Page 26 of The Shift Between Us (Covewood #2)

I force myself to stop counting—at least for this weekend—because the lack of physical contact will make his family think something’s wrong between us or, even worse, that we’ve been lying.

When we’re back home, we can come up with an excuse as to why things didn’t work out, that we’ve remained great friends, and maybe they’ll let him bring me along—as his friend—next year .

I’m already loving my time here, and it’s only been a few hours.

Seeing this side of Luke has been refreshing.

Learning new stories about him. Witnessing him around his family.

A family who really seems to love him. I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t want them to love me too—even if they’re a tad bit much at times. I’m starting to adore that about them.

Luke presses a kiss to the top of my head, and my stomach dips. I told him not to kiss me, and I had meant on the lips, but now I’m not sure about any kisses because of the way it’s making me feel. I’m lightheaded, and my body sways a bit as I close my eyes and soak this in. Just for a second.

It’s been so long since I’ve felt this sort of comfortable intimacy. No one has given me a gentle peck like this on the top of my head before. It’s such a simple gesture, one that I’ve seen Luke do with Raine many times, but this…this feels different.

Luke’s palm finds the small of my back, his fingers drawing little circles there as he presses me closer to him. He’s so warm I could liquefy in his embrace, like chocolate melting on the stovetop.

“Thank you,” he whispers into my hair, leaning his cheek onto the top of my head, his fingers continuing their little circles.

“For what?” My voice is breathless, and my eyes shoot open, searching the room for his grandmother, but she has already left. Maybe he doesn’t realize it, so I open my mouth to inform him, but his words stop me.

“For praying with Nonni.” He leans back, his smile transforming into something sincere. “I could tell it meant a lot to her and was something she needed.”

“Of course,” I say, thankful that I listened to that little voice and was able to comfort her.

Luke’s fingers move from my back until they’re laced with mine. He holds my gaze, and I can’t find the strength to look away. “I always love when I can witness how much light you bring to those around you. ”

Forbidden thoughts try to creep into my mind, feeling as if I’m standing by a cliff on a very windy day, only one blow away from getting caught in the breeze. This feels dangerous, and exhilarating, but mostly confusing. I’m feeling way too many emotions right now.

“Your, uh…” I clear my throat. “Your grandmother left.”

His smile disappears, and I instantly regret popping whatever bubble we had floated into.

His lashes blink a few times, as if breaking from a daze, and he presses his lips together with a nod.

He lets go of my hand and makes his way to the fridge to grab us both a bottle of water before I follow him out of the kitchen and through the living room.

We see the family all gathered. Everyone is either cozy on the couch or have made piles on the floor.

The only light in the room is from the television, playing A Christmas Story , and the white lights twinkling from the huge Christmas tree in the corner of the room.

Luke is holding both bottles in one of his large hands, so I reach out to grab his free hand with mine.

We give everyone a wave before retreating into our bedroom. Once we’re inside, Luke lets go of my hand and says that he’s going to take a quick shower. As soon as the door is shut and I can hear the sound of the water running, I grab my phone to call my sister.

“Your cat hasn’t murdered me —yet ,” Wren's voice echoes through my phone’s speaker.

“This is all your fault!”

I can practically hear her eyes roll. “What did I do now?”

I’m thankful that Wren agreed to house sit for me so that Buttercream would be taken care of as well as my sourdough starter. But I’m still upset with her.

“You put confusing words inside my head, and now I’m having to pretend to date Luke around his family. He’s touching me and hugging me longer than three seconds, and we’re having to share a bed together. I can’t do this, Wren. I’m going to mess up and?— ”

“You’re not making sense. Take a breath and start from the top.”

That’s what I do. I exhale before telling her everything that’s happened. Once I’m finished, we both sit in silence for a moment, the faint sound of Buttercream meowing in the background.

“So, you’re mad at me because I said that you could have both friendship and love with Luke.”

“Not just that.” I exhale loudly.

“You’re scared because you can’t find a man, and have been lonely, and that it’s going to make you catch feelings for your best friend because you’re having to pretend that you’re dating each other, which was all your fault.”

