Outrageously in Love by Jen Morris

15

Istare at the ceiling, willing my brain to switch off. I’ve been in bed for three hours and I can’t stop replaying what happened at Luke’s—how one moment he looked like he wanted to take me right there on the kitchen island, the next like he couldn’t stand the sight of me. Every time I picture his face after I spilled the ink, my heart sinks. I’m sure it’s an expensive rug, but it was an honest mistake.

My phone buzzes on the nightstand and I roll over, blinking at the bright light from the screen in the dark room. My pulse accelerates when I see who the message is from.

Luke: Harriet, I’m sorry. Are you okay?

I prop my head up on my hand, reading his words over again. Am I okay? I’m not sure, but I type out a reply anyway.

Harriet: I’m fine. Sorry again about the rug.

I expect to receive another text, but Luke’s name lights my screen with a call. I hesitate, checking the time. It’s nearly two in the morning, and I don’t know if I want to talk to him.

But I take a deep breath and answer. “Hey.”

“Hey.” His deep voice comes down the line, rougher than usual. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be awake.”

“Yeah. I can’t sleep.”

“Me neither. I had to talk to you. I’m sorry for being a dick about the rug.” His tone is heavy with remorse and I feel myself soften.

“It’s okay. I overreacted, running out of there, but I was mortified. That rug is probably worth more than my car. I’ll replace it as soon as you tell me where—”

“Seriously, no. I meant it when I said it doesn’t matter. I don’t even like the damn thing. I was just frustrated—I mean, after you…” He’s quiet for a moment, and all I can hear is his breathing. “I wasn’t thinking straight.”

After I what?I want to ask, but he continues.

“I threw the rug in the Dumpster and actually, it felt good. I never realized how much I’ve been walking on eggshells since Dena moved out. I started to redecorate—I redid the bedroom and put up the shelves—but it was like I was afraid to touch the rest of the place. Then tonight… Really, I should be thanking you. You reminded me that I’ve never felt comfortable here. Once the wedding is over, I’m going to finish redecorating.”

“You should,” I say, and he makes a sound of amusement.

“You said you liked my place.”

“Yeah, I did, but… I was trying to be polite. Honestly, I kind of feel like…” I fiddle with the blanket, searching for the right words. “Like I can’t breathe in there.”

“Yes. You’re right. That’s exactly what it feels like.” He releases a huge sigh. “Anyway, I’m sorry. I was going to call tomorrow but I couldn’t sleep. I just kept thinking about how upset you looked when you left. I hate that I made you upset.”

Despite myself, a smile nudges my lips. He was worried about me being upset? The thought drains all the tension from my body, and I settle back onto the mattress. I realize, as I tuck the phone between the pillow and my ear, that speaking with Luke in bed at this time of night feels kind of intimate—almost like he’s here with me.

“I feel better now,” I murmur.

“Good.” He sounds relieved and it makes my heart beat faster. “Can I take you somewhere tomorrow?”

“Where?”

“I’ve been thinking about your cafe idea, and what you wrote on that napkin. I thought—”

“Oh.” I huff a laugh, feeling embarrassed. Why did I show that to him? “I just doodle on that when I’m bored. It’s like… a fantasy to get me through the workday.”

“No way. That napkin—those notes—that’s not just a fantasy. That’s something you really want. That’s a dream.”

“Well, you know.” I pull the covers up to my chin. “It’s not good to dwell on dreams and forget to live.”

The quiet chuckle from Luke tells me he recognizes Dumbledore’s wisdom. “Trust me when I say, it’s also not good to ignore your dreams.”

Something warm spreads through my veins. He called me up in the middle of the night to make sure I wasn’t upset, and now he’s thinking about my cafe and wants to take me somewhere. God, he’s being so freaking sweet right now.

“Harriet…” He says my name in a low rumble that shivers right through me. “Just let me show you this place tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” I hear myself reply. I snuggle under the covers, my hand resting on my belly. For the first time in a long time, I’m tempted to trail that hand lower, to keep Luke on the phone and tell him that I can’t stop thinking about what we did on the plane, to forget about all the things that are holding me back and just live inside this moment. I think of the way he looked at me when I leaned over the kitchen island tonight—the way he ground out the words Fuck, Harriet. It makes me restless and hot, makes my breath come in short, quick bursts.

Then I hear a sound out in the hallway and the light flicks on, shining through the crack under my door, and I’m brought to my senses.

What is wrong with me? Why do I keep forgetting that I’m supposed to be angry with him about our situation—not attracted to him?

I clear my throat, forcing a neutral tone. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Good night.”

“Good night, Harriet.”

And when the line goes dead, I tell myself it’s for the best.