“Thanks Luke,” she says, pausing for a beat to look at us both again.
She smiles to herself, picks up a biscuit, and saunters out like a woman who knows exactly what she’s just interrupted.
CHAPTER 38
Luke
I wakeup the morning after the baby shower to Emmy asleep next to me. She’s completely out cold, likely as a result of all the champagne, and is snoring softly. I take a moment to enjoy some truly shameless staring, taking in every freckle, every eyelash, every soft line of her face. Even in sleep, she’s beautiful.
I’m becoming addicted to having her around all the time and I know without a shadow of a doubt that we need to have a proper conversation about what this is. I haven’t entertained the idea of a relationship in so many years and I’d let myself believe that love was merely a lie we told ourselves.
But watching Emmy sleep makes me question everything. Every wall I’ve carefully constructed since Lucy could come crumbling down at her word. I’m a selfish bastard; she’s too good for me and I know it. But I’ll hold on for as long as I can.
As if she can feel me staring, she stirs, a hand rising to her face as she winces.
“Hi,” she rasps, blinking at me.
“Hello.” I smile, leaning down to kiss her.
“Argh, no, I have morning breath!” she protests, slapping me away.
“I don’t care,” I reply, planting a kiss straight on her mouth before rising. “Coffee? Paracetamol?”
“Lobotomy?” she replies. “I’m never drinking that much champagne ever again.”
I laugh and offer a hand, pulling her upright. She’s dressed in one of my T-shirts again and I make a note of which one so I can avoid washing it. Ever again.
She extracts herself from my tangled sheets and makes a beeline for the bathroom while I head downstairs to make coffee. I’m just frothing the milk when she reappears, dressed in leggings and a plain white T-shirt. Even off duty, she looks cute.
“Working from home today?” I ask, nodding at her attire as she perches on a stool at the breakfast bar.
“Indeed. The office is casual but not this casual. I’ll hop on the tube and get out of your hair in a minute.” She accepts the coffee and sighs deeply as she inhales.
“You can always work here, you know,” I blurt out. She looks up in surprise and I realise it came out too fast, too eager. I try to row back sounding too desperate: “I’ve got a study and a desk I hardly use. You’d be welcome to set up here.”
“Thanks Luke,” she says, giving me a small smile. “I would take you up on that if I had any of my things.”
“Of course,” I reply. “Well… the offer stands.”
She gives me a warm smile and closes her eyes as she drinks her coffee. We drink in silence for a minute, soaking up each other’s company. Then a few moments later she stands.
“Thanks for a great night,” she says, rising up on tiptoes to kiss me on the cheek. “I’ll see you soon.”
And with that, she grabs her bag and heads for the door.
Wednesday night at Salt is a busy one and we’ve got a full house across the main bar and the playrooms. Jessie’s still on cloud nine after the success of her girl-on-girl night. Membership applications spiked 43% that week and we’ve had a bumper month for both income and enquiries.
I should be on the main floor with her, especially as I cancelled drinks with Nick on the basis that I was needed at the club. He didn’t question it and told me to crack on with whatever I needed to do, which made the guilt 10 times worse. But we do need to celebrate the win. Jessie deserves to feel hugely proud of what she’s achieved.
I keep telling myself I’ll head downstairs shortly but right now, I’m sitting in my office cooling down after a strenuous Peloton session that did nothing to sweat out my anxiety.
Despite the sound of the music from the main bar, the silence of my office feels oppressive. My mind keeps wandering back to Emmy and the conversation that’s looming between us both. And with that, my idiot brain keeps dragging me into the past.
The rain had been coming down hard all day, the perfect pathetic fallacy for the mood in our flat. Lucy paced the living room as I stood in the doorway, watching. Last night, I caught her with our financial advisor in a very compromising position. Her face that morning was pink and tear streaked, while I just felt numb.
“This is not my fault,” she said, for what must have been the tenth time. “I love you, Luke, but you’re not emotionally available. It’s like I’m dating a spreadsheet.”
Her words stung but I didn’t react.
