“He is,” Luca says, barely casting him a glance.
When we’re alone, he lowers his voice. “I’ve been thinking about writing a book. Well, I’m already writing one. But another. About… well, aboutourexperiences. I write romance, and I was considering writing a book about healing and finding new love after domestic abuse.”
My body goes cold.
“I just… I wanted to make sure that was something you’d be okay with before I dove in.”
I clear my throat. “It’syourexperience, Luca… You don’t need my permission to talk about that.”
He frowns. “No, I know. I just… I guess I wanted to make sure it wouldn’t upset you.”
I shake my head. “No. I think you deserve to heal in whatever way you see fit.”
“How did you heal?”
Some days I’m not sure I have.“Therapy, mostly.”
Luca nods. “Yeah, I’ve been seeing a therapist. She really helps. Being home helped a lot too.”
Being home.I wish I knew what that felt like.Home.I don’t have a home. Not in the way he’s describing. I have an apartment that is scarcely furnished, in a shitty part of the city, around the corner from the job I couldn’t keep. The tone of his voice when he says that word is just as foreign to me as the word itself.
I haven’t felt at home since I turned my back on my parents. Since they tried to tell me who Damien was. Since I ignored them. I don’t even know if they’re alive. Or if they miss me. Or if they’d want to hear from me. That fear alone is enough to keep me from looking. From reaching out. From goinghome.
No. My parents aren’t home anymore. But the sad thing is, I’m not sure anywhere else is either.
Luca drums on the table with his fingers, bringing my attention back to him. “Luca.”
His eyes find mine. “You do whatever you need to do to heal. If that means you write a book that reflects your life, you write that book. It’s no one’s business but yours how you choose to heal.”
He nods. “You’re right.”
I force a smile even though I can feel my energy draining every second that I’m here. “I am. I would make a joke that I’m older and wiser, but…”
Luca barks out a surprised laugh that brings a genuine smile to my face. “Alright, I just wanted to make sure you were okay with that. I’m sorry I took up so much of your lunch.” He stands, then pulls a small pad from his apron pocket. “What can I get you?”
I glance down at the table, then back at him. “A menu.”
He chuckles, tapping his forehead. “I forgot you’re not a local. You fit in so well here.”
Biting my tongue so I don’t blurt out that I don’t fit in well anywhere, I shoot him a rueful grin. “We can skip the menu. Just bring me your favorite thing here.”
“Any food allergies?”
I shake my head. “Do you have sweet tea? I’ve always wanted real sweet tea from the South.”
His mouth gapes open, then he bursts into laughter. Something ugly and dark twists my stomach. I don’t understand him. He’s so… whole. So healed. So… not like me at all.
I don’t get it. I don’t understand how, even though he so recently got away from Damien, he’s so… happy. Even reminding myself that I can look happy on the surface doesn’t help. The happiness lives in his eyes, and it lights up his face. I don’t look at myself in the mirror often, but when I do, I never see that light in my eyes.
The worst part is that I don’t even think my unhappiness is from Damien. Not in that way. Not anymore, anyway.
I swallow hard when he composes himself and nods. “It’s funny to me that you consider Silverpine the South.” He shoots me a rueful grin. “I can definitely bring you sweet tea. I’ll send Hunter back out.”
“Thank you,” I mumble, letting my gaze fall to the table as he walks away.
A couple of minutes later, Hunter slides back into the booth across from me. I can’t even make myself raise my eyes, and lunch is quiet. I barely even taste the tea or the food.
I thank Luca when he tells me our food is on the house, but I feel disconnected from my body when Hunter and I stand to leave.
