“Come in,” he said finally, stepping back to let me pass.
The house smelled like coffee and the faint lingering scent of woodsmoke. I followed him to the living room where we’d spent that incredible night together, and we sat on opposite ends of the couch, the space between us feeling like a canyon.
“I’m sorry,” Luke started immediately. “I should have?—”
“Please. Let me go first,” I interrupted gently. “I need to say something, and if I don’t say it now, I’m going to lose my nerve."
He nodded, his hands locked on his knees.
I pulled in a breath and forced myself to meet his eyes.
“I spent yesterday thinking about what you told me. About the algorithm. About how closely we matched. About … well, everything, really.”
Luke’s jaw tightened, as if he was bracing for what was coming.
“And I’m still angry,” I continued. “Not furious, but … hurt. You invaded my privacy, Luke. But beyond that, every moment we had together, you knew something I didn’t about us, and that wasn’t fair.”
“I know. I’m so?—”
“Let me finish.” I held up a hand. “I’m hurt, yes. But I also understandwhyyou did it. You approach everything like it’s a problem to solve—that’s just fundamentally who you are. And honestly? It’s kind of sweet that you were so into me you needed mathematical proof you weren’t imagining it.”
A ghost of a smile crossed his face, so briefly I would have missed it if I wasn’t watching him like a hawk.
Unlike me, Luke wasn’t an open book. I’d heard people in town describe him as aloof, his emotions flat. But I knew him well enough now to understand that wasn’t true.
That stoicism was his armor, protection against a world that had probably never been kind to him about the way he processed things differently than most people.
But I’d also witnessed what happened when that armor failed him completely, the way he’d literally run away from me when he couldn’t cope with his emotions.
And then there was the Luke I’d discovered the other night. The one who emerged when he finally felt safe enough to let someone all the way in. Earnest and thoughtful and feeling everything so deeply that it practically radiated off him.
Luke didn’t feel too little. He felttoo much.
“But here’s the thing.” I leaned forward, needing him to hear me. Really hear it. Absorb it. “I can’t be with someone who keeps the truth from me. I won’t.”
The hope drained from Luke’s expression. His hands fell from his knees to rest limply on the cushion, and he seemed to fold in on himself. “I understand if you?—”
I reached across the space between us and took his hand. His fingers were cold and trembling slightly. “But you told me the truth even though it terrified you. Even though you knew it might make me leave. That’s not lying, Luke. That’s being brave enough to be honest even when it costs you.”
His eyes were shining now, and I watched him blink rapidly as he processed my words.
“So here’s what I need from you,” I continued, squeezing his hand. “I need complete honesty, even when it’s scary. Especially when it’s scary. Even when you think it’ll hurt me, I need to know that you’ll tell me the truth, no matter what. Can you do that?”
“Yes.” There wasn’t even a note of hesitation in his voice. “I promise. Always.”
“Okay.” I felt my own eyes start to burn. “Then I have something else to tell you.”
He waited, barely breathing, and I could see the fear and hope warring in his expression.
“I love you, too.”
Luke went completely still. Not the careful stillness he used when he was thinking, but the frozen stillness of someone who’d just been hit with information their brain hadn’t quite processed yet. “You do?”
“I love you.” The declaration was easier the second time. “And not because an algorithm told me I would. But because you’re you.”
I shifted closer, until our knees were touching.
“I love you for the things you do when no one’s watching—the flowers for the nursing home and the money you give away without applause. I love you for driving through the storm to get me, for being sweet and awkward and unapologetically yourself.”
