, and mean it. He didn’t ask for more. He didn’t ask for answers. He is just here, warm, solid, genuine, and I am not used to real staying.
Lucas presses a kiss to my shoulder, soft as breath. I close my eyes. He doesn’t know everything. But he knows enough to see me, and for the first time in a long time, that feels like enough.
I stir and reach across the bed, but it’s empty. Panic pricks at my ribs, irrational and sharp. Then I hear the creak of floorboards, the rustle of a brown paper bag, the low hum of Lucas’s voice talking to himself—cursing the heat of the takeaway cups.
He’s come back. I sink into the pillows, exhaling slowly, letting that truth settle into my bones.
When Lucas reappears, he’s balancing two lattes and a paper bag that smells like warm cinnamon and butter.
His hair is tousled, and somehow that makes him look even more like something out of one of my stories.
He holds out a coffee. ‘Figured we earned carbs.’
I accept the cup with both hands, my fingers brushing his. ‘You didn’t have to.’
‘I wanted to,’ he says simply, settling beside me and pulling the covers over his lap. ‘They were just pulling a fresh batch of croissants out of the oven when I got there. Rey gave me the last two like I was robbing her at pastry-point.’
I laugh softly. I turn to him, the light catching the edge of my face. ‘Thank you,’ I whisper.
‘For the coffee?’
‘For staying.’
Lucas looks at me, really looks. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’
I swallow hard, blinking past the sudden sting behind my eyes. I don’t say anything, just shift a little closer until our knees bump beneath the blanket. There’s no rush, no need to fill the silence, just two people sitting in the warmth of morning, sharing croissants.
‘What are your plans today?’ he asks, taking a bite of his croissant.
I still, unsure if I’m ready to talk about Lola. ‘Oh, um. Just an appointment and coffee with the girls.’ I smile. ‘What about you?’
‘Jasper’s opening the bookstore today, so I might take a walk through town or stop by the art gallery before work.’
After we finish our coffee and pastries, we linger, not quite ready to step back into the world outside. Lucas stands, and I sit cross-legged on the bed, watching him with a mixture of affection and something else I’m not ready to name.
At the door, he turns back to me. ‘Thanks for the sleep,’ he teases lightly.
I smile, tugging the blanket around my shoulders. ‘Anytime.’
He steps closer, brushing a strand of hair from my face. ‘You okay?’
The question lingers in the space between us, bigger than coffee or croissants or what neither of us has said aloud. I nod. ‘Getting there.’
He leans in and presses a tender, lingering kiss to my forehead. The kind that says I see you, even if he doesn’t know everything yet. ‘You don’t have to figure it all out today,’ he assures me. ‘But I’m around. If you want.’
With a final glance, he steps into the hallway, leaving me there with my heart complete and trembling all at once.
Journal Entry - Monday 15th of September
I didn’t know you could feel this safe and still be scared. It isn’t about fireworks or fairytale endings. It is a matter of steady hands and slow breaths. It is being seen and not shrinking.
I wanted to tell him. The truth about Lola, about me. I almost did, but the words caught in my throat like they always do when it matters most. I’m tired of hiding, but I don’t know how to stop.
What if he sees all of me and walks away? What if he doesn’t, and I still can’t let him all the way in?
xx