I splash my face a few more times and dry off with a towel before heading back downstairs to make this right and apologize for walking away.
“Baby, I’m sorry. The kiss wasn’t a…” I trail off.
Mother fucking fuck!
He left.
“Fuck, I’ve missed you!”
Lucas slams into my chest, arms locked tight like he’s trying to fuse us together.
“Lucas,” I laugh, squeezing him back. “I’ve missed you too.”
“Let me see you,” he says, pushing back to scan my face. Whatever he’s looking for, I’m pretty sure it’s not there yet, because his smile softens. “Okay. Inside. Show me the famous loft.”
He hauls his suitcase in and stops dead. “Holy shit. Beckett.” His eyes go wide as he turns in a slow circle. “This place is amazing. A loft like this in LA or New York would cost… I don’t know, at least one black-market kidney. Maybe a lung.”
I snort a laugh. It would. My apartment has floor-to-ceiling windows, and three walls of exposed brick. In the center is a leather couch with a loveseat, facing a large TV hanging on the wall. And off to the side is a raised platform that my bed sits on.
“I’m sorry you don’t get your own room,” I say. “But the couch is comfortable, I promise.”
“Oh, please. You promised cuddling,” Lucas says. “I’m holding you to that.”
I sigh because he’s not joking. “We’ll… revisit the cuddle contract. Make yourself at home. There’s an old dresser against the wall. I cleared out the drawers if you want to unpack. Wasn’t sure if you wanted to live out of a suitcase while you were here.”
“I do not, thank you very much. My poor clothes appreciate you.”
I grab us beers from the fridge while he starts unpacking. Lucas is… a clothes snob. And I mean that in the most loving way. He himself is not a snob. He’s genuine and kind, but if you looked at his wardrobe with all his high-end looks, you wouldn’t think so. Me, on the other hand… jeans and a T-shirt. Black. All black.
We met during the first week of culinary school and never shook each other. When everything went to hell with Pierre, he was right there for the full implosion. He saw me ugly cry in the walk-in coolers and still wanted to be my friend. He kept calling after I moved, and now he’s here in my tiny Maine town, which is both comforting and vaguely alarming.
But… I get the inkling that something is bothering him. He’s been making subtle hints about wanting to move out of LA. I’m not sure if Lucas and small towns really mesh, but we’re about to find out.
I hand him a beer and take a seat on the couch while he finishes.
“So, I hate to bring up a sore subject, but… what are you gonna do about the cookbook?”
I sigh. “I don’t know. There’s nothing Icando. I can’t prove those recipes are mine.”
Lucas’s nose wrinkles. “I still can’t believe he pretended to be in a relationship with you for six months just to get to your grandma’s recipe book. What kind of fucked-up person does that?”
“A very fucked-up person,” I say. “But also, what kind of idiot am I for falling for it? For believing him? For finding out he’d beenshopping a cookbook this whole time and got a deal with my work dressed up in his name?”
“Hey, no.” Lucas turns fully toward me, voice firm. “You are not the problem in that story. You’re the kind of person people wish they were. Pierre is the kind people warn their therapists about.”
A laugh slips out of me. “Deep down, I know that. It’s just hard to trust anyone anymore. I mean, does anyone really like me, or is it all a ploy to get information? And then he fucking kissed me, kissed me right there in his kitchen, only to walk away like it was a mistake.”
“Ummm, wait, why do I get the impression you’re not talking about Pierre?”
“Ugh,” I groan, throwing my head back on the couch.
“Gasp, did the hunky tattoo man kiss you?”
I groan again, nodding.
“You’ve been trying to get into his pants for months,” Lucas singsongs.
“Have you seen his pants?” I demand, sitting up. “His ass is like cotton candy at a summer fair. How am I supposed to resist that? But none of it matters,” I say, heat rushing to my face. “Because he bailed. He kissed me like it meant something, then freaked out and walked away like it was a mistake. So, clearly I’m stupid in all time zones.”