I shrug my shoulders even though she can’t see me. “Basically.”

There’s a crunching sound on her end, like she’s taking a bite of something, and she says through a mouthful, “You know I love you, right?”

“You know I’ll be mad if I come home and see that all my precious sourdough has been eaten.”

“You knew that bread was my weakness when you left this house, full of baked bread, in my care. Now hush and listen to me!” I have to hold the phone away from my ear because of her shouting, and that’s when I notice the shower is now off.

“For someone who’s usually laidback and full of fun, you’ve been the complete opposite lately. ”

“I expect an apology as loud as your disrespect has been throughout this whole phone call.”

I smile, loving the bickering my sister and I always share and can hear her trying to hide her own laughter.

“Just have fun this weekend. Don’t overthink things. Let whatever happens, happen . And then when you’re back home, you can go back to overanalyzing everything and weighing your options. ”

“You want me to put my friendship on the line for a ‘weekend of fun’?”

“Yeah, I do. Because with how close you and Luke are, I don’t think there’s anything in this world that could separate the two of you—despite what you may think. This could relieve some tension for you, help you clear your head of all the what-ifs you’ve been clinging to.”

I know that she makes a good point, but it’s hard to accept when I’ve had to learn the hard way that playing the what-if game is dangerous.

I've leaned into the what-ifs once with Luke, giving into the smoldering flame between us.

I was brave enough to admit out loud that I wanted more.

..and then Luke stomped the flame out. Since then, I've done everything I can to make sure that it never reignites.

Even after all these years have passed, somehow my heart still holds a flicker of that want.

“I’m tangled up in knots, Wren. I don’t know how to sort through what I’m feeling,” I admit softly, curling my legs toward my chest and giving them a hug with my free arm.

“Trust me, it’s okay to guard your heart. But don’t make it such a forbidden place that the one person worthy of entering will be shut out.”

For Wren to say something like this, even after her recent divorce, brings me hope.

I want it to be a hope for her and her future, not hope within myself, because that kind can be risky.

It makes you believe that you’re capable of anything.

It makes you search for the tiniest glimmer of light on the darkest days.

And when you’ve been burned before, that kind of hope only feels terrifying.

More than anything, hope can hurt. Maybe that’s why I’ve kept my distance from the idea of an us when it comes to Luke, because wanting something more with him means letting hope in.

“You always like to be brutally honest,” I say, biting my lip to hide from smiling, even though she can’t see me .

She snickers, “And you’re always good at sugar coating everything.”

“I don’t sugar coat everything. I’m not Willy Wonka.”

Just then, the bathroom door swing opens, and a cloud of steam comes rolling into the bedroom. My mouth slightly drops at the sight of my best friend—my shirtless, glistening-with-drops-of-water, super-muscular best friend. Lord, help me fight this temptation.

Had I really not noticed before how much Luke looks like a piece of art? How is it okay for someone to be painstakingly shaped to perfection? I know it comes from his dedication to the gym each day, but it’s almost like a slap in the face.

His hair is a dark sheet across his forehead, and the harsh lighting in the room makes his skin seem tanner, his stubble a shade darker. He’s in the gray sweatpants, the ones that always catch my attention. He looks over at me, catching me practically gaping at him, and smirks at me.

“You’re kind of like Willy Wonka, if you think about it, with all the sweet things you bake.”

“Earth to Olivia!” Wren’s shouting into my ear. “Let me guess. Luke is shirtless, and you are staring at him like an idiot.”

That seems to snap me out of my daze, even though my mind feels like someone emptied a junk drawer onto a trampoline.

“Take it as a sign, sweet baby sister.”

Luke moves to his luggage, and I manage to choke out, “Put a shirt on!”

“No, don't!” Wren shouts, and I’m sure Luke hears it by the way his smirk grows.

“Good night, Sis. Don’t eat all my food or let Buttercream watch you sleep at night. Love you, bye.” I hang up before I can catch what she was trying to say.

“He watches you while you sleep?” Luke looks up at me, a brow raised in question. He has no idea how weird our cat is. Our cat .