EMERSON
I was giving up.
I’d never been one to throw in the towel, what some people called “quitting.” But I was for sure, definitely, absolutely resigning from this planning committee Lucas had roped me into.
It had nothing to do with Lucas, of course. He was quite possibly the only reason I’d stay . . . if I’d been planning to stay. Which I totally wasn’t.
It had everything to do with his mother. Aster, too.
Either of them on their own was combustible. Put them in close quarters and they were downright nuclear. I honestly didn’t know how Lucas put up with them.
But the thing was, I didn’t have to. And staying meant his mother would cancel the deposit on her credit card, which apparently meant losing the venue they had booked. It wasn’t like I had a choice. I was quitting for Lucas.
I’d find another way to be around him. Another way to lure him back. To force him to admit we should be more than just friends.
Lucas had remained unusually quiet ever since we’d left his mother’s house, and I kept thinking that this was my chance to tell him that tonight had been my one and only planning meeting for the gala—now, while he was sorting out whatever had happened back there in his head. Whatever drama was going down between him and his mother, those were his issues, not mine.
But every time I opened my mouth to tell him what I was thinking, I ended up closing it again. For once in my life, I couldn’t bring myself to break the silence. There was something . . . almost comforting about it.
About just being with him.
His stillness filled the air . . . filled those voids in me, the ones I’d always tried to fill with noise and motion and recklessness. By being louder and larger than life and more in-your-face than everyone else.
By the time we’d reached our destination, Lucas seemed to have forgotten all about his mother and Aster and the gala—he hadn’t mentioned any of those things once. I hadn’t forgotten, but when I glanced around, I was at least momentarily distracted by our unusual surroundings.
“We’re here,” he said, looking at me hopefully.
“Here?” I asked uncertainly as I stepped out of the car. We were in a crowded parking lot in the middle of nowhere.
Lucas was unfazed by my apparent dubiousness. He shifted into full tour guide mode. “Food Truck Alley,” he explained.
And that was when the scent hit me, and suddenly, it made sense.
The air was ripe with the delectable aromas of garlic, pastries, cheeses, and burnt sugar—smells that didn’t particularly go together, but somehow melded into something that made me salivate. I followed as he led the way. There were large vans and RVs parked on a huge lot, that would otherwise have been an open field. Each one was set up for business—signs hung, menus displayed, heavenly food smells pouring from their open windows.
Lucas expertly navigated us from truck to truck, masterfully ordering lamb kebabs, street tacos, and lumpia. Grease soaked through the paper boats as we kept adding to our growing collection.
There was no way we could finish everything, but I was down to give it a shot.
When Lucas came back from yet another truck—one that looked like a gleaming silver camper from a bygone era—he was grinning and presenting me with yet another tray like a conquering hero. “Grilled truffle and macaroni and cheese sandwich. Trust me, it’s un-fucking-believable.”
And how could I not trust him? This place was amazing. Every minute I spent with Lucas made it harder and harder to imagine leaving him when I went back to Arizona to start my new internship.
We ate sitting across a picnic table from each other, sharing the orders and passing food back and forth. Lucas watched as I closed my eyes and practically orgasmed over bite after mouth-watering bite. Even though you’d never find most of the food on the same plate together, I doubted I’d ever had a more perfect meal. And even though my stomach felt like it might burst, it was damn near impossible to stop eating.
When I finally—grudgingly—pushed the last bite away, Lucas hopped up and announced, “Wait here. I’ll be right back. I’ve got one last surprise for you.”
When he came back, he was hiding something behind his back.
“Oh, God, no. I can’t,” I groaned, patting my stomach.
“Yeah. You can. You have to.” He looked like a little boy as he bounced eagerly. “Now close your eyes. You’re in for a treat.”
This wasn’t the first time I’d heard that line. Usually it was a line during sexy times, and almost always it came out sounding pervy rather than seductive. If we hadn’t been standing in such a public location, I might’ve questioned whether that was what Lucas had in mind too.
So far, though, at least as far as food went, Lucas hadn’t steered me wrong. So I did as he ordered.
“Now,” he said, lowering my lids. His words taking on a teasing quality. “Open your mouth.”
With my eyes still closed, I told him, “I swear to God, if you spit in my mouth this whole friends business is off the table.”
