I wanted to recoil—wanted to flinch from the cold certainty in his voice—but I couldn’t move. I just sat, knees knotted together, hands wrung tight on my lap.
Luka reached for my wrist, his grip gentle, tracing the faint blue web of veins. “Stay with me,mila.”
My head popped up. “What do you mean? Why wouldn’t I?”
With his other hand, he cupped my cheek and tapped my temple with his index finger. “In here. Stay with me.”
I nodded and leaned into his touch, exhaling through pursed lips.
“What do you need?” he asked.
I closed my eyes. When I opened them, he was staring intently, searching my face.
“It’s going to sound crazy,” I started.
He brushed his thumb along my jaw. “Say it anyway.”
I let out a shaky laugh. “Pancakes.”
Luka pulled back a hair, eyebrows raised. “Pancakes?” He glanced at the clock. “At one in the morning?”
“I told you it would sound crazy. I think I just need the sugar.”
He pressed a kiss to the inside of my wrist. “Then pancakes it is.”
chapter
thirty-two
We were halfway around the pond at the center of my favorite park when Luka stopped and squinted at a sun-faded warning sign.
DO NOT FEED THE ALLIGATORS
“Are there really alligators in there?” He pointed at the muddy water.
“It’s the south,” I said. “If it’s bigger than a puddle, assume there’s a gator in it.”
He took that in, then gave the water another skeptical glare before we resumed walking. He shifted so that he was between me and the pond. Dead leaves and gravel crunched underfoot.
A week had passed since Richard’s face wallpapered the international business pages. If you looked now, you’d barely know he’d existed. The world had moved on to the next viral story. And the next.
I’m sure I should have felt a thousand different things. But truthfully, I didn’t. And I was okay with that.
I pulled the navy blue puffer jacket—the one Luka had bought me in London—tighter around me. The gray scarf he’dgiven me the first night we met was soft, knotted loosely around my neck. The morning wind was brisk, but something about being outside grounded me.
My phone buzzed in my back pocket. Another text from Mom.
Checking on you, sweetie. Are you coming for dinner on Sunday?
I chuckled. “I guess this is as good a time as any.”
“For what?” Luka asked.
“To take you home for Sunday dinner.” I held up my phone. “My mom cooks way better than I do.”
“That’s not exactly a high bar.”
“True. But it’s the best home-cooked meal I can offer you.”