Page 19 of The Moment of Letting Go

“What kind of chips were they?” I ask.

“Tortilla,” he says without hesitation.

I nod. “Well, at least she was going to feed you.”

Luke smiles, a shadow cast by me standing over him covering his face. I purposely step to the side and a burst of sunlight beams into his eyes, causing him to flinch. He laughs and springs to his feet.

Suddenly his expression shifts, the playful look disappears, replaced by apology and sincerity. I can’t stop looking at his eyes. They’re so kind and devoted and passionate.

“I almost didn’t come,” he finally says with honesty.

“Why not?” I’m not sure I really want to know the answer to that.

Luke pushes his hands deep into his pockets, his arms tightening to reveal the hard, defined muscles running along them.

“I guess I just thought if I spent an hour with you before you had to leave, I’d probably like you enough that I’d be more disappointed you couldn’t stay longer.”

Wow—already on the same wavelength and we barely know each other. This is kinda freaking me out. In a good way.

I look down, trying to tame the heat in my face.

But all too soon reality rears its ugly head and the moment is lost.

I switch shoulders with the beach bag and look back at the hotel where Paige waits for me inside. I sigh quietly. Less than five minutes with Luke and already I like him enough that I wish I could stay longer. I can’t be completely sure, but it kind of scares me a little to think what a full hour with him might do.

“Well, I really do have to go.” I step away from him. “My plane leaves at one and I still have to get all my stuff together.”

Luke fishes his cell phone from his pocket and glances at the screen.

“Fifteen minutes,” he says. “At least give me that much time to make up for being late.”

Yes! That sounds awesome.

“No,” I say, shaking my head disappointedly. “I really can’t. There’s just not enough time. It’s nearly an hour drive to the airport. If anything, I should leave in fifteen minutes.”

“Then miss your plane,” he says simply.

I blink with surprise.

He steps up to close the space I created when I started to walk away from him. I can’t find my voice—not sure what to say to something like that.

“Come on,” he continues, a smile slowly etching into his features. “Unless you have somewhere you absolutely have to be the moment you step off that plane in San Diego, it’s not going to hurt you to miss this flight and catch the next one.” His smile broadens and he gestures a hand casually amid the space in front of him. “People miss their flights all the time: woke up late; got stuck in traffic; got clipped in the street by a crazy, bike-riding chick who feeds her victims tortilla chips before she tortures them—pick any excuse and go with it.”

I chuckle lightly, a tiny burst of air pushing through my lips. But I still can’t bring myself to respond, because I’m not sure how. I know what I want to do, but like so much in my life, it doesn’t at all feel like I should.

He gives me puppy-dog eyes.

Seriously?! Puppy-dog eyes? You think that’s actually going to work?

“OK,” I say, caving to some mysterious forces at work here that I need to have a serious talk with later. “Let me call the airline and see if I can get a later flight. My assistant is going to think I’ve lost my mind.”

Beaming, Luke nods and takes a step back as if to give me some privacy. I dig my phone from my bag and unlock the screen. I quickly look up my flight info online and call the airline to find out if there’s a later flight out today. There is, and I book it without even thinking about the extra charges for making a last-minute change.

“I bought myself three hours,” I tell Luke, taking into account the hour it takes to get to the airport. “How are we going to spend it?” I drop my phone inside my bag and suck in a deep, nervous, crazy breath—what am I doing? This is nuts! And why does it feel like my face is about to split in half?

Luke grins back at me.

He steps up to me. I hear the sand crunching underneath his flip-flops. His closeness makes me intimately aware of my own heartbeat. I don’t know why. I don’t care that I don’t. I just know that I don’t want it to stop.

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