Lukas

“It sounds like they were just really worried about something happening to you, and like you said, just wanted to keep you safe. Were you lonely?” Thinking of Lukas as a beautiful little boy, being kept in a house and not outside having fun with other kids makes me want to cry.

“I didn’t have any friends to play with, but I didn’t know any better, so I guess, for me, it was all normal. I played in the attic mostly. Even back then, I loved all the old stuff they had stored up there. I drew and painted constantly, and read anything I could get my hands on. They had a lot of old books. I taught myself how to play music on some old instruments they had, too. When I was about ten, they both started to fail mentally and physically, and I took care of them. I cooked, I cleaned, had to remind them to take their meds . . . everything pretty much.”

“Oh my God, you were so young to have to do all that! Tommy is only seven, and I can’t even imagine him having to take on that kind of responsibility.”

He shrugs and takes a bite of his sandwich, chewing carefully before he talks again. “I did what I had to do. They were all I had, and I was all they had. I loved them. They were as good to me as they could be. My grandfather got bad first. He developed dementia and had to be put in a home, and passed away a year later. I tried to take care of my grandmother, but she was having a real hard time with her own health and then grief. She fell in the kitchen one day and smacked her head, and she died right there in front of me. I went into shock and sat there for an entire day on the floor next to her. I was afraid to call 911 because I knew they were going to take me away. I spent some time in the hospital for a little while after that.” His voice wavers and his eyes brim with the beginning of tears. Instinctively, I reach across the table and touch his inked hand.

“Lukas . . . I’m so sorry. I don’t even know what to say,” I have to blink back my own tears just thinking about how devastating all of that must have been for him. He was way too young to have to go through all of that.

He wipes his eyes with his other hand, not moving his hand from beneath mine. I’m touched by his emotion and the fact that he doesn’t try to hide it or act ashamed of it, like most men would. “It sucked,” he says. “After I was let out of the hospital, I was put in a foster home, but I really didn’t get along with them. They didn’t like how quiet I was, the things I drew, my attraction to antiques, or that I enjoyed sitting in the dark. They wanted me to be social, go to dances, cut my hair, and get involved in sports. I didn’t want to do any of those things. It just wasn’t me. I didn’t feel like I belonged there.”

“You sound like you were a good kid. Maybe just a bit of a loner?”

He smiles a sad smile at me. “Yeah, I was. I still am.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that. I am, too, actually. I’ve always been really shy.”

“I sensed that about you.” He turns his hand under mine, so our palms touch, and our eyes shift from our joined hands to slowly meeting each other across the dim table. A warm tingle spreads throughout my body, from my head to my toes, and settles in my stomach. Lowering my eyes, I gently slide my hand out from under his. The candle flame dances on the table, mimicking the waltz slowly starting between us, the tiny steps forward and back. I’m not ready for this.

“So, um, how did you find out about your brother?” I ask, trying to recover from whatever the moment was that just happened.

He clears his throat and runs his hand through his hair, and I find myself wanting that hand to be mine touching that dark silky hair. “My father’s mother found out that her son had two kids he never told the rest of his family about. When her husband died, she hired a private detective to find us so we could be included in his inheritance and become part of the family.”

I swallow my food and gape at him. “That’s incredible. And are you, now, part of the family?”

“I am. My grandmother, the one that looked for us, is an amazing woman. She’s just . . . so cool. It turns out, most of the family is kinda famous. My uncle, who is my dad’s brother, is a retired musician that was really well known many years ago, and his sons, who are my cousins, are in a really popular rock band. My brother is part of that band now, actually. And my aunt is a best-selling author. The money I inherited allowed me to partner up with my brother to buy the building and open the shop. It’s always been a dream of mine to have my own business.”

“And you’re both tattoo artists?”

“Yeah, it’s kinda cool. We have a lot in common. He’s just a bit fucked up, though. Not exactly the easiest person to get close to. He’s got some issues.”

“I’m sure that will change in time. I imagine it must be hard to form a family bond with people that you didn’t grow up with. Especially for men, I think it’s harder for them to form relationships.”