When there was no response, I peeked one eye open. Lucas was just staring at me, a stunned expression on his face. “Why in the hell would I spit in your mouth?”
“What?” I sighed, squeezing my eye closed again. “I have four brothers. Spit was a thing in our house.”
His breathy chuckle sent a shiver racing along my bare spine. “I swear on my life I will not spit in your mouth.” And then in a low voice that that turned the whisper into a full-blown shudder, he added, “Unless you’re into that sort of thing.” He cupped the back of my neck. “Ready?” One of his thumbs settled on my lower lip, and heat flooded through me. Something sweet landed on the tip of my tongue and delicate pastry disintegrated in my mouth.
“It’s a maple bacon doughnut,” Lucas said. “Best doughnuts in all of Southern California are parked right here in this lot.”
He wasn’t lying. The doughnut was the most amazing thing I’d ever tasted. This strange combination of flavors was sheer nirvana. Sweet and savory. Warm and fragrant.
I opened my eyes and Lucas was there, watching me expectantly, so close that I couldn’t resist. I inhaled, and all I could think was that he, too, was sweet and savory, warm and fragrant. All those things and more . . . strong, powerful, and alluring as hell.
He was the total package; there was no other way to put it.
I smiled up at him, not sure whether I was letting him know I approved of the bite he’d given me . . . or of him.
He smiled back and the warmth that had flushed through me earlier fanned into a full-blown blaze.
Then he flashed his gorgeous teeth at me again . . . only wider. Too wide, in fact, to be a smile. He looked like he was grimacing. “You have . . .” He pointed from his mouth to mine.
I frowned, thrown off by the sudden shift in mood.
“Food . . . ,” he finally said, taking another approach, this time demonstrating with his pointer finger on his own front tooth as he wiggled his eyebrows at me. “You have doughnut. In your teeth.”
My hot flush became something less than erotic as my tongue shot up to dislodge the stray pastry, my cheeks growing hotter by the second.
That was about right.
We hadn’t just been sharing a moment, grinning at each other like punch-drunk lovers. Lucas had been trying to be philanthropic, to discreetly do a public service and save me from myself. “Thanks . . .” I swallowed back the word, “friend,” which had been teetering on my lips. I was starting to hate this arrangement of ours, more by the second.
If we were still sleeping together, he’d have been too distracted by the bare skin my outfit revealed to even notice I had teeth.
In an effort to change the subject, I reached over and snatched the rest of the doughnut from his hand. “You know, I never pictured you as a food truck kind of guy. I mean, yeah, maybe before, when I didn’t realize who you really were.” I gave a meaningful appraisal of his definitely-not-a-knock-off suit and popped another bite of the maple-glazed delicacy into my mouth. It practically melted on my tongue.
Lucas’s gaze went darker than the inside of a wolf as his eyes drifted over me. “I’m still the same guy I was when we . . .” His words cut off mid-sentence and I wondered if there was some part of him that was having as hard a time as I was with the way things were between us. But this was his deal, not mine. When he spoke, his voice was thick with something I couldn’t place, “Well, you know what I mean. Just because my mom lives there, in that house, doesn’t change who I am.”
That’s right, I wanted to scream at him. Things don’t have to change.
My toes curled at the thought of us together again. I might only have about a month left, but I wanted to spend that time with Lucas. All he had to do was admit we were more than just friends. Admit once and for all that he and Aster were over. That she meant nothing to him . . . not anymore.
Instead, I was a glutton for punishment. “Aster seems to think it does. She seems to know exactly who you are.”
He grimaced. “Yeah, well, Aster . . .”
Even the mention of her name was a mood killer.
But I refused to let Aster kill my vibe. I should never have brought her up in the first place. I’d just been starting to enjoy myself—I mean, how could I not when I was eating the best maple bacon doughnut in town?
I took another self-indulgent bite and did my best to look bewitching as I licked the sugary glaze from my lips. “You know what? You’re absolutely right.” I gave a contented moan. His eyes stayed trained on me, in exactly the way I’d hoped. “This is fucking incredible. Everything was. How’d you ever find this place, anyway?”
Something crossed his face before he filed it quickly away. “My brother.”
I dropped the seductress act. “Adam?” I asked. “Is that who you and your mom were arguing about?”
