Page 48 of Keeping You
When I turn back, I notice he’s holding something behind his back. “What are you hiding?”
His smile turns slow, mysterious. “Maybe nothing. Maybe something.”
“Luke Caldwell, are you being coy with me?”
“Patience, Cooper. Good things come to those who wait.”
I roll my eyes, but curiosity buzzes through me like static. Then the kettle whistles, saving him from further interrogation. I pour the water, letting the scent of chamomile drift in the air, and when I turn back, he’s holding a rectangular package, wrapped in simple brown paper and tied with a piece of blue ribbon.
“What’s this?” My voice catches, because something about the way he’s watching me seems hopeful, almost nervous.
“Open it and see.”
I take it carefully, the weight solid in my hands making me think it’s a book. The paper crinkles as I remove the ribbon, slowly, savoring the anticipation. The deep green leather cover emerges, worn smooth with age, gold letters embossed across the front and the spine.
Anne of Green Gables. But not just any copy. A genuine first edition.
My hands tremble. “Luke…” My voice breaks on his name. “How did you know?”
“You mentioned it was your favorite,” he says quietly. “That your mom used to read it to you. I noticed you had other Montgomery books, but not this one. Not a special copy, anyway.”
Emotion swells, so sharp and sudden it almost hurts. “Luke… this is… oh my God.”
He shifts, rubbing the back of his neck, like he’s suddenly unsure. “I had to call a few specialty shops. Found this one in San Antonio. Drove down last weekend to pick it up.”
My head jerks up. “Last weekend? You said you were helping Travis fix the fencing.”
“White lie,” he admits with a crooked grin. “Wanted it to be a surprise.”
He drove three hours. For me. For this.
I set the book down gently, reverently, and then launch myself at him, wrapping my arms around his neck as I press my mouth to his. The kiss is fierce and full of everything I can’t seem to put into words.
When I sit back, happy tears streak my cheeks. “Nobody's ever done anything like this for me,” I whisper, cradling the book like it's made of glass.
His hands come up to frame my face, thumbs gently brushing my cheeks. “Then everybody else is an idiot,” he says simply, his voice gruff with emotion.
My laugh is shaky, watery. “Thank you doesn't seem enough.”
“Your happiness is thanks enough.” He kisses my forehead softly. “I just want to make you happy.”
“You do.” I rest my cheek against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart beneath my ear. It's the most comforting sound I've ever heard. “Every single day.”
We stay like that for a while, the cooling mugs forgotten on the counter, the quiet between us rich and full of everything we’re both feeling.
“I can't believe you remembered that story about my mom.”
“I remember everything you tell me, Callie. I always have.”
I reach for the book again, carefully opening it to the first page, where Anne Shirley's story begins.
“Mom would read this to me whenever I was sick or sad.” I run my finger along the familiar words. “She loved to do different voices for the characters. She’d get so animated that sometimes Dad would peek into my room to watch her performance. I used to imagine I was Anne, with her wild imagination.” Memories take over and I’m quiet for a few moments. “After my parents died, I couldn't bring myself to read it again. Our copy got packed away somewhere during the move, and I just... never replaced it.”
Luke’s arm tightens around me. “I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”
“No, don’t be sorry. This…” I meet his eyes, and my throat constricts. “This feels like having a piece of her back.”
“You know what I always loved about that story?” he asks, his voice thoughtful.
