Page 18 of Falling Backwards (The Edge of Us #1)

What a day this has been.

Even after entire hours of my and Luke’s…relationship…have ticked by, the way I feel is still so weird.

I guess that makes sense; we’ve gone a long time thinking we were done with each other. Half a day can’t do much in the way of erasing what we’ve been through.

But it has done something to the dread I’ve felt over Kyle.

If I’m being completely honest, that effect was damn near instant—as stunned as I was by Luke’s idea, no part of me tried to turn its nose up and stubbornly refuse. Mixed with my questions and concerns was the most bizarre sense of being soothed. And that was at the mere mention of Luke committing to helping me, before he’d even begun putting in real work.

I still feel bad about the fact that this will be a form of work.

Well, not including the attraction part, I guess. I hadn’t expected him to say what he said on that topic, but he seemed genuine. Painfully so.

It sounded like he just might still think I’m beautiful.

I’m trying not to think a lot about how that makes me feel.

At least I won’t have to fake attraction either, though it’ll be quite a change to let those kinds of thoughts shine through. I’m used to focusing on other parts of who he is.

In any case, yes, it’s weird that over the last few hours, I’ve been hoping hard that Kyle won’t show up at Lucent and I’ve also been breathing easy knowing that if he does, Luke will be here to steady me in some way. And even for those times we don’t share a shift, I won’t be on my own—the first thing I did after I clocked in was find Mr. Polk and tell him about Kyle. He was immediately on my side, said he’d let Ronald know, and, aside from seeming surprised, didn’t mind my news that Luke and I are together.

“Just don’t let it get in the way of work,”

he said with a breezy smile.

An easy oath to take.

Still, another weird thing is how I don’t mind so much that Luke keeps looking over here to me.

It doesn’t seem like he minds so much that I’ve been looking back.

I mean, there haven’t been any lovey-dovey gazes, obviously. But we also haven’t cut glares or exchanged, ‘What are you staring at?’ eyebrows. I haven’t called the bar phone to ask him to quit distracting me with his childishness, which means he hasn’t had to fire back any snark about my shirt being inside-out or something.

A handful of guests enter the restaurant. I smile and get ready to greet them as if this is an unremarkable work shift—as if my world hasn’t flip-flopped in the last twenty-four hours.

After I’ve seated them, I run my hands over the smooth, dark surface of the hostess stand and think about the conversation Luke and I had earlier.

It had my skin tingling.

Especially the rules about touching.

Really, it made me breathless to talk about that stuff with him. I tried my hardest to hide it. Tried my hardest to neither slip into resentment nor into little imaginings of what it’s going to be like to be in each other’s personal space.

I’m affected by it all over again now, just at the thought.

Nevertheless, that rule and the others are straightforward enough, we think. Reasonable enough. Between the touching thing and the try-to-get-along thing, we’ll probably be a bit rocky, but…I think we can do it.

Still, while he was driving me to work, I did have to suggest he use his turn signals.

He tried to assure me.

“Not using them isn’t that big of a deal.”

I’d replied.

“Remember what I said about stop signs? Blinkers exist for a reason. They tell other people what to expect from you and the dangerous machine you’re operating.”

“We’re good, Maggie. It’s not like I’m swerving around without any warning.”

“It might feel like that to other drivers, though.”

He went on to tell me his driving record is fine, he’s never been in a wreck, and I’m not in danger with him. I reminded him that I have been in a wreck and it was scary, so I’d appreciate it if he’d do what he’s supposed to do while he’s carting us around.

He looked like he wanted to heave a big sigh, or roll his eyes, or retort. But he refrained.

I appreciated however much of a win that was for me, especially since he still didn’t start using his blinkers.

Thinking this leads to thinking of the brief few minutes I was able to spare for my friends when they texted me back. They’d been busy at work and I was about to clock in, but they were worried about me since the last thing they heard about was my grocery store trip. I told them I was safe, that I was sorry for our ruined dinner plan, and that Luke helped me come up with a solution for the Kyle problem. They were satisfied with knowing that much for the time being; I can give them the details later.

However, Emma had said, ‘Bramhill acting mature two days in a row, huh? Didn’t see that coming.’

She has no idea how big a surprise it really is.

Even I have yet to wrap my mind around how controlled he and I have both been.

Wonder when it’ll falter.

Luke glances up from setting a drink on the bar and catches my gaze—twist, leap, fall goes my stomach because I didn’t realize my eyes had slipped back to him.

He still doesn’t look annoyed. He complimented me earlier. He listened to the song I mentioned. He traded phone numbers with me in the car.

