CHAPTER 4
~Luke~
I SHOULD CALL her. I really should. I’m just not ready for the wrath.
The other night was good, the best three hours I’ve spent with a woman since… well, since spending it with her before we broke up. Even now, we’re comfortable being around each other, the feeling of home still connecting us.
She felt it.
Just like me.
I could tell in the way she relaxed on the couch and laughed during dinner. I could see it in her eyes when she thought I didn’t notice. But she still refuses to let me back in, fully. The wall she keeps around her, keeps me at a distance despite how at ease we may be. Jane’s become more stubborn than she used to be. I think that’s a good thing, but I’m not entirely sure yet. I have a feeling I’m going to find out during the film’s production though.
Taking the phone in hand, I find her name in my contacts. I call her before I have a chance of chickening out. Shit. Why are my hands sweating? It’s Jane. My Jane. The girl I’ve loved almost half my life. The girl I’ve known since we were sixteen…
“We’re gonna be busted, Luke.” She rubs her hand over my leg. She’s nervous, which adds to her excitement. I’ve discovered she’s very touchy feely when she’s nervous—not like she can keep her hands off me normally, but more so when she’s excited at the prospect of breaking the rules. “How can you be so calm right now?”
“Because I’m with you,” I whisper, “and we’ve got nowhere else to go, so this is it or not at all.” Please, Heaven above, let this be the night.
She looks around and smiles, the stress leaving her expression and her green eyes bright in the moonlight that slips in through the open window. “You did this for me? The flowers and blankets, the pillows?”
My dad, older brother, and I built this tree house when I was seven. It’s as solid as our house across the yard from us. I spent the afternoon lugging stuff up here from the linen closet—pillows, blankets. I grabbed some vases and picked flowers from my mom’s rose garden. There’s even a small Igloo cooler with Snapple and soda in it. Now I’m nervous. “Do you like it?”
With a rose under her nose, she inhales and says, “It’s so romantic like in the movies.” The vase in her hands is replaced by a pillow she hugs to her chest.
“I would have had candles but I didn’t want my parents to see the light.”
She curls around the pillow, bending her knees and wrapping her arms around her legs.
I ask, “Are you cold?”
“A little.”
Taking one of the blankets, I get up and wrap it around both of us. “I’ll keep you warm.” Touching her face, I run my thumb over her cheek and then into her hair and pull her closer. “I did this for you. Only you. And I’ll do more. I love you, Jane.” Hoping she feels the same about me, I kiss her.
…and the only girl to break my heart. “Fuck it.” I call her. Each ring feels like a ping to my heart. Each heartbeat weighted equal with anticipation and dread. I have no idea how she’ll react to the news of me producing her movie. When she answers on the fourth ring, it’s too late to worry now.
“Hello?” Her greeting is curt.
“Jane.” My voice trembles an octave too high. Fuck. I clear my throat and try again. “Jane, it’s Luke.”
“Yes, I know.”
Not a great start. Fuck, why am I so nervous? “I want to talk to you about your movie, Until I Met You. I’m happy to be a part of the project.”
“I was wondering if you were going to bother to mention that minor detail.”
Shit. She sounds irritated. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you last night.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Can we talk?”
“I thought we were.”
“In person.” I wait, the silence expanding across the miles that separate us.
Sounding as if she’s been forced to give trade secrets, she relents and says, “I’m at Fair Trade Beanery down on Wilshire.”
“I’ll be there within the hour.”
When I hang up, I set the phone down and release a huge breath of relief. Every step with her feels like a chess move. Professionally I need to get things on course. Personally… I wouldn’t mind the same, but since she has a fiancé, I need to respect her boundaries like I did last night. I was the friend she obviously needed. I can play that role for her if she wants as long as it gets me more time with her. I can… yes, I can be her friend without our past being dragged to the forefront. We’ll replace what feels like a lifetime of romantic memories with new ones—friendlier ones.
I grab my keys from the desk and leave to meet her.
When I walk into Fair Trade, I do a quick scan and find her in a leather chair facing away from the door. Her blond hair is in a messy bun on top of her head and I smile when I see her profile as she gazes out the window beside her.
She’s heart-stoppingly gorgeous.
Friends, I remind myself.
I go over and sit down across from her in a matching leather chair. “Hi.” My eyes are focused on hers, looking for a reaction to play off—anger, happiness, sadness, annoyed—anything that lets me into her world again, even if just for a moment. Fuck, I obviously can’t be just friends with her. She means too much to me. Still.
“Hi.”
My heart thunders in my chest. Is my heart reminding me what I already know, answering my own question? Probably. Be cool. Stay calm. Don’t scare her with raging thoughts of how I want to tell her how stunningly beautiful she is. Or how I miss the way her body fit so perfectly, or she would say, “snugly” to mine. Nope, don’t tell her I still relieve pressure with images of her on a weekly basis. Nope, don’t tell her any of that and… Shit. I can’t do this with her looking perfect in her cut-off jean shorts and plaid shirt tied at her waist. Her face fresh and almost makeup free apart from a little light pink lipstick that makes the light reflect drawing my attention right to them. Those lips… I miss them. So fucking much. Standing abruptly, I offer, “Can I get you anything?”
