Page 32 of Falling Backwards (The Edge of Us #1)

“Gosh,”

I sigh as I return to my stand from seating Mrs. Matthews and her husband for their golden anniversary dinner. Not only are they an inspiring sight to behold, but I somehow still feel full from the eggs Benedict that Luke and I made for a late lunch, and my body is tired from the HIIT workout we decided to do before that.

Thinking back on the workout makes me giggle both with happiness and sympathy. Yes, we did it. Together. Luke gave it a shot with me. Proud of him though I was, I could tell how hard it was for him and I remembered how especially hard it was for me the first time I did it.

Any muscle soreness or fatigue that’s setting into me now is probably mild compared to what he feels.

I look over just in time to see him wincing as he hurries to catch a lime that’s rolling out from behind the bar.

The sympathy I have for him doesn’t keep me from chuckling anew.

And these innocent thoughts don’t keep me from remembering our kisses in a swell of flickers and skipped heartbeats.

Nothing has kept me from remembering them—not for long. Whether a little or a lot, they’ve been on my mind and on my lips this entire time.

I start to relive them here and now, even though my brain is still halfway focused on how he’s moving with obvious soreness over there behind the bar.

But I can’t let myself slip into those couch memories. I’m at work and that means this is a bad time for me to get all breathless and melty over him.

God, is he a good kisser, though. Such a damn good one.

And he was good at our exercise. He did great despite the challenge.

And we did great with the cooking, though there were some hiccups on that front too.

We had to make the hollandaise twice, similar to back when he made the dish by himself. During the first attempt, I told him so many times that the recipe said not to pour the melted butter into the whisked eggs too quickly, but he told me I take instructions too seriously sometimes.

“How do we know what they mean by ‘quickly’ anyway?”

he’d insisted.

“It’s gonna turn out fine.”

Well, it did not turn out fine. The eggs and butter separated and got weird.

I put on a smile and very sweetly informed him.

“I told you.”

He blinked slowly at me, then put on a smile of his own and said very sweetly, too.

“If you’re gonna lord my mistake over me, maybe don’t burn the English muffins while you’re at it.”

Even though I scoffed at that, I also rushed for the toaster oven, which I’d forgotten about.

In the end, we were quite pleased with how everything tasted…you know, since I toasted new English muffins after the first ones really did go in a sad way like the first batch of hollandaise.

And laughing—by the end of it all, we were laughing about our blunders. They were learning experiences and they were funny to us.

I swore there was something more to the way he looked at me when we laughed together. I wondered if my laughter on the couch was why he kissed me in the first place somehow.

He didn’t try to kiss me again, though, after cooking or any other time, and I didn’t try to kiss him again either despite how much I….

A couple of times over these hours, I’ve wondered why I haven’t just gone for it. Things have been a little awkward between us here and there, but not in a way that suggests he regrets what we did.

In fact, I think it’s been awkward because he doesn’t—and because I don’t.

Which…is not how things were supposed to go between us.

Neither of us seems to know what to do about it, so we’ve just tried to go about things like we have been.

Thinking all this reminds me of him saying he liked how I looked in his sweatpants. I thought that was funny too; I chuckle about it again now since there truly is no way I’m more attractive in them than he is.

But I guess we’ll have another opportunity to debate it, given how he responded to an important question I had to ask him while we ate.

I’d let my fork play in my puddle of hollandaise while I brought it up. A few hours before, when he briefly dropped me off at home so each of us could properly prepare for the day, my friends let me know their official plans for Thanksgiving. They’re leaving at different times on that Tuesday and coming back on Friday…but only if I can stick closer to Luke than usual so I won’t be by myself, particularly at nighttime. If for some reason we can’t work something out, at least one of the girls is canceling their trip.

My heart had swelled with love for them, and the obvious idea for me and Luke to stay together sat well with me. I didn’t mind asking him and didn’t think he would mind either.

After I actually got the question out to him, though, I felt bashful as hell. Was it too much to ask for, especially with the whole kiss thing? Was it going to necessitate Joy or Emma not seeing their family after all?

