Page 53 of Keeping You
“Hey, we were fashion icons,” she protests, giggling. “Keep going. There's more.”
I turn the page, and my breath is sucked out of me. There's Luke, maybe nineteen or twenty, leaning against a tree at the park. His hair is longer, falling into his eyes, and he's got that cocky half-grin that used to thrill me as a teenager. But what stops me is how he's looking at something, or someone, off camera. There's a softness in his expression that contrasts sharply with his tough guy pose.
“I took that,” Harper says quietly. “He was watching you. You were helping set up the archery contest with our dad, and Luke couldn't take his eyes off you.”
I stare at the photo, feeling a lump form in my throat. “I had no idea.”
“He was always watching you,” she says without a hint of animosity. “At first, it was nothing, his baby sister’s little friend, we were pests, and he was being protective. But later, when we were older, it changed.”
I glance up at her, surprised by her candidness.
“I'm sorry I made you choose,” she continues. “I was young and selfish and scared of losing my best friend to my brother.”
“Harper—”
“No, let me finish,” she insists. “I see the way he looks at you now. It's the same way he looked at you then, only... more. Deeper. And I want you to know that I'm happy for you both.”
Tears prick at the corners of my eyes. “Thank you, that means everything to me.”
She pulls me in for an emotional hug, and for a moment, I'm transported back to all those sleepovers, all those secrets shared, all those years of friendship before everything got complicated.
“Now,” she says, stepping back and wiping discreetly at her eyes, “let's find more embarrassing photos of Luke to show everyone.”
We spend the next half hour flipping through old memories, laughing until our sides hurt. Ruby joins in with stories from when we were all kids running wild through the Bluebonnet Café, and Mrs. Caldwell adds her own recollections.
It's during one particularly hilarious story about Luke's brief and disastrous attempt at joining the high school choir that I feel his hand on my shoulder. There’s this odd mix of embarrassment and affection in his expression.
“I see my reputation is being thoroughly destroyed,” he says dryly.
“Only a little,” I tease, reaching up to cover his hand with mine.
He leans down, placing his lips next to my ear. “Can I steal you away for a bit? There's something I want to show you.”
Curiosity piqued, I excuse myself from the group and follow Luke through the crowded bakery. He leads me to the back door, which opens onto a small garden area Anna has been cultivating. The space is quiet, secluded from the bustling party inside, with white fairy lights strung through the branches of a large oak tree that must be at least a hundred years old. In the distance, I can hear music and other people from town as they start filling Main Street, ready to celebrate a Texas small town holiday.
“This is beautiful,” I breathe, taking in the peaceful oasis. “I had no idea this was back here.”
“Anna showed it to me last week,” Luke says, guiding me to a small wrought-iron bench beneath the oak. “She's been workingon it since she took over the bakery. Says it reminds her of the garden our grandmother had.”
We sit side by side, our thighs touching, looking up at the twinkling lights in the branches above. The evening air is warm but not uncomfortable, carrying the scent of jasmine and freshly baked bread.
“Are you enjoying the party?” he asks, his thumb tracing patterns on the back of my hand.
“I am. It feels good being here, with everyone.”
“With me?” There's a hint of vulnerability in his question that tugs at my heart.
I turn to face him, cupping his cheek in my palm. “Especially with you.” I used to think that happily ever after was for storybooks. For Anne Shirley or Elizabeth Bennet, not for me. But sitting here beneath these lights, with Luke's hands warm around mine, I realize something I should’ve known all along: love isn't perfect. It's not about getting it right the first time. It's about finding your way back, finding each other even when the path has been anything but easy.
He turns his head to press a kiss to my palm, his eyes never leaving mine. There's a special intensity in his gaze tonight that makes my pulse race.
“When I came back to Texas,” he begins, “I wasn't sure I was making the right choice. I thought I was running away again. From Chicago. From what happened with Stu.”
I nod, giving him the space to continue, sensing that whatever he's trying to say is important.
“But then I saw you,” he continues, taking both my hands in his, “on my first day back in Cupid’s Creek, standing in that library doorway, looking at me like you couldn't believe I was real. And something clicked into place.”
I swallow past the ball of emotion caught in my throat as I watch him struggle to find the right words.