He nodded, but it was there on his face, this was a touchy subject.
“So,” I leaned forward. “What’s the deal? Where’s Adam now?”
He picked up the Pepsi we’d been sharing and jiggled the Styrofoam cup at me. “This would be a hell of a lot better if we had some rum or whiskey to top it off.”
Now that I could handle. I reached for my handbag. “What about . . . ,” I rummaged inside and presented an airplane-sized bottle like it was a box of expensive Cuban cigars, “vodka?”
He glanced at the sparkly bag I’d been carrying, which was barely big enough to contain my cell phone and lipstick. “And you just happen to have that in there because . . . ?”
I lifted my shoulders. “In case of emergencies.” Obviously. And the way this night had unfolded, this seemed as much an emergency as any.
He unscrewed the cap and dumped the contents into the cup. “Gotta hand it to you, you do come prepared.” He took a hefty sip and passed the Styrofoam cup back to me.
I took a drink too and winced. Not only did the two not pair well together, but the drink was heavy on the vodka and light on the Pepsi. On the other hand, beggars can’t be choosers. “You were saying . . .”
“That I had a brother. I don’t now.” He gave a reserved shrug. “Adam died.”
I’d just taken another sip and was passing the drink back to Lucas. “Jesus,” I whispered, feeling like a jerk for steering the conversation in this direction. “You just . . . say it like that?” I took a breath. “God, I’m sorry. That . . .” What even was the right word in this situation? “ . . . sucks.”
Lucas curled his big hands around the cup like it could somehow steady him. The sad look in his eyes made me want to . . . well, it made me want to do a lot of things to him, but first and foremost, I wanted to climb across the table and onto his lap. Forget all about this bullshit friendship stuff. Do whatever I could to take the pain away. “Yeah,” he agreed. “It did suck. But it’s okay. I can talk about it now.” His steady gaze met mine. “He loved it here. He was one of those guys who loved to eat, and who loved finding these out-of-the-way joints. Black Magic Donuts was one of his favorites. They have a store too. Downtown. But he always insisted on dragging me to the truck every chance he got, because this was where they got their start, and he considered himself a purist.” He fell into the memory and chuckled lightly.
Suddenly a lot of things made sense, like the argument between him and his mother. “So the gala . . . ?” I asked.
He nodded. “I wanted to throw a fundraiser in his honor. I didn’t plan for it to be such a big deal, really. I just wanted to give back a little. But then Aster got involved, and the whole thing . . .” He drew in a long breath. “It just snowballed. It’s fine though. She’s done a great job.”
For some reason it bothered me less this time, knowing she’d done so much to help heal whatever wounds Lucas was still carrying around.
“What happened? To Adam, I mean.”
His brow dropped and he pressed a thumb into it, as if the memory was something sharp he could buff away. “Cystic fibrosis. It’s genetic, so he had it his whole life, of course. He got sick, sometimes it was worse than others. Sometimes bad. But mostly he managed to live pretty normally, at least until the last couple years.” His eyes clouded over and I wanted to reach for him. When Lucas exhaled, it was a thin sound.
I didn’t know much about the disease, but I made a mental note to Google everything I could about it. I wanted to learn everything.
My dad used to say I didn’t have an indoor voice, so I was surprised to hear how quiet my words had come out. “How long ago did he die?”
Lucas gave me a small smile, like he was the one encouraging me. “Seven months and two weeks ago, but who’s counting, right? We were ready for it, I suppose. The last couple years were tough, on all of us.” Then his smile vanished. “I’m sorry about tonight, and about Aster. I should’ve told you. But mostly, I’m sorry for my mother.”
“Don’t be. You shouldn’t be apologizing to me.” I wondered, though, if the ice queen had always been the way she was now, or if she’d built that frosty exterior around herself after her son had died. “She’s right. It is a family matter. You all should be planning this together—”
But Lucas was shaking his head. “No. You’re wrong. She’s just trying to manipulate me. What she really wants is to force Aster and me together, that’s what this was really all about. She doesn’t give a shit about family. Sometimes, I think she wishes I was the one who’d died.”
My stomach lurched and a sour taste filled my mouth. “Don’t say that.”
