“One”—I held up my pointer finger—“the word ‘girls’ in that sentence is completely irrelevant?—”
He raised his hands in surrender. “You’re right. Absolutely irrelevant. I need to get better at that, being a girl dad and all.”
I fought the smile that had my cheeks tugging upward, both because of his lack of defensiveness and because him referring to himself as a ‘girl dad’ did something to my insides.
“And two”—I let my smile free—“I just want her to win, okay? Does that make me a bad person?”
“One,” he mimicked me, a smile appearing on his mouth at his own cleverness. “There’s almost nothing you could say that would make me think you’re a bad person, and two”—he held up another finger, pausing for added effect—“in this specific instance, also no. I want her to win, too. I’ll text Jeremiah tonight.”
The urge to kiss that smirk off his gorgeous mouth hit me like a sudden gust, unprompted. Undeniable.
“I was thinking about what you said the other day, how the town isn’t providing as much funding as you hoped, and it will take you that much longer to break even on your investment. What if you did a fundraiser?” I scanned Luke’s face for his reaction as he chewed.
“A fundraiser.” His expression revealed nothing.
I continued, undeterred. “Yeah, you know, sell tickets that cost more than the food, cash bar, an auction. Mimi calls them ‘parties for a good cause.’ She goes to one for the Martha’s Vineyard Preservation Trust every summer.” This idea came to me when Mimi mentioned that specific fundraiser over dinner last night.
“I’m open to it, but I don’t know much about fundraiser planning. What do you think, Luna?”
Luna shrugged. She hadn’t spoken for a while. Her hands were tucked under her legs and her plate was clear. It was obvious she was waiting to be excused from the table to go continue watching the movie she started before dinner.
“Go ahead,” Luke said, gesturing toward the sliders.
“Thank you!” She popped out of her chair and took a step toward the door before pivoting quickly to grab her plate to bring inside.
“I wouldn’t know where to start,” Luke went on. “I’ve only ever gotten funding from business loans and investors.”
“We do know an event planner…”
“True. We could see if she thinks it’s something we could pull off and actually make money. I also don’t love asking people for money…”
“I understand. But Luke, no one is obligated to come or to donate anything, so if people choose to, then it’s because they want to. I think solving the seasonal worker housing issue is probably a pretty popular cause.”
Luke pursed his lips to the side, considering. After a moment he said, “Okay, let’s at least ask Francesca if she thinks we can pull something like that off. I’ll see if she’s free for lunch tomorrow.”
“Can I come? I mean, if that’s okay? I’ve been wanting to hang out with Francesca again and helping brainstorm ideas for an event sounds kinda fun. My last day at Peters & Dowling is tomorrow.” In fact, I planned to go to the post office and mail my firm laptop and phone back to Peters & Dowling LLP by noon.
“Of course. This is perfect, actually. She keeps asking me to give you her number, and I keep forgetting. She says she wants to be friends with you.”
“Really?!” I squealed. I liked Francesca, and I loved the idea of having a friend that lived on Martha’s Vineyard full-time.
“Yes, really.” Luke laughed, eyes crinkling in the corners. The orange hue of the sunset reflected off the angular planes of his face as he shook his head slightly.
My enthusiasm rang clear in my voice when I said, “I like this plan.”
27
The high of the positive response Luke and I got from Francesca about the fundraiser over lunch came to a swift end when I pulled into Max’s driveway later that evening. Resolute in my decision to end things, I nevertheless hated the idea of disappointing him. “You can do this,” I whispered to myself as I opened the car door.And don’t delay with pointless small talk.
When we got up to his apartment, I blurted, “I don’t think we should keep seeing each other.”
His eyes widened like he’d been slapped, and then he gave me that condescending brow furrow again. “What do you mean you don’t want to keep seeing each other?”
“I just don’t think we have very much in common,” I rushed to explain. “And you haven’t been all that supportive about what I’ve been going through with my career. It’s made me feel like we aren’t a great fit, after all.” I wanted to be honest, and hopefully part on okay terms. I wasn’t planning to bring up the recycled Edward Phelps lines he used on me, even though that bothered me enough to make me more than certain breaking up was the right thing to do.
He ran a frustrated hand down his face, and his voice waslaced with incredulity when he said, “Really? I take you on all these nice dates, text you constantly, invite you to the city… And nowyou’redumpingme?”
The condescension in his tone snapped my nervousness in half, and anger flooded in to replace it. Where did he get off being so surprised? Obviously, his last question was meant to be rhetorical and insulting, and I took it as such, which was probably why I threw up my hands and said, “You used your dad’s romantic lines to make me like you! They were all copied from his books! Were any of the compliments real?”