He’s my boyfriend again.

Craziness.

This is absolute craziness.

We pull our attention off each other.

Somehow, I think I would’ve felt even crazier about saying no to his idea.

Back at my apartment, when he said we’ve dated before and we can pretend to do it again, it felt so sharp that I almost asked, ‘Weren’t you pretending the first time too?’ But I didn’t want to get into what happened because it still hurts, and…well, I didn’t want to risk him rescinding his offer. Envisioning scraping our way through a fake relationship sounded better than me braving the situation alone and hoping it wouldn’t worsen. Besides, Luke made his offer already knowing our past; rubbing salt into the wound wouldn’t have been very good thanks on my part.

And he said he’s never been so mad at me that he’d be okay with something hurting me.

Surprisingly mature, indeed.

I…thought he did hate me.

He should, shouldn’t he? Didn’t my actions warrant it, like his warranted me feeling that way towards him?

Well, maybe it’s all those things he said today, or maybe the stress I’ve been under, or both, but I can be mature enough to admit I don’t literally hate him either. It used to feel like I did, but now…. Like he said, fury and hatred aren’t the same thing.

So I still think the advice Mrs. Matthews gave about being kind to the person you’re with is good. Luke has been unexpectedly kind to me, and I think it’s fair that I reciprocate. I should compliment him in return and continue to show my gratitude to him, continue to apologize when I feel I’ve overstepped.

That last one puts a heavy feeling in me.

Of all the things I should apologize for….

But we aren’t looking back to those days. We aren’t bringing up our mistakes. Our plan is to deal with Kyle, not each other.

To help the guilt go away, I think instead about what I can actively do to show my thanks to Luke. Voicing them is a good first step, but let’s be honest: he’s helping me out quite a lot here, and a real gift would probably be appreciated.

Maybe I should try to pay him.

Or see how much it would cost to buy a bulk amount of gummy worms.

—

“Thank you so much for spending your evening with us,”

I tell the last two guests of the night, smiling and holding the door for them.

“We can’t wait to see you again. Travel safely.”

“Thank you!”

and.

“Have a good night!”

leave them along with their own smiles. They head out into the soft glow of the lights strung up on Lucent’s front.

I close the door and lock up quickly. Normally, I love that this entrance is formed from romantic-looking glass and wood, but things being as they are, I don’t feel great about standing in view of the shadow-cloaked world outside. If Kyle happened to appear on the other side of the glass right now, I’d probably scream.

There isn’t any work for me to do once I’m back in the building proper; all my tasks have been taken care of. I’m just waiting for Luke to be ready. So I take a deep breath and go to the bar.

“Need any help?”

I ask him lightly.

He pauses hand-drying a glass and looks up at me with more than a little surprise.

Yeah, I’ve never offered to assist with bartender duties before.

“Oh. Uh….”

He glances at the other freshly washed glasses sitting nearby, then bends halfway out of sight. He comes back up with a clean towel.

“Sure. Drying these is the last thing I gotta do.”

Judging by how he holds the towel out, I’m allowed to stand where he’s standing. I hurry over, not wanting to delay him—and, frankly, feeling kind of excited. I’ve never been behind the bar before. Even when I brought him that ibuprofen, I stood at the end of it and let him come to me.

After I’ve met him and taken the towel, I can’t help saying, “Wow.”

My eyes soak up bar shelves, tools, other glasses, bottles, and everything else I either haven’t seen before or have only seen from some kind of distance.

“You know what to do with all this stuff?”

“Sure do,”

he says, and I swear there’s a hint of a smile in his tone.

I peek at him to see if it’s really there and find it is. A small smile that’s equal parts amused by me and confident in his work.

Once upon a time, I loved Luke’s smile.

Seeing it brought on by something I’ve said doesn’t quite put butterflies in my stomach like it did back then, but it does have my cheeks feeling warm.

I rush to point out the first shiny tool I don’t recognize.

“What’s that?”

He looks.

“That’s a hell of a citrus peeler.”

I raise my eyebrows. Yes, it’s very fancy, not like the vegetable peeler I have at home. I point at something else.

“And that?”

“That’s a muddler. It’s—”

“Like for the mint in mojitos?”

A beat after I’ve asked, I wince.

“I didn’t mean to cut you off. Sorry.”

“Nah, it’s fine. I was about to say the same thing. I know how much you like mojitos, so I thought they’d be a good example.”

Somehow, it’s far less unnerving for Luke to know my favorite drink than it is for Kyle to know literally anything about me.

