“She didn’t make me push for eleven hours.”
I laugh and triumphantly present my cupcake to Mel. Luke hands her a spoon, and she takes a small bite. Now that I’m standing closer to her, I notice her pale color and the way her eyes seem weighted. She’s more than exhausted, but she’s putting up a brave front for us.
“You can have the rest tomorrow,” I say with false brightness when it becomes apparent that she is not going to be able to swallow much more than that bite.
“Let me try Luke’s,” Mel says, and Luke hands her his cupcake.
“Both excellent,” she says. “Almost as good as mine.”
Luke laughs, and I try to be heartened by this. Maybe Mel’s pallor is all in my head.
I go back to the counter to finish icing the rest of the cupcakes while Luke finishes cleaning up. When I’m done, I bite into what’s left of the cupcake I gave Mel. I’m still eating when Luke joins me to eat the one he frosted.
“Good?” I ask as he takes his first bite.
“Mmhmm,” he says.
“You know, you ...” My voice trails off as he kisses the corner of my mouth, almost in the exact same spot where he kissed me this morning when they dropped me off after camping.
“You had some frosting,” he says now as I try to hold on to any of my thoughts. I have no idea what I was about to say. At this point, I’m downright confused. Does he hate me or does he not? Is everything he does for the benefit of the people watching us, or is it possible there’s something else?
“I think I’m going to turn in for the night,” Mel says, distracting us from the staring contest we’re having.
“I should get going, too,” I say, because frankly I’m a little afraid to be alone with Luke right now. If last night (or the way every cell in my body jumped at his kiss just now) was any indication, I will not be able to keep my hands to myself. And we’ve already established that that is a bad thing.
Luke is apparently not going to make this any easier on me. “Mom, is it okay if I walk Jessi out? I’ll come help you out after.”
“Of course.”
I walk over and kiss Mel’s cheek.
“Love you, Jessi-girl,” she says.
“Love you, too. Good night.”
Luke and I are mostly silent as we walk to my car, my mind whirring with a hundred thoughts. In the end, they amount to this:He loves me. He loves me not. He loves me. He loves me not.
And then I remember my mom’s constant reminders about asking him to dinner.
“What?” Luke asks. I guess my groan was audible.
“It’s silly.”
“So?” he says.
“So, you won’t want to do it.”
One of his eyebrows skirts up. “Do it? Do what?”
“Dinner with my family. My mom keeps telling me to ask you.”
“Why wouldn’t I want to do it?” he asks, and I seriously don’t even know who I’m talking to. Luke doesn’t mind having dinner at my house?
“It’s more pretending,” I say.
He shrugs. “Tell me when.”
“Seriously?”
