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Before I can think better of it, I’m heading to the front porch and to the driveway.
“Need help?” I call out, keeping my distance.
She startles slightly, then offers a careful smile. “I got it, thanks.”
“Lila, wait.” I rake a hand through my hair. “Can we talk? Just... talk?”
She hesitates, her hands tightening on the bags. “I guess so. But I should put these away first.”
“I’ll get those,” I say, reaching for the bags before she can protest.
“You don’t have to,” she starts, but I ignore her, grabbing a couple of the heavier ones and following her to her door.
Once the groceries are on the counter, she crosses her arms, leaning back against the counter and raising an eyebrow. “What’s up, Luke?”
I shove my hands into my pockets, suddenly unsure where to start. “I wanted to apologize,” I say finally. “For the other night.”
As her face flushes a deep red, I clarify. “At Pixie’s dinner party.”
She gives a brief nod, but I can see the wary tension in her shoulders. “What about it?”
I stay where I’m at, giving her space. “I shouldn’t have ambushed you likethat.”
“It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not.” I meet her eyes. “You were working—doing your job. Being professional. And I... I made it awkward.”
“A little bit, yeah.” She crosses her arms, but some of the tension leaves her shoulders. “Maybe more than a little bit—it was distracting and uncomfortable.”
She’s not wrong, but hearing her say it still stings. I nod, taking a step back to give her even more space. “You’re right. And that’s on me.”
“Luke—“
“I know I screwed up. I know I crossed a line at the charity that I had no right to cross. At least, not until I’ve ended things with Crystal completely.”
Her lips part slightly, and for a moment, she just stares at me, like she’s trying to decide whether she believes me. She opens her mouth to respond.
“Just let me finish,” I interrupt gently. “I miss you, Lila,” I say, my voice rough. “Not just... the other stuff. I miss you as a friend. I miss talking to you. And I don’t want to lose that.”
I look up, meeting her eyes. I take a deep breath and then continue. “We’re next-door neighbors, Lila. And beforeeverything went sideways, we were friends. Good friends. I miss that.”
She’s quiet for so long I think she might ask me to leave. Then: “I miss that too.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Lila turns, putting some of the groceries away. I watch without rushing her. She finally turns to me. “We can be friends,” she says, her voice quiet. “I think we need to be.”
Relief washes over me, but it’s tinged with the ache of knowing it’s not enough. “Thank you,” I say.
She nods, her eyes flicking back to mine. “Is that all?”
“Yeah,” I say, stepping back toward the door. “That’s all. For now.”
That night, I join her on the deck with a six-pack of beer and a hopeful smile.
“What’s this?” she asks, glancingat the beer.