“It’s true. Adam was always her favorite. She was never an easy person, but after he died, she became insufferable. Even my dad didn’t stick around.” He ran his hand through his hair. “She lets us use her credit cards, but sometimes she acts like I’m rubbing her face in his death, because I’m hosting this event. If it wasn’t for the fact that the fundraiser means I’m working with Aster, she probably wouldn’t be helping us at all.”
Hard to imagine she wanted them together, since Lucas’s mother didn’t exactly come across as Aster’s number one fan. “From the way Aster reacted, your mom’s credit cards are important. She made it seem like you need that deposit.”
“We do,” Lucas agreed, his voice hard-edged. “But it’s not just her money, it’s her connections too. She was the one who got us in at her country club. And she hooked us up with her caterer. She even talked the florists into squeezing us in during wedding season. I’m pretty sure she’s only bluffing. She won’t cancel. She has a lot at stake if the gala falls apart. Her friends have already been invited, so her name’s on the line if this thing is a disaster. I know my mother—her reputation means everything to her.” He put his hand over mine, his eyes pleading. “Em, please. I don’t want to do this alone. Don’t let her scare you away.”
Whether it was his touch, or his plea, or the notion that I’d been chased away by a terrifying ice queen, I knew he had me. I wasn’t quitting the gala, not when it meant so much to Lucas. I’d just have to figure out a way to get along with his sort-of-ex and his frigid mother.
“What about you? You mentioned brothers.” Lucas’s voice cut through my train of thoughts.
My brothers. How was I supposed to talk about them after he’d just told me how he’d lost his?
Suddenly, I was self-conscious. “Uh . . . yeah. I have four. Three older. One younger.”
He leaned toward me. “You guys close?”
“Close?” I mused, thinking about them. About being the only girl in a mob of sweaty, stinky, testosterone-brimming boys. Was close even the word for what we were? The way they’d taken my things, just because they could. The way they’d mutilated my dolls, just to see me melt into a puddle of tears. The way they’d teased and tormented me . . . and sometimes even physically tortured me.
And the spit . . . my God, there’d been so much spit.
I grinned. “Yeah. Most of us. Most of the time, anyway. I mean, sure we fought, there were five of us kids living under the same roof. And when we did, we could be downright ferocious.” Close was absolutely the right word for what we were. “One time, my oldest brother, Seth, set my youngest brother’s car on fire over a Girl Scout cookie.”
Lucas’s eyebrows shot up. “Remind me not to mess with your brother.”
I winked at him. “He’s all right. Just don’t eat the last Thin Mint.” I laughed. “Besides, I think he learned his lesson. Daddy made him chauffeur Brock around for an entire year. Anytime, anyplace.” It was strange, telling Lucas about my family this way. Had I ever talked about my brothers to a guy before? “I’m seeing them this weekend, in fact. For my dad’s birthday—his sixtieth. We’re all going home to surprise him.”
Lucas smiled, but there was something wistful about it, and my heart squeezed. “You’re lucky. To have all that family.”
“You have a family,” I started. And then I remembered his mother—Lady MacBitch herself. I couldn’t imagine not having my obnoxious, raucous, annoying, and disgusting family.
I thought about steering the conversation back to the gala, but instead when I opened my mouth I found myself saying, “You should come with me.”
Lucas stared at me for a moment. He gave me a look like maybe I’d secretly already downed a bottle or two of the miniature vodkas when he wasn’t watching. “To Dallas? To your dad’s surprise party? You want me to meet your family?”
I was probably more surprised than he was. But there was something else in his expression, along with the surprise, something expectant. And now that I’d seen it, there was no way could I take back my invitation.
I reached across the table and punched him in the shoulder—that was a friendly gesture, wasn’t it? “Why not? Besides, it’s not really a surprise. My mom likes to pretend it is, and my dad likes to play the part when all their friends jump out, so we all just play along even though it’s total bullshit. He’s no more surprised than she is the Queen of England.”
He fake rubbed the spot where I’d just decked him. I rolled my eyes at him because he was as muscular as my brothers and I could hit them with everything I had and never leave a single bruise.
“What about your dad?” he asked. “Wouldn’t he rather have a quiet family get-together to celebrate?”
My dad. I smiled because my dad wouldn’t know what to do at a “quiet” family get together. “To be honest,” I admitted, “he probably won’t even notice you’re there.”