I don’t.
Because his lips feel like home.Because his hand on mine feels like an anchor.Because I came here with nothing but a carry-on bag and the hope of being forgiven.
And this?
This feels like maybe I already am.
The kiss ends before it becomes something more.Luke pulls back first – slowly – and his hand lingers on my jaw longer than it needs to.
There’s a breath of space between us.And then he stands up.
‘Come on,’ he says, hand outstretched.
I follow him through the quiet house, my heartbeat so loud I’m sure Daisy could hear it from the spare room.We pass the living room and walk down the hallway before Luke pushes the bedroom door open.The room is small and unpretentious – like everything else about him.Soft grey linens, off-white walls, a few framed photoson the dresser that I’m too nervous to look at.His Akubra hangs on the back of the door.A flannel shirt is slung over a chair.The bed is tucked in the corner, the comforter wrinkled – signs of a restless sleeper.
Luke unbuttons his shirt, takes off his shoes.He doesn’t even look at me when he says, ‘You don’t have to sleep here if you don’t want to.I just figured you’d prefer this than the fold-out couch.’
I hover in the doorway, trying to appear casual.‘I don’t mind sleeping on the fold-out.’
He glances over his shoulder at me, hair now dishevelled and a hint of stubble shadowing the sharp angle of his jaw.
I wave a hand around the room.‘I mean … I don’t want you to feel like you’re doing me a favour if you don’t want—’
‘Jamie?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Get in the bed.’
I bite my bottom lip to stop myself from saying something stupid to the grieving man before me.Instead, I nod and slip into the bathroom to wash my face.Then, quietly, I slide under the covers beside him, keeping a cautious arm’s length between us.Just two people in a room where silence is safer than the truth.
The ceiling is barely visible in the dark.It feels weirdly appropriate to be staring at it as if it might offer some answers.
‘It was weird,’ Luke says eventually, his voice low, ‘seeing you here today.’
‘Weird good?Or, weird, “Get the hell off my property?”’
‘Just unexpected.’He pauses.‘I told Ella it was fine if you came, but I wasn’t expecting you to show.’
I glance at him.His face is a soft blur in the dark.‘I thought you’d slam the door in my face.’
‘I thought about it,’ he admits.
I swallow, suddenly self-conscious.
‘If I did, I figured you’d never come back.And for some reason that made me even angrier.’
My chest pulls tight.I want to say something.Something big and perfect and healing.
‘I’m sorry,’ I confess.
‘For what?’
‘Everything.’
He lets that hang for a moment, then exhales.‘One summer when I was a kid, I tried to fix the bore pump.Dad was out with a busted knee, so I figured I’d make myself useful.’He shifts a little, the bed creaking beneath him.‘I cracked a pipe.Flooded half the paddock.Lost twenty head of cattle in one week.’
I wince.‘Jesus.’
