Page 15 of The Friend Game

“But you don’t have the same last name,” I say stupidly.

“Well, technically I’m his stepson,” he explains. “Both he and my mom lost their spouses at a young age. They met in a grief support group and fell in love. George has been the only fatherI’ve known since the age of seven, but I kept my last name in honor of my late father.”

“Oh.” I’m still reeling from all of these developments. “I’m so sorry about your dad,” I say completely inadequately.

“Thanks.” Luke offers me a half smile.

“Aunt Hannah,” Ellie tugs my hand, “can we do the cakewalk now? There’s a long line.”

I start to attention, peering behind her to see that she’s right; while I’ve been standing here ogling a pastor a line of children ready to do the cakewalk has formed.

“Of course, let’s do the cakewalk.” I address the line. “Sorry for the delay. Go ahead and find your numbers.”

The costumed kids all rush to find their favorite numbers, and a few minutes pass with me negotiating with a 6-year-old to get her to start on the seven square instead of the already occupied six square then trying to explain to two other girls why they can’t start on the same number. When everyone finally has a spot, I head back over to the sound system to press play on the music. Luke is still standing there. A happy glow fills me. He’s waiting for me! Oh wait, no, he’s talking to Max.

Dang it.

Just because he’s single doesn’t automatically mean he’s interested in you, I remind myself.Simmer down.

I switch the music on and the kids start moving around the circle to the opening notes of “Monster Mash.”I’m debating the merits of using the word ghoul as my first word in Wordle later, when someone speaks from next to me, making me jump in surprise.

Luke chuckles. “That’s three times now I’ve startled you. I really need to work on my approach.”

“No, no. It’s not your fault. I was just really engrossed in this cakewalk.” I reach over and hit pause on the music to illustrate my point, then grab a number from the bowl. “The winner is seventeen,” I announce.

An older boy dressed in a costume I can’t identify whoops loudly and heads to the cake table to claim his prize.

“Rueben, love the costume, man.” Luke pats the kid on the back as he passes us, and Rueben’s grin broadens.

“Really, Pastor Abbott? Because so far tonight nobody has known who I am.”

“What?” Luke looks appalled. “With that mustache and the khaki hunting suit, anyone can see you’re Teddy Roosevelt.”

Rueben grins. “IamTeddy Roosevelt!” Luke offers him a fist bump.

“Bully for you!” Luke exclaims as their fists meet and Rueben giggles.

“Sorry.” Luke looks almost embarrassed as Rueben saunters on to the cake table. “I’m a bit of a history nerd.”

“Cool,” I say lamely. “Me too,” I add because I have a weird compulsion to agree with people.

“Really?” His face lifts, and I feel a spurt of guilt.

“Well, I mean, I like art history. Or at least I like looking at old art. You know, from time to time.” I am such an idiot.

Luke’s lips twitch in amusement. “So what you’re saying is you like art?”

“I guess so,” I admit with a blush.

“Cool. I like art too.” Luke’s lips have stopped twitching and he’s actually looking quite serious. Honestly, I’m starting to feel a bit bad for fibbing. “Well,” he goes on, “I guess I should say, I like historical art. Or at least I like reading about the lives of artists throughout history.” He grins, and I realize he’s messing with me. “You know, from time to time.” He’s laughing now, and I reach over and swat him.

“Haha, very funny.” I shake my head at him, but he just keeps laughing. His baritone chuckle reverberates in my chest, fanning the warm glow I’ve felt there since his arrival tonight. I like him. The thought both thrills and terrifies me. My last relationship ended badly. Likereallybadly. Give upyour artistic passions and flee home to live in your sister’s guest house badly.

“In all seriousness,” Luke’s voice cuts into my thoughts, “I’ve actually been wanting to apologize for the other day. I didn’t mean to abandon you in the parking lot like that. Lexie wanted me to come review some books they’re buying for the library. She can be fairly insistent.”

“No apology needed,” I assure him.

“Well,” he rakes a hand through his hair, “still, I apologize.” His eyes meet mine and despite the heat of this overpacked gym, a shiver runs through me. “For that and for the part I played in losing you your job at the museum. I hope my dad conveyed how much that day, that experience specifically, meant to my nephew. But we are deeply sorry for what it cost you.”

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