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We talk a little about the trip, about Hawaii, about life back in Los Angeles. But we're still dodging everything important. Even Luke is careful not to tread on any subject that could be a damn land mine.
I have half a mind to let everything out. To say fuck it, and demand a better explanation for why things have been so difficult, but I don't. I talk about the weather, about movies, about the mystery I'm reading on my Kindle. I'm certain the ex-husband did it, but there's no telling, really.
After lunch we duck into the mall's movie theater. Nothing good is playing, but it's nice to sit in the air conditioned room with Luke's arms around me. I fall asleep in his lap, and when I wake up the credits are rolling and he's staring at me like I'm the adorable puppy he just got for Christmas.
Back in the car, he asks how I'm feeling. "Do you think you're ready to talk yet?"
I shake my head. "Maybe later."
He nods, but there's a sadness to it. Like it kills him I won't spill my guts right there in the passenger seat. Like I'm still not enough for him.
Like I am just too damn difficult to reach.
***
Back in the hotel room, we shower, dress, and retire to the balcony. We're on the second floor, surrounded by nothing but stars. The ocean is a few hundred feet away and gentle waves roll onto the beach with a soft rhythm. It's dark and breezy, but it's warm and humid and sweet all the same.
Still, I shiver in my skimpy pajamas, leaning against Luke for warmth. He wraps his arms around me, presses his lips into my cheek. He leans towards me, his breath on my ear.
"I love you," he whispers.
He means it. I know he means it. I know he loves me, wants me, needs me as desperately as I need him.
He loves me.
But he's not convinced that will be enough.
I meet his gaze. His eyes are wide, sincere, full of that trademark Luke Lawrence concern. How can he look so happy and worried at the same time?
His lips curl into a smile, but it doesn't light up his face. Not the way it usually does. He brushes his fingers against my chin, holding my gaze.
"I'm tempted to repeat myself." His voice is soft. Almost defeatist.
There's a heaviness in my chest, like the weight of all this is going to crush me into a million tiny pieces.
But I say nothing. He moves closer, wrapping me in a hug, squeezing me so tight I think I might burst.
But he says nothing.
I pull back. I'm tempted to apologize, to convince him to find someone who will be what he needs, to convince him that I'm that someone, that everything will be better, easier.
But I say nothing.
He brings his gaze back to me, peering deeply into my eyes. For once he knows what I'm thinking. I can see it in his eyes, in the sad resignation in his expression.
"I love you too." My voice is tiny, a whisper. It's nothing, because it's not enough.
It's never going to be enough.
I bite my lip. "Maybe we should--"
"Don't," he cuts me off. "Don't say it."
"We can't keep running away from it."
"I know." He pushes a hair behind my ear, staring back into my eyes again.
It's like he can see straight through me. This should be enough. I love him and he loves me and, sure, we have problems. But we can work through them.
