Page 83 of The Best Book Boyfriend
“Oh. What’s the story?”
“Sunshine was my nickname for Heather.”Ah.“I’m sorry I wasn’t honest about it. It was only the second conversation we’d had and I just wasn’t ready to get into all that.”
“It’s OK. That’s a beautiful tribute.”
“Yeah, that’s what I hoped. But I don’t like to share that with too many people.”
I root around in the sand, mostly to avoid my feelings and his expression. Luke crouches by my side and I show him how to hunt for sea glass, digging deep down under the pebbles to find the hidden gems.
“Is this seaglass?” he asks, holding out a little aquamarine piece of glass that’s been rolled over years into a smooth oval. It’s comforting to me to know that even though the sea is changing every day, things like this can last for decades here. They never give up.
“Well, would you look at that. Keep it. A nice memento of a shitty day.”
He pockets it, and when we turn to retrace our steps he slings an arm over my shoulder and pulls me into his side. “This is so far from a shitty day, Kara.”
“I think it probably is better, you know,” I say when we get back on the road to head home.
“What is?”
“Life without Adam.”
“I think so too. I’m glad he left. We might not have met otherwise.” Luke smiles softly, a contented hum rumbling in his throat. Elbow against the window, he leans against his hand and before long he dozes off in the fading sun. He sleep for most of the ride home and I turn the radio off and just listen to the sound of his breathing.
Back at his house we both head inside.
“You sit down, I’ll rustle something up for dinner.” There is still soup in the fridge from the other day and I heat up two bowls and butter some bread. I’m not particularly hungry after such a big portion of fish and chips and he seems exhausted so it’s plenty. We hang out on the sofa and skip around Friday night telly, happy to just sit together watching a gardening show, a panel show, a late night chat show. At some point, he lifts my feet into his lap and strokes my tired calves with his thumb.
“Can you stay again?”
“Do you want me to stay?”
We don’t even ask the questions. When he turns off the TV, I follow him upstairs and into his room, where we change with our backs to each other. I slip into the t-shirt he’s left out for me before. It’s mine now.
“There’s a spare toothbrush in the cabinet under the sink, by the way,” he says. While I brush, I avoid looking at myself in the mirror, a little fearful of what I might recognise that I am still pretending isn’t happening to me. To us.
Slipping under the covers, he asks if I want to read and I nod so we sit, propped up side by side with our books. I’m too tired to take in my story though, so I set it down on the bedside table, scoot down and roll into his side.
“Come here,” he whispers, and I lay my head on his shoulder, taking care not to block his view of his book. He lifts my arm, pulls it across his stomach and my body softens into his as he keeps reading.
It’s not romantic, but it’s not just friendly either, it’s something more. Warm. Safe. Peaceful. It’s no wonder I fall asleep with his soft t-shirt against my cheek, his hand on my elbow, his thumb stroking my skin.
Chapter 34
Kara
ApparentlyLukedoesn’tliketo laze in bed in the morning because I wake up alone again. Music streams up from downstairs, so at least I don’t panic that something bad has happened this time. Instead, I stretch out in the middle of the bed and do a body scanning thing Megan taught me. Head, OK. Shoulders, stiff from driving. Chest, heavy. Stomach, hungry. Legs, wriggly. Heart, all over the place.
Something has shifted this weekend. At least it has for me. Despite the heaviness, I haven’t once wanted to be anywhere else. And though we haven’t exactly been laughing it up as we’ve periodically purged our feelings, it’s been special in its own way. A deepening of our friendship.
I find Luke downstairs dressed and pulling on his trainers. “Are you going to work?”
“Yeah, I promised Katy I’d be back by the weekend and I’m on the early shift. Sorry, I didn’t want to wake you.”
“It’s OK. I’ll head off too.”
“Do you have a date today?” he asks, his eyes glued to the laces that slip between his fingers and into a knot.
“No,” I say. “No more dates.”
