Page 5

I’m a ball of nerves as I pace my dorm room, waiting for Luke to pick me up.

It’s silly, really, that I’m on the verge of panicking. I already met his mom, and she was plenty nice. I have no reason to think that tonight will be anything but lovely.

As I assess my appearance in my floor-length mirror again, I frown. Maybe my pale blue turtle-neck sweater was a bad choice. Suddenly, I worry it washes me out. And I’m reconsidering my hair. Would it look better down? I’m about to reach up to take it out of its ponytail when he texts that he’s outside.

Letting out a breath, I text back.

Me: I’ll be right down.

Luke: I’m already on my way up.

With shaky hands, I swipe my purse off my bed, and when I open the door, I find him already walking down the hallway.

“Hey,” he says, the dimple in his cheek flashing at me. “Are you ready, or do you need more time?”

“I’m ready.” I pick up the bouquet and wine from the table, along with a nice box of chocolates. They’re all for his mom, though there’s a small gift for him stuffed in my purse.

“What’s all that?” he asks, motioning to the items I’m juggling.

“Oh.” My stomach twists at his scrutiny. Maybe I shouldn’t have gotten anything? “This is for your mom. I didn’t want to show up empty-handed. Please tell me she isn’t allergic to flowers, wine, or chocolate. If she is, I might cry.”

He takes the wine bottle, gently cradling it in the crook of one arm, then the flowers. “She’s not allergic. That’s kind of you, B. I promise, she didn’t expect you to bring anything.”

Now that I’ve got a free hand, I adjust my purse strap. “It doesn’t feel right not to.”

Luke looks me up and down, and for a split-second, I’m back to worrying that my outfit is terrible and I should’ve changed.

“You look pretty.”

Oh.

Oh .

“Thank you.”

“I like you in blue.”

He likes me in blue .

I think I might be swooning. How absolutely pathetic. What’s even more pathetic is how I can’t remember Tommy ever telling me I looked pretty. When I was in the thick of the relationship, I suppose I didn’t think about those things. Now that I’m out of it, I can’t believe I accepted so little.

“The blue looks good?” I smooth a hand down my abdomen, over the sweater I was doubting only minutes ago.

He grins, nodding. “You look good in anything, but I’ve officially become partial to you in blue.”

A zing of pleasure moves through me at his appreciation. I have a feeling I’ll be splurging and ordering more things in blue if only to hear him compliment me.

“Need to grab anything else?”

I shake my head and step out into the hall. “Nope, this is it.”

Once my door is locked, we head down the eerily quiet hall. From what I can tell, there are only a handful of us left in the whole building.

Outside, Luke leads me to an older red and white truck. Despite its age, it’s well taken care of, and the paint shines in the late afternoon light.

As he opens the passenger door for me, he looks away, his head lowered a fraction. “I’m sure it’s not what you’re used to, but it gets me around.”

With a hand on his forearm, I wait for him to look at me, then give him a genuine smile. “I love it.”

I’m not just saying it to make him feel better either. It’s sturdy, with character. The interior smells like him, with a hint of mint and tobacco mixed into the leather.

“Thanks.” He smiles, ducking his head.

He rounds the hood, and once he’s seated beside me, he starts up the truck and turns the volume down on the radio.

Once again, we fall into a comfortable silence. It’s amazing, how easy this is for us. After only a few minutes, he turns into a neighborhood filled with older homes. I keep my expression neutral as we roll slowly down the street. They’re the kind of places—shutters hanging off siding, overgrown lawns, gravel drives overrun with weeds—that would send my parents into cardiac arrest.

Luke turns down another street that ends in a cul-de-sac and pulls into the driveway of a small ranch with white siding and a red front door. It’s the most put together house I’ve seen since we turned into the neighborhood. Christmas lights decorate the eaves, and the front door boasts a cheerful wreath with a Santa Claus hat.

The house could probably fit into my family’s living room, but I love it before I even set foot inside. It’s clear, even from the driveway, that happy people live here.

Luke shoots me a nervous look as he shuts the truck off. “It’s not much, but it’s home.”

“It’s perfect,” I say softly.

He regards me for a moment, his lips turned down, but that expression turns into a smile when he realizes I’m being serious.

He gets out and is around to open my door before I have a chance to unbuckle and collect my things.

“Don’t be nervous,” he tells me. It’s scary how easily he can read me.

He takes the flowers and wine from me again, then helps me out. Once I’m steady and the door is shut, he grabs my hand and guides me to the house. Perhaps I should shake off the hold, but I don’t. It’s pointless anyway, because he drops it a moment later to open a side door.

We step right into a kitchen, the smell of which is heavenly.

I must hum in approval, because Luke shoots me a knowing smile.

