Page 86 of The Friend Game

I don’t know what’s wrong with me. It’s like I’m applying the same theory to Luke that I did the pottery wheel—this might be the last time you see Luke, so enjoy the view.

That or my head is just muddled from being in this pottery room; the setting of myGhostreenactmentfantasy.

I blink at him, forcing my brain to wake up and join the conversation. I might lose Luke if this doesn’t go well, so imagining pottery room kisses isgoing to have to wait. Don’t put the cart before the horse, as the saying goes.

“It would’ve felt amazing,” I say, looking down at my lap, “but something was missing.”

“Oh? And what was that?”

I lift my head and look straight at him. “You.”

Luke sucks in a breath. “Hannah,” his voice is rough as he takes a step into the room. I get to my feet and stride toward him, desperate to have his arms around me, telling me without words that we’re okay again.

No, actually I need the words too. A hug and whispered proclamations of his undying love isn’t too much to ask for…is it?

I have a diary to write in later, after all. Or at least a hypothetical diary.

I’m sure I can dig up a notebook somewhere.

But I don’t get the words or the hug, because Lukes pulls to an abrupt stop as soon as we get within an arm’s length of each other. Then he takes a step back, running a hand through his hair and letting out a groan.

“I never can seem to keep my head on straight around you,” he rumbles soft and low.

“Who said you had to?” I whisper, then, as Luke’s eyes heat and his breath hitches, I realize this sounds a bit forward, like perhaps I’m suggesting he lose his head completely and we make out right here, right now. Which admittedly Iwould be in total favor of, but was not what I meant. “I mean,” I say quickly because as much as I want to kiss Luke, this is important, “I want you to feel safe with me. Like you can be yourself and not worry that I’ll judge you or whatever. I know I talk a lot about how you’re a pastor so I get worried that dating me is going to cast aspersions on you or whatnot. But I hope you know that regardless of other people’s expectations for you, I certainly don’t expect you to be perfect.”

Luke lets out a very long breath, then takes a step back. “Oh right,” he says ruefully, “that’s why I lose my head around you, because in addition to being so dang beautiful on the outside, you also have the most beautiful heart.”

Goodness. My hand is doing that thing again. The fluttering thing from this morning. I think I might have a tic. A Luke tic.

“But,” Luke goes on, and it’s such a weightedbutthat my hand immediately drops back to my side, “I need to take some time to sort this whole thing out.” He sighs. “Tonight was…” he searches for the word.

“Horrific?” I suggest. “Terrible. Going to replace showing up to school naked as the subject matter of my future recurring nightmares?”

Luke lets out a weak chuckle. “Yeah, all of those.” He dips his head to the side. “Though mynightmares center more around showing up naked to the pulpit.”

In spite of my angst a laugh bursts out of me. “That would certainly drive up Sunday morning attendance,” I say without thinking, then blush furiously. “I mean,” I stammer but Luke’s face has split into a wicked grin.

“Oh, you think so, do you?” he teases.

“Don’t you flirt with me, mister,” I say, lifting my chin as I attempt to playoff my embarrassment. “Not when two seconds ago you sounded as if you were about to break up with me.”

Whoops. There goes my big mouth again. Luke’s smile vanishes instantly replaced by a chastened frown. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

No. Nope. Nah-uh. That is most definitely not what he was supposed to say. He was supposed to be all,Break up with you? Are you crazy? Let’s get married!

Or you know, at least the first two bits.

“Oh, so you are,” I clear my throat, but the words still come out croaky, “breaking up with me?”

Do not cry, Hannah,I instruct myself sternly as Luke’s expression turns regretful, signaling that yes, yes he is about to break up with me.Do not cry. Save it all for your imaginary diary.

“I don’t know what else to do, Hannah,” he says sorrowfully. “Tonight as I was walking I waspraying for direction, asking God if I should keep fighting for this thing between us when it seems like we keep running into roadblock after roadblock. And for the first time when it comes to my prayers about you and me— I didn’t hear anything.”

“I see,” I whisper, my heart breaking. Now it feels like God is breaking up with me too.

“Hannah,” his voice is full of desperation for me to understand, “I want to be with you, but tonight was a complete disaster.”

Disaster. The word ricochets through me.No.Luke is wrong. Marshall and I, we were a disaster. That’s why I call what happened between us “The Disaster.” Luke and I—we are not a disaster. I open my mouth, suddenly overcome with the urge to fight for us, but he’s still talking.

---