Since he was quiet afterwards, I worried it was.

But when I finally looked up from my plate, I saw he was just trying to chew a big bite of food. The way he was nodding and letting out a muffled laugh and gesturing in a, ‘Just a second,’ way made me smile.

And once his mouth wasn’t full, he said.

“Yeah, no problem. I’ll sleep at your place or you can sleep at mine. Whatever you’d like.”

I felt as intensely relieved as I did intensely fluttery.

“Really? It won’t bother you?”

He gave me a long look that made the flutters worse.

“No, it won’t bother me at all.”

Then he said.

“It’ll make me happy to keep making sure you’re happy and safe.”

His next pause brought a chuckle.

“And to get to offer you my sweatpants again.”

I laughed with him, and he was so cute it kind of killed me.

Even better was how he insisted I go to his mom’s with him on Thanksgiving Day. Those eyes made quick work of convincing me that both he and she would love having me there, and he didn’t argue when I bargained that I’ll help cook somehow. In fact, he said it sounds fun because he usually picks up a few precooked items from the store to take with him; this time, he and I can continue our culinary adventures by preparing two or three homemade dishes.

I felt really good about all of it, and I still do…though if I think too long on us intentionally staying with each other overnight, my heartbeat freaks out. Not because I’m anxious about it, but because it’s one more idea that bitter Maggie would’ve refused to entertain. And because I’m both eager to snuggle with him again and shocked at how eager I am for it. And because I can’t forget or ignore how stirred I’ve been by him in more breathtaking ways—can’t help wondering what more could…what more might….

Those thoughts kind of make me ache.

Our kisses come back into my mind for the umpteenth time, which doesn’t help anything.

Also didn’t help that when I texted Emma and Joy to assure them I’ll be safe while they’re gone, they started in with flirty emojis and mentions of me and Luke having lots of ‘fun’ together—and that’s without them knowing he kissed me.

‘I can feel your blush from here!’ Emma had said while Joy sent multiple laughing emojis.

I believed she could.

Thankfully, Luke wasn’t in view of it at that moment, so I didn’t have to dodge any questions or jokes from him.

Hell, I’m blushing again now.

Smiling, too, though, because I love my friends and I’m glad we all get to enjoy our Thanksgiving holidays. My nervousness about Kyle has affected quite enough of our day-to-day lives.

More dinner patrons walk through Lucent’s entrance, so I let my smile shine even brighter as I get ready to greet them. I’m in a great mood, and they look to be in one too.

After I’ve seated them, I get another look at Mr. and Mrs. Matthews. They’re holding hands on one side of their table while they talk. There’s clear familiarity and respect and affection there.

‘Be kind,’ I remember she told me when I asked for relationship advice.

She said a couple should be kind…and build a safe place with each other.

As I head to my stand once again, I slip my gaze to the bar once again, too, and see Luke shaking a metal container back and forth while he chats and grins with the gentleman seated in front of him.

I realize he’s shaking that thing—making a martini or something—with the same hand I held to my chest this morning on his couch.

And as my skipping pulse follows my brain back over those minutes and the kisses and the other minutes we shared before work and tons of other recent ones, I can’t help feeling like we have been building a safe place with each other.

In a couple ways, it resembles the one from long ago, but in most ways, it’s something all its own. A haven like no other, unexpected though it is.

He serves the man his drink, which does appear to be a martini. Then he lets his eyes drift over here. They find me and his smile becomes something new, too, boasting a happiness all its own, a show of warmth like no other.

I take a deep breath, hoping to calm myself so I can refocus on work. But of course I smile back at him before I do that; there’s no resisting.

Then I return my attention to my stand. As I spot the iPad, something I thought of a minute ago comes back to me: I need to obtain Mr. Polk’s approval to surprise the Matthews table with double desserts later on, if it turns out they’ve only chosen one. During that certain phone call with the missus, I recall her saying she and her husband would have to ponder which of two sweet treats to get tonight. I still think they deserve both.

True love is such a precious thing. It should be celebrated in any way it can be—big and small, loud and quiet, grand and simple alike.