The woman from the diner steps away from a pan of macaroni and cheese, and with a beaming smile, she throws her arms around me. It’s embarrassing, the way I melt into her hug. Neither of my parents has ever hugged me like this. For show, sure, but not because they simply wanted to hold me and wrap me in comfort.

When she releases me, I take the flowers and wine from Luke. “I brought these for you.”

Her blue eyes dance with genuine pleasure. “Oh, how sweet of you. Thank you. Lukie”—she raises a brow at her son—“would you mind putting these in a vase for me?”

Lukie . I try not to smile at the nickname.

“Thank you again for having me. I… it really means a lot to me.” Flushing, I choke back the emotion threatening to spill out of me.

Despite my best effort to remain composed, Luke looks back over his shoulder at me, frowning in concern.

“We’re glad you could join us.” Jocelyn squeezes my hand. “Go ahead and take a seat. I have a few things to finish up.”

Lips pressed together, I survey the kitchen. “Do you need any help? I’m not much of a cook, but I can… stir or something.”

Luke, who’s now carefully arranging the flowers in a vase, chuckles.

“That would be great.” Jocelyn takes my hand and guides me over to the counter. “I haven’t seasoned the mashed potatoes yet. All the ingredients are right there.”

She points everything out and leaves me to my own devices.

I add the butter and what looks like chives and garlic before stirring with a wooden spoon. With as thick as the potatoes are, I get in a good arm workout. While I do my best to distribute the seasoning evenly, I survey the space around me. Luke wasn’t kidding—there’s way more food than the three of us can eat.

The kitchen is tiny, so we bump into each other occasionally, but no one makes a fuss. Festive music plays softly on a radio in the corner. It feels like I’ve been transported into one of my favorite Christmas movies. It’s so sweet. So perfect. And the best part is, not one interaction or a single word is forced.

Jocelyn asks me about my interests, what I’m studying, my plans for after I graduate. Each question is asked with genuine care rather than out of obligation. She’s such a stark contrast to my parents. She’s pure warmth and sunshine, while being in their presence is like being stranded in an icy rainstorm.

By the time we sit to eat, all my nerves have disappeared. I don’t feel like an outsider at all with the two of them. Not for the first time since we arrived, I’m thankful that despite my doubts, I agreed to come tonight. This is far better than wallowing in my dorm with Kraft mac ’n’ cheese.

This is a family .

An ache settles deep inside me.

This is what I want one day.

A family of my own to sit down and have meals with.

A house filled with music, laughter, and conversation.

A husband who showers me with kisses and kids that groan about it.

“Is everything okay?” Jocelyn asks, nodding at my plate, where I’m pushing around the broccoli casserole.

“It’s great.” I smile, and it’s not forced at all. “Just got lost in my thoughts.”

Luke watches me with those blue eyes that see too much.

“Everything is fantastic,” I say, stabbing a hunk of broccoli. “You’re a great cook.”

Jocelyn smiles, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “That’s very kind of you.”

“Just wait until you have her apple pie with homemade vanilla ice cream.” Luke holds my gaze in a way that makes my stomach dip.

Doing my best to ignore the sensation, I clear my throat. “That sounds fantastic. I’m not sure I’ll have room.”

“I was thinking,” Jocelyn says, her smile a tad mischievous, “why don’t you stay the night?”

“Oh.” I shake my head, my heart lurching a bit. “I couldn’t impose like that.”

Luke lets out a groan. “Mom.”

“You can take Luke’s room.” She straightens, her shoulders pulled back. “It won’t be any trouble at all. He can sleep on the couch.”

“No, no.” I shake my head. “I promise you, I’m fine.”

Luke shoots me an apologetic look, but Jocelyn is not one to be deterred.

“You shouldn’t be alone on Christmas,” she says. “Please, it’ll make me feel better to have you here.”

“I…” I bite my lip, feeling cornered while simultaneously wanting to stay. But it’s ridiculous, right? She doesn’t know me.

“Just think about it,” she says, gently putting me out of my misery.

After dinner, I offer to help clean up, but Jocelyn shoos the two of us out of the kitchen and into the family room.

Once we’re alone, Luke rubs his hand against the back of his head, his closely cropped hair rasping against his palm. “I’m really sorry about her.”

“Don’t be.” I settle my butt on the couch, and instantly, a small moan falls out of my lips. Wow. This has to be the softest, most comfortable couch I’ve ever sat on. The tan piece of furniture is big and thick, and in no world would it be considered stylish, but what it lacks in looks, it makes up for in comfort.

Luke arches a brow at me, lips twitching with amusement.

“I’ve never sat on a couch this comfy before.”

He huffs a laugh. “Big Lots special.”

