Don’t goanywhere.
-L
Isipmy coffee and shake my head, amused and exasperated. Even in note form, his domineering side shines through clear as day. Pulling open his fridge in search of creamer, my eyes widen when I find shelves full of organic vegetables, Greek yogurt, two dozen eggs, and a metric ton of fruit. The drawers are full of protein — chicken, steak, hamburgers. It shouldn’t surprise me: the man is a fighter, after all; clean eating is a vital part of staying in his weight class and maintaining those impressive muscles. Still, it’s somehow hard for me to picture Luca cooking anything except bananapancakes.
A smile twitches my lips up as I spot the bottle of syrup on his shelf. I reach past it and grab the creamer. After dumping a dollop into my lukewarm coffee, I zap it in the microwave for thirty seconds, then take my steaming mug out onto the patio to watch the boats drift by from one of Luca’s lounge chairs. There’s a Coast Guard base next door to his building — I spot several patrol inflatables zipping by, along with tankers, tugboats, and more than one sailingvessel.
It’s been ages since I made it out on the water for a sail. Not since the last time I was home in Nantucket. My parents have a forty-foot sloop, mostly reserved for impressing potential business clients in the cockpit without ever leavingtheslip.
I’m afraid the boat has been even more neglected these past few years, since Mimi and Charlie died; they took it out more than anyone else. I have about a million memories of the three of us, racing through the deep blue waters of the Cape, laughing in thesunshine.
I stand and lean against the railing for a better view, my thoughts consumed by the sudden flood of memories. Like it or not, Mimi is on my mind and she doesn’t seem to be going away anytime soon. Part of me would like to believe it’s her spirit, trying to guide me from beyond; a bigger part of me knows my preoccupation with her and Charlie’s tragic end is tied to the sudden developments in my ownlovelife.
Yesterday, at the rehearsal, I thought my panic was spurred solely by watching Phoebe practice sayingI do. But now, with the benefit of space, I recognize it had very little to do with my best friend… and everything to do with the man who was standing directly across from me on thatweddingdais.
Marriage, as an institution, does notscareme.
Lucascaresme.
This thing between us, whatever it is, is only getting more intense the more time we spend together. And he doesn’t see the problem with any of it. In fact, he keeps pushing for more, dragging me deeper into this ocean of desire, until I’m so caught up I can’t tell which way to swim to reach thesurface.
If I were smart, I’d cut it off now. Walk away before we have another night like last night… before he can embed himself even further in my life… before I start believing him when he tells me I’mhis… before I start wanting impossiblethings…
Things likecommitment.
Thingslikelove.
The thought alone sends chills down my spine. I have not come this far protecting my heart to let it be stolen from my chest in a matterofdays.
Certainly, I cannot be thisfoolish.
CanI?
One night with a man, in his arms and his bed, has never affected me like this before. I tell myself it’s just sex, just lust… but, if that’s true, why can’t I bear the thought of walking away from him? Why can’t I stomach the idea of ending this, like it’s any other fling frommypast?
I don’t know when it happened, or even how… but the idea of leaving Luca seems somehow…intolerable.
I roll the empty coffee mug back and forth between my palms. I have to admit, he’s undermyskin.
Luca Buchanan has threaded himself into the very fabric of my heart, and I fear pulling out the stitches will be the most painful thing I’veeverdone.
And yet… I have no choice. Sooner than later, I’ll have to take scissors to the organ beating inside my chest and carve him out as best I can, even if it takes vital pieces of me alongwithit.
Because the alternative — letting myself think there’s actually a future here, letting that heart slowly shatter into pieces when this comes toanend?
I guarantee that pain will hurtworse.
Two arms slide around my waist. I flinch and nearly spill coffee all over myself, but a hand reaches out tosteadymine.
“Whoa.Justme.”
Luca’s mouth hits my neck as his palm slides along my stomach. The friction of his fingers against the fabric of my shirt — or, technicallyhisshirt, since I pilfered it from his collection — feels so good, it’s hard to hang onto all the thoughts in my head about staying away from him; about putting an end to this before anything else happensbetweenus.
Very important thoughts… about him… and me… and his lips moving slowly up the column of mythroat…
Shit!
All plans of holding him at arm’s length go up in smoke. The only way I want to hold him right now iscloser, until we’re so intertwined I can’t tell his limbsfrommine.