As I watch him set down the glass in his hand, it occurs to me that I have ended up delaying his task getting completed.

“Sorry,”

I repeat, reaching for a glass of my own.

“Got distracted.”

“It’s fine,”

he repeats too.

“By the way, in case you wondered, we’re doing this by hand to prevent the water from drying by itself and leaving spots and streaks. Those don’t look good.”

I nod.

“That makes sense. I’ll do my best.”

A few moments pass before he murmurs back.

“I know you will.”

He doesn’t seem to be making fun of me.

This isn’t the first time it’s happened today, but I’m still not used to it.

We fall into full silence while we carefully work the glasses one by one. I wonder, though, if his brain is as full of questions and comments as mine. I want to know more about the bar and whether he’s been in a weird mood like I have. I want to tell him how much better I’ve felt knowing we’re taking steps to protect me from Kyle, and that even if the guy never shows his face around me again, Luke’s help means a lot to me.

All these thoughts notwithstanding, I wouldn’t say our silence bothers me. He doesn’t appear to think it’s awkward either, so I leave it intact.

In no time at all, we’re done drying everything.

“I think I did a good job,” I say.

He leans around this way and that way, inspecting the array of glasses. “You did,”

he confirms.

“And you didn’t drop a single one. Proud of you.”

I scoff. Maybe he wasn’t making fun of me a few minutes ago, but this joke is definitely on par with how he usually is.

Except as I look at him closely, a retort on my tongue, I notice his expression seems more easy than mocking.

My exasperation fades.

Another instance of Maggie Misreads Luke? my mind whispers.

I guess if I’ve learned anything since Joy’s birthday party, it’s that I don’t always have as good of a handle on what to expect from him as I think.

My dimmed instinct to be defensive frees up some room for me to choose more cordiality—or humor, like when we sat together at Merritt’s.

The latter wins out.

“Yeah, I only drop glasses when they’re full of ice-cold cocktails and there are lots of people around.”

I wonder if he’s going to catch on and mention me being clumsy like he did that night, which will annoy me into arguing, which will probably end up annoying him too.

But his expression is lightening up.

“Ah, right.”

He pauses.

“And don’t forget about when a guy sneaks up on you ’cause he thinks he’s funny but really he’s being an idiot.”

A new bit of kindness—and self-awareness—for me to add to my mental list.

More lightly, too, I admit.

“I called you that. After you left my table, I called you an idiot to my friends.”

His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. He looks away and scratches the back of his head like he feels embarrassed.

“Yeah, accurate insult,”

he agrees.

Before I can decide how to respond, he blows out a breath and purposefully grabs the phone beneath the bar.

“You done with hostess stuff?”

I nod, but he doesn’t glance at me to see it, so I answer, “Yes.”

“I’ll let Mr. Polk know we’re ready for him to check us.”

Soon, our station work is approved and we have permission to clock out. When we’re ready, Mr. Polk sees us to the door with his typical benevolent goodbyes. Then we’re out in the chilly night.

Between suddenly being cold and not being hidden within the restaurant, I find myself drifting closer to Luke while we follow the sidewalk that’ll take us around to the side of the building, where the proper parking lot is.

So many shadows, I can’t help noting as the other night comes back to my mind. So many spots of blackness, and all those random cars down the street, and it’s getting late, and—

“Come here,”

is quiet on the air as Luke’s arm encircles me. Without question, I move close to him and clamp my arm around his waist.

On the inside, though, I kind of explode.

My breaths go shallow and my pulse goes skywards. I’m instantly blushing again, this time all over my body. As we round the corner of the building, I try to process these moments of how he’s taller than I am and how solid yet comfortable he feels and how shaky I feel—and how that last thing doesn’t actually have much to do with the thought of Kyle being out here somewhere again.

“You’re all right,”

Luke assures me.

“I’ve got you.”

‘I’ve got you.’

‘I’ve got you.’

‘I’ve got you.’

The words ripple through me in time with my heartbeat. They send full truth rippling through me too: I’m not even completely scared. I’m overwhelmed by you touching me.

He clears his throat.

“We’re almost to my car, see? Plus, I’m keeping watch even if it might not seem like it. I even know there’s no one behind us.”

And your voice isn’t completely calm, I think to him. I hear the little tremble in it. You’re overwhelmed, too, aren’t you?

These thoughts don’t get spoken.

My eyes lock onto his sedan sitting nearby among a few other vehicles, none of which have anyone suspicious in them. A quick count tells me they very likely belong to other Lucent staff, as they should.