“I’ve never been to a Big Lots.” I rub my fingers over the soft fabric, noting the way the color shifts slightly when I move one way, then shifts back when I move the other.

“That so?” He sounds surprised, but quickly shakes his head. “Of course you haven’t. Sometimes I forget you’re…” He gestures at me.

“A Carthwright?” I finish for him.

“Yeah.” He sighs.

Pressing my palms into the cushion on either side of me, I peer up at him. “Would you take me sometime?”

He grimaces. “To Big Lots?”

“Yes.”

The furrow in his brow deepens. “You really want to go? It’s not that great.”

“I want to go.”

“Okay.” He draws out the word like maybe he’s doubting my sanity. “I could take you other places.”

I fight a smile. “Like where?”

“I don’t know.” He picks up the remote, his lips quirking. “Outback, maybe? I’m guessing you’ve never had a bloomin’ onion.”

“Definitely not.” There’s no stopping the grin now.

“Woman.” He drops his head back with a groan. “You haven’t lived.”

I think we’re flirting, but I’m not quite sure. I’m greatly out of practice.

“I’ll take you,” he murmurs. “But not as a date. I know you don’t want that.”

“Right.” My smile evaporates, and I lower my head. I did say that I didn’t want to date, so why am I practically on my knees begging him to spend time with me?

“Any preferences on movies?” he asks, kneeling on the floor in front of the TV.

“What do you have?”

“Um…” He opens a cabinet door, revealing rows of DVDs. Humming, he pulls a few out, then holds them up for me to see. “These. Or we could rent something on TV.”

“ Unaccompanied Minors .” I read the title on one. “Let’s do that.”

With a nod, he pops it into the DVD player.

Jocelyn pokes her head into the family room, eyes ping-ponging between the two of us. “Go ahead and start a movie, you two. I’m going to hop into the shower first.”

Luke narrows his eyes at her, as if silently saying I see you and I know exactly what you’re doing.

Undeterred, she smiles, then turns and disappears down the hall.

“Sorry about her.” He stands from the floor and puts his hands on his hips. “She likes to meddle.”

“I like it. I like her .” And I mean it. “I wish I had a mom who cared that much about me.”

He rubs his jaw. “Don’t worry. If you let her, she’ll take you under her wing.” With a shake of his head, he settles into the recliner a few feet away, and while I think it’s sweet he’s trying to keep his distance, I stupidly want him closer.

“I don’t bite,” I tease, patting the empty spot on the couch beside me.

He arches a perfectly shaped brow. It’s annoying how well-manicured they look when I highly doubt he’s ever taken tweezers or wax to them. Meanwhile, I have to brush my eyebrow hair every morning so it’s not sticking in every direction.

Silently, he gets up and joins me on the couch.

I’m not sure what I’m doing, tempting fate like this, but I can’t help but revel in his closeness.

“Have you heard from your parents today?” Luke asks while a preview plays on the TV.

Hands clasped in my lap, I shake my head. “No. I didn’t expect to.”

He frowns, a flash of irritation momentarily marring his handsome face. “They suck.”

“They do,” I agree. There’s no point in arguing that point.

We’re about thirty minutes into the movie when Jocelyn joins us with plates of apple pie and ice cream.

The sound that comes out of me at my first taste is downright ungodly. Holding my breath, I duck to hide my heated cheeks.

Luke gives me a little smirk. “Told you it was good.”

“I’m so happy you like it,” Jocelyn says, a proud smile on her lips.

“Could you teach me to make this?” I point at the dessert with my fork, as if she doesn’t know what I’m talking about.

“Sure,” she agrees. “I’d love to. Luke cooks, but he’s not much into baking.”

He looks over at me with a sigh. “Because cooking can be experimental, and baking is precise. I don’t do well with precise.”

When the movie finishes, Luke stands and stretches his arms above his head, flashing a glimpse of his taut, tanned stomach. His olive skin tone makes him look tan all year round, especially compared to my pale complexion.

Heart skipping at the sight of him, I turn my head slightly. As I do, I catch Jocelyn watching me. When she smirks, I want to melt into the couch.

“The offer is still on the table if you want to stay the night.” She eases up from the chair and shuffles closer to her son. “It’s up to you. I’m going to bed. Merry Christmas Eve.” She has to stand on her tiptoes to get her arms around Luke’s neck. Once she’s pressed a kiss to his cheek, she lowers herself and steps over to me. “And Merry Christmas Eve to you, too, Bertie.” She hugs me, and then she’s gone.

Luke shoves his hands into his pockets, facing me with a thin-lipped smile. “Have you decided what you want to do?”

“What do you want me to do?” I counter.

