40. Luke
Luke
“So I was thinking maybe I could try running again.” Nat plops onto the couch beside me.
“Really?” I pull my head back, looking away from my laptop. Nat’s been extremely adamant about not doing something physically straining to ease her anxiety. I’d about given up on encouraging her to run.
I rest a hand on her thigh as her lime-green shorts ride up. Her matching green T-shirt sits cropped at her navel.
“The runner I had the session with today said she’ll call me to give me some pointers on how to get better at it. You know, so I don’t feel like I’m having a heart attack every time I go running with you.” Natalie’s fingers absentmindedly run along mine.
“I think that’s a great idea. I know you don’t like to be told what to do or given suggestions, but I’m glad you’re taking an interest in it.” I hope she hears the pride in my voice. Her decision to at least try running for her mental health is a big step.
She bounces her leg. “There’s something about this place that makes me feel more alive. Maybe that sounds crazy, because it’s just a mountain with trees everywhere, but I feel different here. Do you know what I mean?”
“It’s the elevation. It messes with your brain.” I point a finger at the side of my head, making circles through the air.
She shoves me with her shoulder, a grin spreading over her face. “I’m not crazy. But I’m finally thinking you have a point about the nightmares and sleeping. Running might help.”
My brows shoot up. “Oh? So are you saying I’m right?”
Her eyes roll. “I’ve never said you weren’t. I just didn’t say you were either.” I lean in to tickle her, but she jumps off the couch before I reach her. She grins down at me. “Come on, I need help with the dishes.” She tugs at my hand, and I follow.
She rounds the couch and enters the kitchen, moving to a drawer to pull out a dish towel.
She slaps it on the counter and gets right to work.
She fills one side of the sink halfway with water, pumps soap onto a sponge, and tackles the growing mound of dishes we haven’t taken the time to clean over the past few days.
Who has time for dishes when they’re working or, more accurately, attending to their troubled marriage?
A few dishes get scrubbed and rinsed before I step up beside her, sliding the towel from the counter and drying the plates as she hands them to me.
Nat swings her head around. “Hey, can you get that for me?” she says.
I look at her, frowning. “Get what?”
“My phone. It’s vibrating in my pocket.” She tips her chin over her shoulder, hands dripping water into the sink.
I tug her cell phone from the pocket against her leg, unashamedly enjoying the excuse to touch her.
“It’s a text from Jules.” I hold it out so she can read the screen.
Juliet: You can still come over for the photos at six on Wednesday.
“That’s a good sign, right?” I say, reading the text with her.
“I hope so,” she mumbles. “I just hope it’s not awkward.”
I shake my head. “It won’t be awkward if you don’t make it awkward.”
She gawks at me. “Me? What about her?”
Giving in to the temptation, I smack her butt playfully. “You girls will have to get over this. Find a way to win her trust.”
“How?”
I give her a shrug. “Heck if I know. I don’t understand girls. I’m an only child, and you’re hard enough to understand as it is. Two Berns girls is a mystery to me.”
Giggling, she tries to kick my butt while still holding a mug over the water. My quick feet dodge out of the way, so she resorts to cupping a handful of soapsuds from the dishwater, pursing her perfectly pink lips, and blowing them at my face.
White bubbles stick to my cheeks and T-shirt, making a fizzling noise as they pop against my skin and clothes.
I stare at her, a smile spreading. “Did you just—”
“Blow soap at you? I did do that.” She gives me a look that says what are you going to do about it?
In a millisecond, I imagine all the things I want to do. Throwing her over my shoulder and marching her into our bedroom. Pressing her against the wall and taking my time with her as I kiss her senseless.
She must see the desire in my eyes, because hers dip to my lips. Her foot slides slowly, socks silent, as she takes a step back, away from the sink, droplets of water splashing noiselessly on the wood flooring. I step toward her.
“Natalie,” I say, my voice husky.
Her perfectly shaped brow lifts as she brings her blue eyes up to mine. “Yes, Luke?”