“No, thank you.” A light smile appears as she reaches for her mug. “I’ve got a coffee.”
“Banana bread?” Shit, I sound like an insane person.
“No, I’m fine. Thanks.”
“Blueberry muffin?” Shut the fuck up runs through my head, scolding myself because I sound like an idiot, and for some reason cannot manage to keep my mouth closed.
She shoots me a look. “No, really. I’m fine. Get whatever you want. I’ll be here.”
I walk away, needing to before I make it worse. Not that it could get worse because that was pretty damn awful. This is Jane. I don’t need to be like this. Who cares that at one point months ago I thought we had a chance to get back together. I hoped. Who cares that it fell through? I didn’t tell Jenna to come over that night and Jane gave me no warning. Fucker Lawrence hopped on that fuck up fast and proposed.
None of that matters now. We’re professionals and we can act accordingly. I walk back over and set a piece of lemon bread in front of her. “You always liked lemons.”
She smiles and there’s no irritation there, so I sit as she says, “Thank you. That’s very nice you remembered.”
“I could never forget.”
Her lids drop down as if I’ve caused her pain. Her beauty still shines through the pain, making my heart ache. Leaning forward, I say, “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
She shakes her head and puts on a smile that feels more for appearance than felt from the inside. “It was very thoughtful. Thank you, Luke.”
“You’re welcome.” After taking a sip of coffee, I get down to it. “I thought you knew that my name was attached to the project but didn’t want to talk about work last night.”
“I didn’t know until I opened the papers after I saw you.”
“I was never mentioned prior as a possibility?”
“Not to me.” She tucks her legs under her and looks out the window again. “I’m not mad. I’m just shocked.” When she turns back to me, she lowers her voice and asks, “Why do you want to work on my movie?”
Her hair is golden, looking even lighter next to the window. A few strands have come free, but I like the imperfection. I like her. Still. Too much. “Because it’s a beautiful story and I want to make sure it gets told the way it was intended.”
“Sometimes you say the most amazing things as if it is common, everyday small talk.” With a sigh, she momentarily looks away and it kind of guts me not being able to really read her expression for those few seconds. “You have produced some beautiful films. I’m touched you want to produce mine.” When her eyes meet mine, she asks, “Will we be able to do this?”
I think she’s asking about of the film, but I’m not positive, so I answer both, “We will. We always did make a great team.”
~Jane~
WHAT IS LUKE’S endgame? He sits there very unlike his usual confident self, distracted by something besides our discussion of the movie. Every time he glances toward another customer placing their order, the bell above the door chiming, or briefly, and uncharacteristically, lost in his own thoughts, I look at him.
Really look at him.
The muscle that highlights his defined jaw tenses and relaxes. Tenses and relaxes. I’m not sure if he’s looked me in the eyes since he sat down and I don’t like that. The tension is rolling off him, seeping under my skin, and my foot starts bouncing. “Luke?”
His eyes glance my way, but when they don’t make it to mine, with a plea in my voice, I say, “Please look at me.”
When we connect, my heart begins to race. His alluring eyes make it hard to remember we’re here on business when I wish we were here together like we used to be. The feeling overwhelms me, tears suddenly filling my eyes. I stand up and grab my laptop and bag, knowing I need to get out of here. “I’ve gotta go.”
He stands just as abruptly, his hand grabbing my forearm, keeping me from escaping. “Don’t go, Jane.”
Lowering my head, I shake it. “I can’t stay.”
“Why?”
Summoning the courage to look up and straight into his eyes, I say, “Because I’m weak.”
“If you were weak, we’d still be together.” Taking a step closer, he says, “You’re strong. Too strong when you don’t have to be.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying we’re friends.”
“We are?”
“We are. No matter what happens, I’m in your corner.”
His hand drops down and I already miss the warmth. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because we’re going to be working together. I want you to know that no matter what happens, I will protect this movie, and I will support you.”
My heart falls to the pit of my stomach as his words sink in wishing he had said, “I will protect you and I will support this movie” instead. I exhale softly. “Yes, of course, the movie.” My breathing deepens as I build my walls back up, brick by heavy brick. I mistakenly thought he was talking about us when he so clearly wasn’t. His priority is to protect his investment. I was foolish for thinking otherwise.
“I’ve got to go.” I walk away before he can stop me again. I can’t let him. Because if he stops me again I can’t promise I won’t tell him more than I should. I can’t guarantee I won’t tell him I left Lawrence. And I definitely won’t be able to hold back and not tell him that I might still have feelings for him. No, I can’t tell him any of that.
Not now.
As I leave, the bell above the door rings, ending the second round, and leaving me feeling worse for wear. Or maybe it’s the third or fourth round for us? I’m losing track at this point. It’s best I go and leave the memories of us behind as I prepare for the next round: a professional relationship as our future. Perhaps the only future I can survive in this battle of heart vs. head.