Shoulders drooping, he sighs. “Nuh-uh. If you want to stay, you have to make the decision.”

I wring my hands, scanning the room, taking in the small Christmas tree. “It feels weird for me to stay…”

“But?” he prompts, a hopeful glint in his eye.

“I… I like the idea of staying,” I say, suddenly hit with the urge to cry. “I really don’t want to be alone on Christmas.”

Taking my hand, he pulls me off the couch and into his arms. As his heart beats a steady rhythm against my ear, I let out a sigh, feeling more content than I think I ever have.

“You’ll stay in my room,” he says, lips brushing the top of my head. “I changed the sheets this morning.”

“No.” I shake my head and pull back. “I don’t want you to have to sleep on the couch.”

“I’ll be all right,” he promises, lacing our fingers together.

Without giving me another moment to argue, he leads me down the hall to his room. It’s clean and smells like him. On one wall, there’s a corkboard full of childhood pictures and small hockey memorabilia. The comforter is a light blue color and looks incredibly soft. Like it’s been washed a million times and is perfectly worn in.

He rifles through the top drawer of his dresser and procures a t-shirt.

Turning, he hands it to me. “This should be comfy enough for you to sleep in.”

I hold it up, relishing the soft fabric beneath my fingertips. It’s a hockey shirt, with his last name on the back and the school crest and his first name on the front right breast area.

I arch a brow, holding it up in front of me. “Plastering your name on me, I see.”

His cheeks pinken. “It’s old.”

“It’s got to be less than almost four years old.”

He wets his lips with his tongue, the move snagging my attention and making my breath catch. “I can find something else.”

I shake my head and pull the shirt into my chest. “No, this is good.”

“I’ll, uh…” He rubs his hands together. “Leave you to it.” He winces at his words. “That sounded weird.” Shaking his head, he says, “Remote for the TV and fan are beside the bed. If you need anything, just text me.”

I take a step toward him, still clutching the shirt. “I can sleep on the couch. I promise I’ll be okay.”

Looming over me, he scowls. “Not a chance, B. Good night.” His expression smooths out, and his lips part, like maybe he wants to say something else, but instead, he lets himself out of the room and closes the door lightly behind him.

I pull my phone from my pocket and reply to a few texts from friends, then shoot one off to my mom and dad, saying I hope they’re having a good time. Even though I secretly hope they’re miserable, because fuck them.

Finished with my messages, I toss my phone onto Luke’s bed, then carefully undress and fold my clothes. As I tug his shirt over my head, I’m practically drowning in his scent. Is it cologne? Or is it his own unique scent? I wish I knew. Either way, though, I can’t help but be drawn to it.

In search of the bathroom, I ease the bedroom door open. As I’m peering into the hall, the door across from me opens, and steam billows out, practically thick enough to knock me backward.

Then Luke emerges.

Bare-chested.

Wet.

In only a towel.

I squeeze my thighs together. It’s been so long since I’ve had anything other than my vibrator, and my body is reminding me of that fact right now.

“Hey,” he says. “I, uh, I forgot to grab my sleep clothes.”

All I can do is blink up at him and watch as a droplet of water runs down his pec and over his abs. When I force my focus back to his face, he breaks out in a slow grin.

“Bertie, I need to get around you.”

“Oh.” I swallow. “Right.” On shaky legs, I step aside. “I was coming to brush my teeth. Do you have any spare toothbrushes?”

“Under the sink,” he answers with his back to me as he pulls clothes out of the dresser.

Before I get caught staring again, I spin and lock myself in the bathroom. Though I’m engulfed in his scent—not only from his t-shirt now, but his soap as well—I force myself to ignore the way it makes my pulse race. I do my business, then brush my teeth with the new toothbrush I found right where he said it would be and the toothpaste that rests on the sink.

The hall is dark when I step out and tiptoe toward the family room, where Luke is laying a sheet over the couch cushions.

“Thanks for the toothbrush.”

He looks up, a blanket clasped in his hands. “It’s no problem.”

I wring my fingers together and swallow past the lump in my throat. “Well, good night, I guess.”

I don’t know what makes me add the I guess part.

He smiles, amusement in his eyes. “Good night, B.”

I give an awkward wave—because of course I do—and make my way back to his room.

With the TV on for background noise, I climb into his bed. His mattress is soft, worn in like it’s made to curve around his much bigger body. It’s like I’m lying in a hole, but it’s comforting, soothing, being enveloped like this.

Despite how good it feels, I’m plagued with guilt, because while I’m in here, he’s crammed onto that small couch. There’s no way he actually fits. And as much as I long for his company right now, I can’t bring myself to text him and ask him to sleep—only sleep—in here with me.

I’m too afraid of being rejected.