“Was this made to cover the airspace of Germany?”
He smiled again. “Eastwood High, senior year.”
I bit the inside of my mouth, thinking of a younger Luke. He took the shirt from my hands and displayed it in front of me, hiding behind it. Showing he was not looking. For a brief second, I wished we were here under different circumstances. It would be so easy to change that.
I lingered as I unzipped my dress, eyes closed, imagining I was doing it for him, hoping he’d see me through the fabric separating us, even if just for a second. The dress slipped slowly to the floor. I heard him sigh softly, and a small smile tuggedat my lips. I put on the dark grey shirt, covering myself, while Luke’s eyes remained closed the whole time.
His paradoxical lifestyle—him being a confidently arrogant bachelor and an utter gentleman toward a naked lady in front of him—got my brain wiring all confused.
“Okay, I’m all set,” I said. He opened one eye, checking, and then just stared at me. I held the shirt out like a dress, and he sighed again. Louder this time.
“I think I’ll need medication soon, too,” he said, looking up and down at me. The last word hesitated on his lips while his gaze lingered on my bare legs.
I moved past him toward the bathroom, and he followed closely behind. We entered the bathroom, and a bright light blinded me. I squinted my eyes. A stool sat in front of the sink, and Luke gently nudged me to sit.
“I’ll help you with your hair,” he said. Luke turned off the main light, and the glow of Christmas lights filled the room, casting a gentle magic across the walls. After slipping the pins from my hair, Luke poured warm water over it, and I let my eyes fall shut.
“Is that okay?” he asked. All I could answer was something between a sigh and a moan. When I stopped fighting him, more out of my inability rather than choice, it actually felt nice to be taken care of. His fingers slid along my soapy scalp, and it felt like heaven.
“You’re quite good at this. Is this a repeatedly learned skill?” I tried to joke, but it came out more jealous than I intended. I heard his smile physically widen even with my closed eyes.
“Believe it or not, you’re my first.” Now that sounded more... just more. The intimacy of the moment scared me. But for once, I decided to simply enjoy it.
He massaged my hairline, his hands moving down my neck, easing the stress particles of peach jelly out of my body.
“Where did you learn to play piano like that?” he asked in a velvety voice.
“I like to learn things.”
“So, I’ve heard.”
“And you know, I had a good teacher. Used to, at least.” I opened my eyes and saw him staring at me with a contemplative look. Even in stillness, there was a heaviness in the way his shoulders sloped. A weariness born from years of carrying more than he should have, held out of habit, as if he’d forgotten how to let go.
As he rinsed my hair, Luke’s gaze never left mine. His movements were slow, and the moment had somehow stopped in time. Then his hand came up and pressed against my cheek. His palm was warmer than the water, his thumb stroking lightly across my skin.
“Close your eyes,” he murmured. I obeyed, trusting him without hesitation. Another gentle pour of water followed, and I let myself drift in the sound of it—the hush of water, the steadiness of his presence, the rare safety in his touch. And before I knew it, I was wrapped in a towel and tucked into bed. The sheets were soft and comfy. I put my hands under the pillow, watching Luke open the window and prepare to leave. Just as he reached the door, he turned back to me.
“Do you want me... do you need anything else?” he asked, the hesitation in his voice betraying him. He didn’t want to leave. I saw it in the way he lingered, the way I hoped he would. I looked at him a moment too long, then simply shrugged, the words caught somewhere between fear and longing, between wanting and actually asking.
He looked at the pile of books on my nightstand. “I could read you something,” he offered out of nowhere. My lips curved into a smile, and that was all the answer he needed. My cheeks were probably the same color as Clifford, the Big Red Dog.
Luke sat on the armchair beside me, propping his legs on the bed, as he began to read aloud. I slowly drifted to sleep as his soothing voice filled the room, like my own personal white noise machine. I wished I had pulled him into bed with me, but he shifted to stroke my hand with a tenderness a man has rarely made me experience.
Even if the feelings weren’t entirely real, at least I had lived in a world where a handsome boy held my cheek under the stars.
* * *
Both heat and thirst woke me up. I opened my eyes and saw sunlight hitting the walls. Birds chirping outside indicated it was morning. The clock read 6:13 AM.
I realized I had two blankets on me; the second was wool, which explained the heat. I also felt an indentation in the lower part of the mattress—two feet belonging to a man sleeping in the chair next to me. Yesterday’s events slowly returned.
I turned left and saw Luke asleep, a book on his stomach. It looked extremely uncomfortable. Careful not to wake him, I pulled the blanket over him before heading off to make myself some tea. Still wrapped in my enormous, puffy blanket, I sat down on the balcony couch, palms clasped around the cup as the cool air pressed in. It was still cold so early in spring.
I breathed in the salty air, and despite the mess I’d created, the anxiety inside me had somehow calmed down. Probably because it was too early and she hadn’t woken up yet.
My thoughts drifted to my mom. How she could exist in the chaos and peace at the same time, never pretending to be perfect, somehow always knowing that real was better than flawless. She allowed me to see all the parts—the good ones and the damaged ones, too.
“Hey.” A low, soft voice interrupted my memories. Luke’s head appeared, with the attached physique, of course. His tired growl seemed to match his face.