“You’re right. It’s kinda weird to just all-of-a-sudden have a bunch of people in your life that you never even met.” He pauses. “I don’t give up on people, though. If I want someone in my life, I make sure they are.”

My heart flutters as I wonder if that slight tone change at the end of his sentence and that spark in his eye is hinting toward me. No. No way.

I’m thrown by the intense attraction I feel toward him, unsure how to react to it. I’ve never been attracted to a man so much younger than me before, and I definitely have never taken notice of men with tattoos and long hair, but those things mixed with his sensual brown puppy eyes, sweet personality, muscular body, and heart-stopping smile have my insides doing somersaults. When he smiles, I can tell he feels it, and means it. He’s what I call an old soul. There’s a quiet deepness about him, like he knows things that he couldn’t possibly know, and he has a therapeutic, yet stimulating affect on me that I’m drawn to like a magnet.

“How ‘bout you?” he asks. “Brothers and sisters? Close family?”

“I have a brother that’s two years older than me. We’re a close family. My parents live here in town, and I grew up here. My brother lives about an hour away, so I get to see them all pretty regularly, and of course on holidays and birthdays.” I take a quick sip of my coffee. “My parents are still a little freaked out over the idea that I might be getting divorced. They’re old fashioned.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Might be getting divorced? Is there a chance you and Paul might be getting back together, then?”

Embarrassment heats my face. “No. I think I still go into denial at times. Obviously.” I smile weakly at him.

“Would you take him back?”

Damn, this kid is direct. “Lukas . . . I’m not sure I want to talk about that.”

“Shit. I’m sorry. You’re right. It’s none of my business.” He sits up straighter. “I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“You’re not rude at all. You’re a sweetheart, and I appreciate you bringing me here for this delicious latte, and for being so nice. It’s still just hard for me to talk about that stuff.”

He holds his hand up and smiles. “Say no more. I totally get it. I want you to have a good time, not be uncomfortable.”

We talk about lighter things while we finish eating, until finally, I glance at my watch and see the time, which has flown by. “I didn’t realize how late it was getting. I should really get going. I like to be home when Macy gets there, so she’s not coming home to a dark empty house.”

“Gotcha.” He reaches into his pocket and places a few dollars on the table. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

The street is much quieter on our walk back, as all the stores are closed for the night and hardly any cars are driving by. The air is chilly, and it feels like snow could be on its way. Usually, I hope for a white Christmas because it’s my favorite holiday, but this will be my first Christmas without Paul. Years of our own little family traditions have been casually thrown away. I hope I can still make sure the kids have a happy holiday, and they don’t have to feel the effects of the separation too badly.

“Do you live alone?” I ask as we near his shop. The stained glass windows on the upper floor are glowing beautifully, and I wonder what his apartment looks like inside.

“Yup. I’ve had some roommates in the past at other apartments, but this place is sacred to me, so I really don’t want any friends living with me and trashing it. It’s pretty big inside, three bedrooms. Do you want to come in and see it? It’s really pretty. The woodwork and the stained glass are all original. It’s actually been in some magazines.”

Eek. I can’t go into his apartment. That would be totally inappropriate. Right? “No, but thank you,” I say politely. “It sounds really beautiful.”

He looks down at me with a hopeful smile. “Maybe next time,” he says.

Just like the last time I was here after hours, my car and an older black Corvette are in the dark parking lot.

“Is that your car?” I ask, motioning to the ’Vette.

“Yes. That’s my baby. I wish this place had a garage I could keep it in. It’s the only thing I don’t like about living here.”

“Corvettes are such pretty cars. I’ve always liked them.”

Reaching my own boring mom-car, we stop walking and he turns to me. “Me too,” he agrees. “Especially the older models. They have beautifully designed curves, like a woman.”

Wow. Very sensual comparison. And true.

I lean against the front fender of my car and peer up at him. He really is extremely good looking—those dark eyes, paired with his chiselled jaw and crooked smile, make me want to just sit and look at him. “Thank you for dinner,” I say, hating to end the first good night I’ve had in a very long time. “It was really good, especially that latte. That was yummy.”

He steps closer to me and pushes his hair out of his face. “I want to see you again,” he says softly, a hint of nervousness in his voice.