That does make me feel safer even though I already feel safe tucked against Luke.

Dizzyingly stirred, but safe.

“Yeah,”

I find the voice to finally reply. “Okay.”

“Everything’s fine.”

“Mmhmm.”

We get to the car, get buckled up, get on the road. Things are still fine.

The only vehicle that comes out of the night and follows us does so two blocks from Lucent, then turns into a gas station nearby and shows its driver as a woman. Everything is fine.

Including me.

I can feel it.

Thank God.

I’m soon able to loosen up enough to notice Luke still isn’t using his turn signals. I watch him forgo them again, again, again.

And I almost bring that topic back up.

The words are on the tip of my tongue.

But…I swallow them back.

Even though his habit—or lack thereof—is irksome to me, I find myself wondering if, in truth, it’s fine too.

After all, he isn’t driving in a way I’d label reckless. He’s respecting the speed limit. He isn’t following other cars too closely or turning in front of any and risking them crashing into us. He hasn’t run the red lights we’ve caught.

The longer I study his choices, the more I think I’ll be okay to leave the turn signal thing for another time. He should use them, but….

He’s got me. He wants to keep me safe.

I can’t act like I don’t trust that.

Plus, it would be nice to hang on to this civilized mood we’ve fallen into, rather than end our first day as a fake couple with bickering.

So I relax in my seat as best I can with the ghost of his arm around me still making me feel flushed.

We end up talking over the Snow Patrol quietly playing. Try to plan out what our next few days will look like as far as riding to work goes. Say this and that about what we might eat when we each get home. Agree that it’s nice our weather is acting the way it should at this time of year instead of being warm.

Still, that flush hasn’t cooled off even by the time we’re parked outside my building. Here’s another opportunity for him to pull me close again, so why bother trying to shake off the first?

Indeed, during our walk from the car, we once again end up wrapped in each other’s arm against the biting wind and the shadows cast by the lights illuminating the area.

His half-embrace remains disruptive to my thoughts, remains foreign to my adult body.

Remains soothing, too, because it’s even thicker than the armor I believed his mere presence would be.

Will adjusting to it take very long?

After he’s gotten me to my door and put space between us, I feel both chilled and like I can function better. It’s hard to know whether I’m imagining that he seems to be dealing with a similar phenomenon, and I still don’t ask. All I do is echo his goodbye and agree to talk soon.

He leaves only after I’m locked into the apartment. The welcoming warmth of my friends’ voices picks up where he left off.

Within short minutes, I’ve changed into pajamas, heated up some of the pizza the girls ordered, and gotten a text that Luke didn’t see anything ominous on the way to his car.

That gesture brings back the twist and leap and fall of my stomach; it’s been so, so long since he last texted me. And his words have my feeling of being chilled shifting into relief.

It heightens when my friends join me on the couch.

“Oh my gosh, girl,”

Joy says, curling up next to me with wide hazel eyes.

“We’re so glad you’re home safe! Tell us what’s been going on!”

Emma sits cross-legged and frowns in curiosity.

“Yeah, how’d Luke end up saving the day for the second time? And was that him I heard out there in the hall with you? He walked you to the door?”

Sighing around my bite of pizza, I think back over the day. Then I swallow my food and echo what he said just before he told me his plan.

“Okay, here we go.”

—

My phone dings with a text message right as I’m finishing explaining everything. While Emma and Joy take a moment to think, I look at my screen.

LUKE: Thanks for drying those glasses with me

Another stomach-flipping kindness.

ME: You’re welcome. Thank you for getting me home in one piece

“And you’re sure this is what you wanna do?”

Joy checks gently, bringing me back to our conversation.

“You’re comfortable even though…?”

Emma supplies quietly.

“Even though it’s Luke?”

I set my phone aside and soak up my friends’ expressions. Throughout my catching them up, they’ve shown all the shock and interest I expected. Now they look as thoughtful and serious as I expected.

My own emotions have been nudged into a fresh whirl, but I’m steady in my answer.

“Yeah, I’m comfortable even though it’s Luke. As wild as that is, what I wouldn’t be okay with is continuing to feel like a sitting duck, you know?”

Joy nods slowly.

Emma states.

“Okay, then.”

“I’m glad he’s changing,” Joy says.

Now Emma snorts.

“Well, he’s gonna have to try harder than this to make me forget how much he hurt Maggie in school. I can at least say I respect his efforts, though. God knows I didn’t think he was capable of using his brain for good.”

Joy smiles.

“I suspected he was.”

“Of course you did, you angel.”

After a moment, Emma lifts her chin at me.

