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She heads back, leaving me bouncing behind the coffee bar. I haven’t even stolen any extra caffeine for myself today, but between Chloe’s announcement and my sneaky text to Luke, I can barely stay still through the end of my shift. At least Old Babs is as calm as ever. I pet her to try to bring my own restless energy down to something more sedate, but the end of my shift seems to drag on and on.
Finally, I see my high school-aged replacement heading up the sidewalk. Our shifts are supposed to overlap, but she’s an hour late, which is nothing unusual. At least she’s not more than an hour late and I get to leave on timeinstead of being stuck here until someone finally shows up to replace me.
I grab my stuff the second the kid gets through the door. The café is quiet enough that I don’t need to make much of a hand off. The kid barely acknowledges me before she takes my place at the register, and I’m happy to leave without any sort of conversation. I don’t even remember her name, and she’ll probably quit the second her summer vacation starts. Hopefully this Cameron guy can replace her by then, and we can have something resembling a full crew.
Whatever. Not my problem. I’m done with the café and all its little dramas for the day, and I don’t need to be at the club so I’m looking forward to getting home, making some food and watching something that requires as close to zero braincells as possible.
At least, that’s what I assume my plan is until I check my phone.
It’s been so long that I’ve almost (almost) forgotten that I messaged Luke asking how his day was. My mission to put the text out of my mind worked, apparently, but I’m still shocked to find a reply waiting for me. Maybe it’s him telling me to leave him alone forever, but even that is more words than I expected to receive from him for the rest of my life.
When I manage to read the message, my shock only deepens.
Come over tonight. I’ll make dinner.
It’s not even a question. It’s not a suggestion. It’s a blunt command, and while I know I could say no … why the hell would I?
I almost trip over my own feet as I continue my walk home. I lobbed out an easy, casual, friendly question, something so mundane I hoped Luke couldn’t find it offensive or alarming, and he’s come back with an invitation I never expected to receive. His house. His actual house. He’s going to cook for me. Like a … like a date?
No. I can’t call it that. I absolutely can’t call it that. Whatever boldness has inspired him to send this response, I need to keep playing it cool. This is … a hookup with a meal thrown in. You can cook for your hookups who you’ve seen three times and stayed the night with once. That’s … completely normal…
I stop thinking about all the implications. Who cares what’s normal or not normal? Luke and I haven’t so much as brushed shoulders with “normal” since the very start of this. Why would we start now?
Besides, all that really matters is that I’m going to see him again, and that has my heart flipping all over my chest.
I walk home way too quickly, so quickly that I work up enough of a sweat to need a shower. Because I’m going to see Luke tonight. I have hisaddress. He’s making medinner.
I don’t care if this is real or not. Right now, it’s real enough.
Chapter Eighteen
Luke
THE OVEN BEEPS AS a car pulls up outside my house. I watch nervously through the kitchen window as Sebastian exits, checks his phone, then starts up the walkway to my front door.
My heart jumps into my throat. I turn off the oven and hastily pull out the dish inside it before tossing my mitts aside and combing my fingers through my hair. As though that’s going to make much of a difference. I’m me, regular old Luke, and Sebastian is like some kind of fantasy striding out of my brain and toward my house. His long, dark hair sits high on his head, the ponytail brushing his neck as he walks. He’s wearing a shirt with a deep V that shows off his smooth chest and pants that hug his slim hips and slender legs. Did he dress up for this or does helook this good all the time?
I’m still debating it when he knocks. I jerk into motion, rushing toward the door and nervously tugging at my beard. I neatened it up so it hugs my jaw more closely, but otherwise I’m my usual dorky self. Which makes it even more baffling that Sebastian responded positively to this invitation. After how I’ve treated him, Sebastian had every reason to tell me to fuck off, but he said yes, and now he’s here. He’s actually here. Waiting outside my door. Looking likethat.
Sebastian’s smile expands to take up his whole face when I throw open the door. He looks even better up close, and for a crazy moment I think about stepping forward and kissing him. I hold back, of course. That’s not what this is, and it would be beyond confusing if I put that on the table after telling him it was too intimate on day one.
“Come in,” I say. “Dinner’s almost ready.”
Sebastian steps inside and breathes deeply. “It smells amazing. What is it?”
“Just chicken.”
“That smells way better than normal chicken.”
I smile to myself. “There’s a little extra going on. It’s my mom’s recipe.”
“I can’t wait to try it.”
I lead him inside. My house is pretty plain. The kitchen lies a couple steps past the entrance. I bought a proper table with four matching chairs, but this is the first time inages that I’ve needed any except the one I always sit on. It’s weird pulling out a chair for Sebastian, seeing him at my table, having him in my house. He looks around, taking in the boring wallpaper I never managed to change and the drab appliances in the kitchen.
“This place is cute,” he says. “And so quiet. It would be perfect for a cat, you know. Old Babs at the café needs a nice quiet place to live, the sweet old girl.”
“Thanks. Um. Do you want something to drink? I have…” I open the fridge, partially to distract myself from the fact that he’s really here in my house. I really did this. It’s really happening.
