Home > This Time Around(5)

This Time Around(5)
Author: Denise Hunter

Walter peered up at her as if asking if it was time to get up yet. After a moment passed he gave a slow blink and rested his head on his paws.

Allie rounded the vehicle and got into the passenger side while Luke loaded the dog. “How old is that thing?”

Luke spared her a look. “Walter is seven.”

“He moves like an old man.” With hip replacements. She took out her phone and opened the road trip playlist she’d made just for the drive when she’d been feeling optimistic about the assignment—songs from the fifties, in honor of the Chevy, of course.

Luke stowed his things in the trunk and got into the car. The spacious interior seemed to shrink to Fiat proportions. She was grateful for the console between them, at least. Of course, if there were no console, there would be no stick shift—and no Luke.

He took a moment to appreciate the leather, his gaze flittering around the pristine interior. “She turned out real nice. Your grandparents are going to be thrilled.”

He said something else, but Allie couldn’t take her eyes off his hands, now stroking the large white steering wheel with its chrome center and spokes. His skin, already summer brown, was marked with a new scar or two. Long fingers tapered down to blunt-cut fingernails, stained around the cuticles from his job. A workingman’s hands.

Hands that had once held hers. Hands that caressed her face so softly it made her ache inside. At one time she’d believed they were made for each other. That he was her soul mate, that they might share a lifetime of love.

But that had just been a foolish girlhood fantasy.

The engine roared to life. Allie dropped her gaze to her phone, starting her playlist, and the peppy melody of “Rockin’ Robin” filled the car.

 

 

Chapter 5

 


It hadn’t quite been love at first sight for Allie, but it still seemed like she’d loved Luke her whole life. Soon after his family moved in next door, when Allie was nine, Luke’s dad left.

Mrs. Fletcher turned to drinking, leaving Luke at loose ends. He often mowed the lawn for Allie’s parents or helped her mom carry in groceries. He was a frequent guest at their dinner table. Olivia treated him like a brother, but that role never felt quite right to Allie, even though Luke often ruffled her hair and called her kiddo.

When she was fifteen a boy on the bus began picking on her, making rides to school stressful. When Luke found out he insisted on driving her the remainder of the year—even though he was a senior and she a lowly sophomore.

That was when Allie fell head over heels in love with Luke. They talked on those rides about school and life and her current passion—art. Luke rarely talked about his home life, but he was more open when they were alone. Each morning and afternoon Allie’s stomach wobbled as she got into his car. Her heart softened when he looked at her.

Alas . . . Luke had continued to ruffle her hair and chuckle as she shared her adolescent problems or waxed poetic about the impressionist movement. She hid her growing feelings by calling him hotshot and giving him sisterly slugs.

Before she knew it, Luke, seventeen and graduated, was off to the University of Georgia on a full scholarship. (He’d skipped fourth grade.) She mourned the loss but hid it well, dating other boys and going out often. She rarely saw Luke over the next couple of years. He hardly bothered to come home, and when he did, she was often busy with friends, drama practice, or one of her jobs.

The fall of her senior year he came home for Thanksgiving to meet his mother’s fiancé. He joined the Adamses for their holiday feast.

Despite his long absence, despite all the other boys she’d dated, Allie’s feelings for Luke hadn’t diminished one iota. Her heart fluttered as he took a seat across the table, and her stomach was full of hyperactive butterflies.

When she opened her eyes after her father said grace, she caught Luke staring at her—the strangest expression on his face. His green eyes were fixed on hers—was that a flicker of male appreciation?

Allie’s pulse jumped. Her face heated. Had he noticed her new haircut? Or that, after years of being a tomboy, she was wearing makeup and dressing like a girl?

After the meal she told herself she’d just imagined it. She put it from her mind—or tried to—until Christmas break, when he came home for his mom’s wedding.

Allie was arriving home from theater practice when movement next door caught her eye. Luke was pulling his duffel bag from the trunk of his Mustang, his muscles bulging under the sleeves of his Georgia Bulldogs T-shirt. He walked over, meeting her beside the Odyssey. The intense look in his eyes made her heart pound like she’d just taken the stage on opening night.

His smile inching upward made her heart buckle. “Hey, Allie.”

“Hi.” Her voice was breathless because he hadn’t called her kiddo and because . . . that look.

He drew her into the usual hug, but it didn’t feel usual. It felt gentle and stirring, and he lingered an extra beat as if he didn’t want it to end either.

When he drew away, Allie’s tongue seemed stuck to the roof of her mouth, but it didn’t matter because she couldn’t think of a thing to say. His gaze drifted over her face, seeming to take in every detail before he looked away.

“Got all your Christmas shopping done?” His cheeks were a little flushed. Maybe just the chill in the air. It was December, after all.

“Haven’t even started yet.”

He gave a throaty chuckle. “Sounds about right.”

Her dad pulled in the drive just then, and things went back to normal.

The next day Allie wondered again if she’d imagined the whole thing. Wishful thinking—she was a pro by now. But she’d gone on many dates and had even had two short-term boyfriends. She couldn’t be wrong about that look in his eyes. Could she?

Christmas Eve found her on the back deck, overlooking the shadowed woods. It was unusually balmy for late December—just a jacket was needed to keep her warm. The stars twinkled in an inky-black sky. There was nothing like a Copper Creek sky. She swore they burned brighter here than anywhere else. The scent of wood smoke hung in the air, mingling with the fragrance of pine and possibility. There was just something special about this time of year.

A breeze rustled the treetops, and the glider squeaked quietly as she rocked. It was almost midnight. Her family was already in bed, but she’d always been a night owl.

A noise nearby made her jump.

“Just me.” Luke’s voice scraped low as he stepped up onto the deck, a mere shadow in the darkness.

“Hey.” Her dopey heart stuttered as he approached.

He settled next to her on the glider even though there were plenty of other seats. She was suddenly conscious of their thighs touching. Of the familiar spicy scent of his cologne. Of his big hands, resting in his lap.

She’d left the porch lights off to better view the stars. She was glad they were cloaked in darkness because she was certain her face was flushed. She’d only seen him a couple times since he’d come home a few days ago. Once across the family dinner table and another time when a date brought her home.

“Who was the boy the other night?” Luke asked as if reading her mind.

“I don’t think you know him—Derek Jameson. He’s in my class.”

“He have an older brother named John?”

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