“Mhm,” I said, breathless. “Why?”
“I thought I heard you walking around from downstairs.”
“I just…” Needed to slow my heart. “Had to pee. Where were you?”
He lifted his phone from the nightstand, and I held my breath, watching him closely. He eyed it for a moment, then laid it back down and sighed before climbing into bed. “I was thirsty. I went for water.”
I rolled over, my heart still thudding so loudly I was sure he could hear it from just across the bed. My phone was still clutched in my hand, though I didn’t dare move to put it up.
“Good night,” he whispered, and I felt the bed moving as he rolled away from me. I sighed, my thoughts jumbling as I tried to piece together exactly what had happened. Perhaps Lucas had just been searching for a piece of art, but why the initial? Why did he have the ‘A’ saved without a full name? If it was someone random, why was the number saved at all?
A for art, maybe? It was a possibility, but it seemed far-fetched.
No. Something else was happening. I felt it in my bones and, though I wasn’t sure I could put a name on it just yet, I knew it wasn’t good. Could Lucas have been cheating on me? I’d never suspected him of being unfaithful before. His job kept him so busy, he’d never have the time. Was I wrong? I’d need to get to the bottom of this, and I was making it a priority to do so.
Whoever you are, A, I’m going to find out.
Chapter Seventeen
Clara
“In you go,” Luke whispered in my ear as I took a seat at the kitchen table. He pushed my chair in behind me before making his way around and sitting as well.
“Thank you.” I lifted the bottle of wine and poured it into both our glasses.
“This looks delicious,” he said, cutting out a slice of lasagna and placing it on my plate carefully before serving himself. “Did you make the—”
I stood up and hurried toward the stove, where my bread was likely burning. “Yes, I almost forgot.” I opened the oven and grabbed the dish towel from the counter, pulling out the pan.
He followed me over, wrapping his arms around me as I worked to move the bread from the pan to a plate. I only prepared meals like this when Luke was around. Ordinarily, I preferred microwaved meals, and I’d never cook anything just to put it in another bowl to serve it. But with Luke, I wanted everything to be special. I wanted him to feel like he deserved the best, because he did.
He grabbed the last piece of bread lightly, lifting it to his lips and taking a bite.
“It’s going to be hot,” I warned, though he already had it in his mouth. He sucked in a breath, trying to cool it down as he chewed.
“I know, but I can’t wait.” When he swallowed, he put the bread down and spun me around to kiss my lips. “Would you still love me if I had garlic breath?”
I giggled. It was one of his games. Would you still love me if… “I’d still love you no matter what, you know that.”
He pressed his lips to mine, his hands wrapping around my waist as he trailed kisses from my lips to my ear and down my neck. I gave in, closing my eyes and losing myself in his touch as I leaned back into the stove, pushing in one of the knobs accidentally. The gas began to pop, threatening to ignite a burner, and we jerked away, laughter exploding from my chest.
“Okay, come on, before dinner gets cold,” I told him, lifting the plate from the counter and walking it toward the table.
“Dinner might just have to wait,” he teased, patting my bottom as we sat down. He was in an exceptionally good mood that evening, and I had no idea why. I liked to think it was because of me, but I could never be sure.
“How was work today?” I asked, changing the subject. As much as I wanted to be with him, my stomach was growling. I needed to eat something.
“Same as usual,” he said, tearing off a piece of bread and popping it into his mouth again. “How was your day? What did you do?”
“Cleaned up a bit, I’ve been driving myself crazy over the shower, so I finally had a chance to clean it up and catch up on laundry.”
He reached for my hand, running his fingers over my knuckles. “I missed you.”
I lowered my brows at him. “What’s gotten into you?” I teased, though he tensed at my words and I instantly regretted it.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re in an awfully good mood.”
He smirked. “I’ve just had a good day, that’s all. And I’m glad to be ending it with you.”
“How’s Naomi?” I asked. I was usually careful not to bring her up, especially when he was in a good mood, but I had to ask. After our last conversation about her, if I wanted to push for him to move in with me, now was the chance.
“Naomi’s Naomi. No change really.” He shrugged then changed the subject. “Is this a new sauce?”
“Same as always,” I said, running a fork over my lasagna before taking a bite. “I meant to tell you, I had a patient ask about you the other night. She said she thought you were flirting with her.” I smiled, trying to show him I was joking, but I truly wanted answers.
“What patient?” he asked, looking at me as if the suggestion was absurd. Of course it was.
“Well, it was the sister of a patient, actually. Emma something.”
“Well, that narrows it down,” he said with a snort.
“Do you make a habit of flirting with a lot of Emmas?”
He frowned, laying down his fork. “I don’t make a habit of flirting with anyone but you, and you know that. Why would I need to? I’ve certainly got my hands full already.”
I was shocked by his words. “Do you?”
He moved to lift up his fork but stopped. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
I took a bite, chewing my food to allow myself time to think. “I just…I mean, it’s not like I take up very much of your time, do I?”
“What are you saying, Clara?”
He leaned forward, and I recognized the look in his eyes. It was the same one I’d seen him give patients when he was listening to their concerns while really mentally checking out. He was finished with the conversation before it had even begun.
“I just mean that…well, we aren’t all that serious, are we? I love you, of course, but it’s not like we live together. We don’t see each other outside of work more than once or twice a week most weeks.”
“Our schedules are crazy. You know I see you as often as I can.”
“I know that,” I said, reaching for his hand. He turned his over to allow me to hold it. “I do. Of course, I do. But…if we lived together, if we were married, we’d see each other even more, without having to try. Mornings, evenings, days off. Don’t you want that for us? Wouldn’t it just be easier?”
He drew in one side of his mouth, glancing down. “It would be easier, sure. It would be a dream, Clara. But dreams don’t always work out as they should. What if we move in together and realize we don’t like each other as much as we thought? What if it doesn’t work out?”
“Is that what you’re afraid of? Sure, that would be terrible, Luke, but isn’t it worse not knowing at all? Isn’t it worse just imagining all that could go wrong instead of enjoying what could be right? Is that what you’re doing? Hiding from the possibilities?”