“Come on.” Luke rests his hand on my back. “It’s freezing.”
I stuff my hands into my pockets, overly aware of how his hand feels against my back, wondering again if we’ve been like this too long. Too familiar with each other’s touch, so much that we’ve slowly been morphing into two people who look like a couple when we aren’t.
I pull my arms tight in around me to keep warm, but I can feel the hot spot on my back from Luke’s touch.
“Better than sitting in a cubicle,” I mumble, trying to dig my chin deeper into my coat for warmth.
A hard chuckle comes from beside me.
“I don’t know about that,” Luke says. When I glance over, he lets his hand drop so he can cross his arms for warmth like I am. “I like my little cube.”
I raise an eyebrow at him. I didn’t know much about Luke’s job. I just know for me, I’d rather stand out in the freezing darkness than sit in that broom closet I call an office.
“You’d really rather be at work right now?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I’m happy to be here,” he says, his eyes lingering on me in a way that makes me feel like his words have double meaning. “But at work there’s a Keurig.”
I roll my eyes. “Can easily be bribed with coffee.”
That wins me a hearty laugh. “Look who’s talking, Ms. Baked Goods. If your job gave you free and unlimited baked goods, you wouldn’t be so pouty all the time.”
“Now you’re talking.”
He looks at me, so hopeful it’s like he’s trying to transfer his eagerness over to me. And I wish he could. Because right now, standing out in the middle of Iceland, waiting for the northern lights to dance across the sky, I could use all the hope I can get.
My eyes linger on the darkness, pleading for the aurora to appear, as if it will solve all my problems. But it never does, and eventually Luke and I get back to our hotel room.
§
Now for theawkward part. Yes, we’ve already shared this bed together. Yes, you can argue the plane ride sleeping was even more intimate. But tonight, we’re conscious and awake as we crawl into bed together. I’m not just passed out on the bed, and we’re not just stuck sandwiched next to each other on a plane. Not to mention the fact that there’s a process of “going to bed.”
I fear Luke is one of those guys who likes to sleep in his underwear. And yes, I’ve seen him in his underwear, but that was when he hadn’t hit puberty yet.
That thought sends a nervous buzz straight to my stomach.
While Luke is in the shower, I go through my suitcase. I knew before we left that we’d be stuck sharing a bed, which felt less awkward before I saw the text from Wes. I packed plenty of baggy clothes that I’ve worn in front of Luke a thousand times before, but now it feels weird knowing how he feels.
It’s like when you don’t wear makeup in front of a boyfriend for the first time, but it’s somehow worse because it’s Luke.
The bathroom door opens, and steam from the showerfloods into the room.
“There’s no fan,” he says.
I wave my arms as the steam floods the room, filling the air with warm humidity. “Were you trying to boil yourself alive?”
He throws his wet towel at me, laughing. It hits me in the face and falls to the floor with a light thud.
Luke’s hair is still a little wet, though it’s short enough that in a few minutes it will probably be hard to tell he showered. And while he’s shirtless, at least he has on a pair of green fleece pajama bottoms.
I’ve seen Luke shirtless plenty of times, though not in the past couple years. There just hasn’t been the occasion. In that time, he’s managed to maintain a six-pack that’s subtle enough to make my eyes linger without me realizing what I’m doing.
I silently scold myself. This is Luke. Luke is off limits. Luke will be going out with some random person at Blue Lagoon tomorrow.
If Luke can look this good walking around in his bathing suit tomorrow, it will make setting him up on a date easy. I’m not sure there’s much I will need to do to encourage them. Luke’s perfectly attractive on his own. His baby face that’s in all our old photos disappeared long ago for a mature, though still slightly round, face. He’s not some kid anymore, even if when I look at him I picture the ten-year-old who stuck his tongue out every time someone took his photo.
“Your turn,” he says, and I realize I was staring.
I excuse myself to shower, trying to give myself a pep talk for the night and remind myself that Luke is my friend. And he needs to stay that way. For a fraction of a second, I let my mindwander, considering the possibility ofus. Not just as friends but more. Could we?
