He glanced up mid-bite, chewing slow, then swallowed. “Yeah. A couple. Nothing long. Just the usual—good game, they’ll be in touch. Follow-ups later.”
I caught the way he said it—flat, too casual. As though the conversations didn’t matter, like he hadn’t just put on a show for half the arena. His eyes gave him away, though. The focus there. The weight he didn’t want me to see. Colleges had been courting him.
“And Michigan? Is it still your first choice?”
“Yeah, it is.” He leaned back, arm draped along the couch so I could lean into him. “Best program in the country. Hockey. Business. Everything lines up there.”
“Even with your dad?”
His jaw ticked. “Not Michigan. He hates the idea of me going there. Calls it a waste. He’s already handed me the list of ‘approved’ schools—the ones that keep me under his thumb. That’s the point. He doesn’t want me making choices he can’t control.”
I didn’t say anything. Instead, I pressed closer, and his arm tightened around me in answer.
“What about you?” he asked finally. “Still planning on Michigan too? That art professor you used to talk about still pulling you there?”
I hesitated. “Maybe. I don’t know yet.”
But I watched him—how easy he was in that moment, guard down, letting me lean into him. It felt the way it used to. Like us. And I loved it. Which is why I told him. “Earlier today, Mom and I went to the beach.” He already knew from my text, but there was more to it. “On the way out, we ran into Colleen, the woman who owns the boardwalk studio. She had me take my paintings and supplies home—which I also want to talk to you about. But…” My throat tightened, and I pushed through. “She said I should think about showing my work. And my mom’s reaction—God, Luke, she was impressed. It was… surreal.” I tried to play it casual, but the heat in my cheeks gave me away. It mattered. Maybe too much.
His eyes shifted down to me.
“She suggested I show my work in a gallery and said she would make the introduction. I’m going to reach out to the owner after she sets it up.”
He grinned, slow and real. “Good. You should. You’ll kill it.”
Heat climbed my neck, but I forced it down with a smile. “It was weird, though—being seen like that. As if maybe it’s not just a pipe dream.”
“Not weird,” he said. “It’s about time.”
We ate in silence for a while before the conversation drifted again, heavier this time.
“The boardwalk studio…” My voice caught on the words. “It’s closing.”
His arm stiffened around me. “Yeah.”
“Do you know why the lease wasn’t renewed?”
“Lorne’s the one who pushed it. They’re putting in a restaurant. Smart move, I guess. But that place…” He exhaled in a rough rush of air. “It was meant for you. Dad promised it would stay when I suggested the studio to go in that building. And now, I can’t get a straight answer out of him.”
I turned, watched the storm in his eyes, and for once, he didn’t hide it. I covered his hand with mine. “I know you can’t stop him. But the studio being gone—it doesn’t erase what it meant. Not to me.”
He looked at me, eyes burning, and the distance between us vanished.
His mouth caught mine, a collision that felt years in the making—weeks, maybe a lifetime, waiting to happen. The carton slipped from my fingers, forgotten, noodles sliding onto the coffee table. None of it mattered.
Luke’s hand slid to the back of my neck, holding me steady while he deepened the kiss, not rushed, justsure. The way he always kissed—knowing exactly where to push and where to hold back. My chest arched into his, hungry for more.
The couch wasn’t big enough for how badly I needed him closer. I broke the kiss and swung a leg over, straddling his lap. His hands locked at my hips, firm, grounding. His eyes bored into mine, storm-dark, promising damage I didn’t care if I drowned in.
His breath brushed my lips. “You’re sure?”
“Yeah.” Heat curled low in my stomach.
“The house is really ours tonight?”
“All night. She won’t be back until tomorrow.”
His gaze flicked over my face, memorizing every line, searching for doubt. I gave him none.
