Page 23 of I Still Love You

He moves a hand to rest on the top of the open door and looks past me. “I think a lot of things.”

Why is he so calm? Shouldn’t he be growling at or insulting me? “Is you being an ass one of them?”

When his eyes move back to me, they’re softer than I’ve recently seen them. My knees feel funny, and my stomach clenches in delight because I miss that look, those eyes, the sympathy that rests in the green of his stare.

We lock eyes, making it difficult to keep up with my lungs’ need for air. During our other encounters, I was distracted and indignant. My current calmness has me assessing his features more than I’d like, wishing he would grin so I could see his dimpled smile against the slight angle of his nose. The ultimate duo that always got me, always made me melt against his charm.

But I’m not surprised when it doesn’t happen. The choices I’ve made in the past snatched away the positive. Any promise for our future was snared the second I told him I was breaking free from our engagement and leaving Quaint.

“Here’s the deal,” Luke begins, eyes still on mine. “I don’t know what kind of game you have going on with that Andrew guy.” Uncomfortable already, I shift on my feet and look to where his hand meets the edge of my car door, his knuckles white from gripping the curved steel. “To be honest, I don’t really care, but I also know that you wouldn’t have claimed me as your boyfriend unless you truly felt like you had to.”

My eyes flick back to his. I shouldn’t have said he was anything to me, but Andrew’s beady eyes and naturally pressing personality got to me. I figuratively fumbled and caught myself in the hope that tying myself to someone would get Andrew off my back.

I’m honestly not sure where this is going, what he’s going to say. Am I going to like it? Is it going to instantly flip my mood? Spit it out already! “I’ll play along.”

I almost stumble back a step at the way his words hit me. I don’t understand. Days ago, he demanded I fix the situation I put us in. Now, he wants to take the part of a doting fake boyfriend. Something isn’t adding up. “Wh—”

“I’m not finished,” he says, removing his hand from the edge of the door and splaying his fingers out. “I’ll go along with it while you’re here if it’ll make you more comfortable, but I don’t want to know what’s going on between the two of you.”

My eyebrow arches and I cross my arms, my stance defensive. I watch with rapt attention as the seconds tick by, and he doesn’t elaborate. “Why are you doing this? What’s in it for you?”

He licks his lips, looking away for a beat before his gaze returns. “When does your contract with Regional end?”

I blink. “About two-and-a-half months.”

Ever so slowly, he takes a step closer, eating up the distance between us, and I swallow hard. His palm slides along my cheek, his fingertips tickling the back of my neck. When chills run along my skin, I ignore the need to close my eyes and relish in my body’s response. The heat that pools below the band of my scrubs, the goosebumps that rise on the back of my arms, the butterflies that flap a million times a second—all of it, ignored. I’d love to eat up this space and curl close to him, to apologize for the way my poor choices affected him. Not just for myself, but so both of us can have closure.

He tips my head up, his eyes moving to devour mine. Green against blue, a battle of two colors, until the turquoise drip, drip, drips to our feet. The very last thing I want him to see is that this is causing a reaction from me, that I’m desperate for us to move on from the past and create something better in its wake. “Why?” I question in a whisper, glancing at his full lips. “Why do you care how long I’m here for?”

“Because I have one condition.”

“What is it?”

His hand drops from my cheek, my skin instantly chilling. He stands taller. “You have to promise when your contract ends that you’ll leave. You’ll leave Quaint, and you won’t come back.”

Star-struck, I’m not exactly sure what to say. He wants me to leave Quaint forever, to never look back, to forget what we shared here? “What?”

“You’ll leave Quaint, and you’ll never take another gig here,” he repeats, voice stern.

“My family lives here, Luke. Of course, there will be times I’ll come back.”

He clears his throat. “Aside from visiting your family. That’s the only exception.”

While there’s a barrage of questions that I want to rattle off, I remain silent because, in the end, I’m unsure of how to reply. It’s not so simple because he’s learned there’s an advantage on his side. I should’ve known better. Luke isn’t dumb. He never was. He’s always been thoughtful, has always been able to stretch the thinnest string if he put his mind to it, and now is no different.

“So, that’s it? I leave and don’t return.” I shake my head, still trying to wrap my mind around it. “That’s what you really want?”

“You left, Layla. Bailed on every commitment you had while I built my reputation and career from the ground up. You wanted to get the hell away from here—from me.” He sniffs but holds my gaze as his honesty sears holes in my eardrums. “I won’t do this. I won’t work next to you. I won’t share a town with you. Excluding the time during your contractual obligations with Regional, I want nothing to do with you.”

I hate the prickling sensation that settles in behind my eyes, that they threaten to build tears. My chest tightens, my throat quivering with emotion. I clamp it down. Prohibit it from crawling into my mouth and allowing gut-wrenching sobs to leave it. Slamming my rear door, I climb into the driver’s seat to save face. I turn over the ignition and roll down the windows. These actions, however small, are enormous distractions that help keep my emotion locked down. I’m quick to find a piece of paper and pen in my cup holder to scribble my address on. When I pull my gearshift into drive, I’ve killed the sob that so desperately wanted to pour out of me.

If he wants me gone, fine. If he’s willing to play along, then game on. I hang my arm outside of the car. “We’re invited to the farmer’s market downtown on Saturday. Pick me up at eight.”

He plucks it from my hand, glances at it once, then eyes me. “I assume this means you agree?”

Without responding, I lift my foot off the gas and pull out of my space. As much as I would like to accept it, I can’t do it verbally. I’m certain I’ll break if I do. The confidence I arrived with wavers and fades each day I’m here. I used to be good at tamping down the emotional overwhelm when it came to Luke. For years, I could sidestep the hurt, guilt and frustration by focusing on work, but it’s clear that’s not going to happen. Not anymore. Not when we’re work neighbors.

The universe put me in this situation for a reason, and I can’t help but wonder whose sake it’s for. Which one of us is supposed to learn a lesson and come out unscathed, me or Luke?

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