“I’m on board with whatever choices you wanna make, sister. You’re the one who knows what feels best for you. Just keep us updated so we know what you need from us, and make sure Bramhill knows I’ll kick his ass if he crosses you again.”

A new frown comes to her face.

“On a different note, I’m really proud of you for getting that store employee to walk you to your car. That was great thinking.”

“Yes!”

Joy snaps her fingers.

“Also, the dating rules sound solid. I couldn’t have come up with better ones myself.”

“They are pretty good,”

Emma agrees.

I pick up the slice of pizza I’ve been working on.

“I think so too. And hey, I learned a couple new things earlier when I helped Luke do his end-of-shift chores behind the bar.”

Joy gasps.

“Do you know how to make killer margaritas now?”

Emma perks up.

“Oh my God, say you do!”

They’ve got me laughing and groaning at the same time.

“No, it’s nothing that cool! I’m sorry for my weak setup!”

“Aw, man!”

“Dude, you better ask him about that first thing tomorrow!”

We hang out for a little while longer, though they both insist their days weren’t as exciting as mine and aren’t worth going over. Then they head off to their rooms, and I finish my food.

I’m just about to clean my teeth when my phone dings again.

I hadn’t known if Luke would answer my last message, but he did.

LUKE: You’re welcome too. I’m glad you’re safe. I know this was a weird day and a lot of things were a struggle to process, but I personally feel better than I did last night. Do you?

These are some of the things I was thinking earlier while we worked on the glasses. I’m truly not the only one whose emotions have been a tangle.

ME: Yeah, I do feel better. I’ve noticed I still can’t keep from being nervous, but it doesn’t last as long or hit me as hard. The difference between how I felt after the store and how I feel now is kind of amazing

After a moment, I decide to keep going.

ME: I’m really grateful I don’t have to feel so panicked anymore. I don’t wanna think about what a mess I would be right now if you hadn’t offered to help me. How can I repay you?

While he considers all that, I resume getting ready for bed.

By the time he texts again, I’m snuggled beneath my comforter and I’m a good few minutes into looking at bulk gummy worm prices online.

LUKE: You don’t have to repay me. You still don’t owe me anything

I read that over and over.

My insides murmur, That’s really sweet of him.

I try to bat the thought away, but it doesn’t go far. It’s too true.

I notice he’s still typing. The little indicator in our chat keeps stopping and starting and stopping. He seems to be wording his next text very carefully.

I’m intrigued. What could be so complicated to say?

After an entire minute, his new message comes:

But if you ever feel like forgiving an idiot for sneaking up on you and making you spill your drink, he won’t be too much of an idiot to value it

That brings a little smile out of me.

Then it disappears because this abruptly feels sharp and bittersweet.

Luke is referring to something way smaller and more trivial than how he broke my heart in high school, but it’s hard to keep the latter from coming to the forefront of my mind.

I have memories of him apologizing back then, over texts and in person when he could manage it before I escaped. I don’t remember him asking for forgiveness, though—maybe I blocked that out, or maybe he didn’t dare to request it.

Will he ever—?

But no. No, I don’t want to wonder that. Don’t want to think any more about what happened or anything to do with it.

Not right now, at least.

Like I decided a while ago, I’d like to maintain the kind of peace I’ve managed to find through him and end my eventful day as restfully as possible.

Hanging on to Mrs. Matthews’s advice will help. If Luke can show remorse for small wrongs, I can pardon them—like this and like when he said he was sorry for how he reacted over the Ronald write-up thing. Small wrongs are safe territory.

So I breathe deeply and follow his step off the curb.

ME: Okay. I think I can forgive you

Then I chortle to myself and add:

I mean, forgive “an idiot”

He sends a mind-blown emoji.

I laugh some more.

LUKE: You are on fire lately with the jokes

ME: I’ve tried

LUKE: Yeah, keep up the good work

I don’t know why, but I spend a minute doing nothing but looking at these messages.

When I start awake at the sound of a ding, I realize I dozed off while rereading. My phone reset to my lock screen, so now that I’m looking at the new message notification, I see several minutes have passed between Luke’s last text and the one he’s just sent.

LUKE: Goodnight. I’ll see you tomorrow

Still don’t know why, but I spend longer than is necessary reading that.

Then, because I’m tired and I’m sure he is, too, I quit delaying my response.

ME: Okay. Goodnight

I set my phone aside, shift around for new comfort, and sigh into the darkness.

Really, this isn’t what I’d call a good night.

However, because of him, it also isn’t a bad one.