Page 87 of This Loving Feeling (Mirror Lake)

Of course he loved Sam. She was the only woman he’d ever loved but he was so, so afraid. What did he know about love? About caring for another person? About sticking with that person through thick and thin? Everyone from his youth had let him down. He’d been rejected over and over by family after family, the kid no one wanted.

Maybe Sam was right. A part of him still saw himself as that unlovable, unadoptable kid. Too flawed to be loved. So he kept driving himself and driving himself. No matter how much success he found, it would never be enough.

He flicked the ash off the cigarette. Finally, in a gesture borne more of despair than of triumph, he tossed the cigarette on the ground and crushed it beneath his heel.

“Excellent choice,paidi mou.You don’t need those filthy things anyway.”

“Jesus!” He turned to see Mrs.Panagakos standing in the storeroom doorway, dressed all in black—black hose, black dress, and a little black veil.

“You need a shave,” she said. “No foul language in front of the boy.”

“What boy?”

Stevie peeked out from behind Mrs.P. He had chocolate all over his face. And his mood looked considerably improved, thank the Lord. Gertie was there, too. Did anyone in this town mind their own business?

“Stevie has something to tell you,” Mrs.Panagakos said, “so we came and found you.”

“How did you even know we were here?” Lukas asked. “And why are you dressed like that?”

“It’s hard to miss that big bus of yours in the parking lot. I wear black when I’m depressed. I’m very saddened by the recent turn of events with you and Samantha. And I will miss you and Stavros terribly.” She started to choke up. “But right now, Stevie wants to tell you something. Go ahead, my precious.” She nudged Stevie forward. “Tell him what you just told me.”

“Uncle Lukas, I love you because you taught me to swim. And you tuck me in at night. And you sing to me and do cool magic tricks. But I love Sammy, too.”

Lukas looked down at his boy. He touched his soft smeared little-boy cheek. Everything he’d done for Stevie from the moment he’d eyeballed him sitting by himself on the steps of Lukas’s bus while the social worker told his story had been to prevent that little child from experiencing even an ounce more of pain. Not for any reason other than he loved him.

And Stevie loved Lukas ... just because he did simple things for him. Not because he was famous or successful. Stevie didn’t care about his recording contracts or who the Rolling Stones were (although one day he probably would). And maybe that was enough.

Maybe he wasn’t a typical guy in a lot of ways—he’d grown up without a family or a fancy education, and his job was atypical. But he was sick without Sam and so was Stevie. Maybe chasing after success twenty-four seven was not the only way to ensure that he had a good life.

He loved her and maybe that would be enough to get him through all the things he didn’t know, that he had no clue or experience about.

He looked up and saw Mrs.Panagakos clutching her heart. Gertie was right behind her.

“Did you feed him that script?” Lukas raised a brow.

“I swear on my mother’s Bible that those words came out of his very own mouth.”

“Sure did,” seconded Gertie.

Lukas often thought he was alone in the world but maybe he wasn’t. The people here helped him for a reason—not because they wanted something from him but because they were good people who were trying to prevent him from screwing up. Whether they were scheming and conniving or not.

“What time is it, anyway?” Lukas asked, scrubbing a hand through his hair.

“Four o’clock,” Mrs.P. said.

“Think we can get to the tux shop before it closes?”

“Oh, thank the Lord,” Mrs.P. said, sighing heavily. “Now I can change out of this black. It’s not flattering on me at all.”

“What’s a tux?” Stevie asked.

Lukas grinned. “Something Sammy’s going to love.”

“Hey, Ms.Rushford,” Cal said, making his way through the massive theater lobby, which was teeming with people on one very busy Saturday night. Cal wore black pants and a white dress shirt with a black bow tie and carried a bottle of wine. At his elbow, Leo appeared holding a tray over one shoulder loaded with clear plastic drink cups half-full of wine.

“I know the wine glasses never made it but we sent Denise and Katie to Sam’s Club and found these. Not bad, huh?” Cal picked up one of the fat little drink cups and examined it.

She was about to tell them she wasn’t sure if eighteen year olds were allowed to serve wine. And warn them not to get plastered. And ten other admonitions that wavered on the tip of her tongue. But something held her back. It was the look in their eyes. They looked... proud. Concerned—for her. And they were smiling. Cal cleared his throat.

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