“I want you to know,” I say, stepping over the water on the floor, not breaking eye contact with her, “in five seconds I’m going to toss you over my shoulder.”
Natalie’s long lashes flutter. “You promise?”
In a flash, I slide my hand around her waist, across the skin exposed by the short hem of her shirt, and pull her close. Her mouth opens on a gasp as her body presses against mine.
“You asked for this,” I state down to her.
She tips her head back, lifting onto her toes. “I did,” she whispers.
With my other hand, I reach back to the sink, scoop a handful of soapsuds from the surface of the water, and run it through her hair. Her eyes blow wide, mouth agape.
“Luke! What are you doing?” A smile seeps through her scowl as she pushes away from me, laughing.
I don’t let her go. I bring my mouth down to hers before she can escape, sliding both hands—wet and covered in soap bubbles—through her short hair, cupping the back of her neck to bring her nearer.
She leans into my chest, smiling that beautiful smile against my lips.
Then I bend, tossing her over my shoulder before she can run away, and I do everything with her that I imagined.
“You really don’t have to come with me,” Natalie says, gathering her camera, phone, and purse.
Today is the day she’s photographing Juliet’s family. I know she can face Juliet on her own, but I want to be there to support her. Knowing my presence might help to keep the sisters civil, I can’t imagine not going to the shoot.
“I know, but I want to,” I reply. “You know I love watching you work.” My arm rests against the doorframe as I watch her double-check her camera gear. She’s nervous, and it shows in the way she meticulously repacks her bag.
“But it might be weird.” She shakes her head. “I don’t know how Jules will act. It might be super uncomfortable. It’ll probably be tense. I’ve never not finished a shoot before, but I feel like if it’s too much, I might have to bail.”
I run a hand through my hair. It desperately needs a trim, and I mentally make a note to schedule with my barber when I go back to Florida to check on the Bat Cavity.
That’s what I’ve started calling the latest property my dad and I bought.
With far more work—and bats—than expected on this one, I wish I’d never gone in on it with him.
Calls keep rolling in from contractors, and Dad is beside himself being on his own to deal with it all.
But I don’t want to think about that right now.
“You won’t bail,” I tell Natalie. “She may be your sister, but think of this as a job. You do this professionally all the time. Try to compartmentalize the job from the sister.”
She pauses in the middle of shoving an extra camera battery into her bag. “I’ll try. But you know I’m not good at pushing down my feelings. They’re all written on my sleeves and my face and … everywhere,” she says, exasperated.
“I know, but you’re working on it. And don’t think of it as pushing your feelings away, but keeping them for later when you can better process them. You’re already getting better at it.”
“Am I?” Her eyes scan mine from across the room.
I nod. “You are.”
She smiles a little and then goes back to packing her camera bag.
I watch her. The neon-orange athletic dress she’s wearing showcases her tan skin, and her hair hangs loose around her shoulders, bleach-blonde waves accentuating her long neck.
The straps of her dress crisscross over her back, then tie into a knot at the back of her waist. It shows a lot of skin, but I’m not complaining.
I imagine my fingers on the knot and on the small of her back.
“What?” she asks warily.
Busted.
“Nothing.” I smile.
“It’s not nothing. Why were you staring at me like that? Does this dress look weird? It’s kind of tight. Does it look bad?”
“No, not at all.” I glide across the room and take her hands in mine. “You look wonderful. Amazing. A husband can appreciate his wife, right? I just can’t keep my eyes off you.”
Her cheeks turn a light pink. “Thanks.”
I give her a kiss, but she pulls away much sooner than I like. Something flickers over her face that I can’t name.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Nothing.” She shakes her head. “Just anxious, I guess. I’m going to be late if I don’t go now.” She lifts her bags over her shoulder, pulling the car keys from her purse. “Are you sure you want to come?”
“I wouldn’t miss this throw down for anything,” I tease. “Maybe there will be a mud pit.”
She groans and I chase her out the cabin door.